adventures in academic bureaucracy

Maybe you knew and maybe you didn't, but I'm an alumna of the University of Washington. The UW Alumni Association has been happy to take my cash for a couple of years. Yes, there are perks like museum ticket discounts, but today I finally got attempting to (Foreshadowing!) get my hands on something really nifty: an account on their library catalog.

So I type in my name & UWAA number. Problem the first: they want my student number. Gosh, I lost it sometime in the thirty-odd years since I last used it. I've changed sex since then. And name. So I call up, prove that I am who I say I am — a Zoom call was involved — to the poor young man fielding the call. He gives me my student number. Great!

But that doesn't suffice. The UW's computers, as a collective, believe that I am two different people. If only. Hours pass, and I don't get the promised email.

So I call again. I get what was apparently a different young man on the phone, and he suggests calling the number for the UWAA. I do, and I have to leave voice mail. Their outgoing message does not inspire confidence. They did not return my call yet. This time of year was probably a poor choice on my part, now that I think about it.

I'm a woman in later middle age, only with a deep voice and above-average height. Don't make me go full Karen on you, young men.