Feeling Like a Real Professor

August 3, 2026

I’m moving offices for the first time since starting in 2014. My current office is an 8’x10’ concrete cube without windows, but it has served me well. It’s located at the end of an invisible hallway, and the only traffic I get is at the beginning of each semester when students wander by in search of a biology classroom.

 

“This used to be where the previous Dr. Whitehead kept the rats,” is what a colleague told me shortly after I moved in 12 years ago. The observation—about the rats, that is—didn’t bother me as much as you might expect. I felt proud to have my own little space on campus. I was given a key to my office, a key to the building, and a key to the copy room during my first day on campus.

 

Since taking over the rat laboratory, I have had the following neighbors: two fellow psychology professors and a sociology professor, an anxious instructor of public speaking, a sweet old teacher education professor, a pessimistic and dry-witted Swedish English professor (Swedish by birth; he wasn’t teaching a Swedish form of English), and a loud Economics professor who constantly took phone calls on speakerphone. My current neighbor is an Instructor of English, but I haven’t seen her in 18 months.

 

My new office is at least three times bigger and has a massive window overlooking the campus quad, gazebo, and Koi pond. Its former occupant is a now retired political science professor who heckled me from the beginning, so I am happy to see him go. I just hope he hasn’t masturbated into the curtains. A grouchy Instructor of English admitted to me in confidence that he—the grouch—had done that to his curtains after his contract wasn’t renewed, so apparently that sort of thing happens.

 

At breakfast, I predicted to Erica a 20% chance that I would get to move my things into the new office on day one. The process is managed by HR, initiated by academic affairs, and executed by facilities management. I’d be impressed if I wound up in the new office by the first day of class two weeks from now.

 

Aug 4

 

Nobody from HR or Facilities arrived to help me move or set up my phone as scheduled, but there happened to be someone installing dry erase boards outside faculty offices who I convinced to let me into my new office. “It’s a big one,” he said, and I was like, You’re damn right it’s big. What I said was, “It’s about time. My office is so small.” It’s like complaining about the company car I get to drive for free.

 

The new office has a desk, a table, two bookcases, two 6’ filing cases, a full-size couch, and two accent chairs. There’s still plenty of room for an exercise bike or treadmill if I want one. The window is approximately the square footage of my previous office. From it I can see that the Koi pond has been filled. In its place is a web of caution tape and a 40’ flag pole flying the American flag. 

 

I got rid of the filing cabinets, because I haven’t ever had to file a document. I put these in the ante-room to the office. Oh yeah, my new office has an ante-room connecting it to the main hallway. It’s larger than my new office and is treated like a storage closet. It has collected 60 years of unwanted furniture and appliances. I squeezed the filing cabinets in-between two desks. One desk fell apart when I did this—collapsed like a folding table. Its feet weren’t secured to the base of the desk because the base, I discovered, was rotten. The metal feet were just wedged underneath.

 

Everything in the office is filthy. It’s as if the previous occupant burned incense every day for the last 25 years. I sneezed every few minutes.

 

Erica is the master of feng shui in our house. I recorded a video of the layout and sent it to her asking for help. She made a few recommendations and I moved the bookcases again, rotated the desk, repositioned the couch, and called her for an update. 

 

I brought with me a hand truck and two large plastic bins to move my things. It only took five trips from one end of the hallway to the other to complete the job. When I was bringing my assortment of teas from 2022—the semester I tried to stop drinking coffee—a lady in the office across the hallway stopped me to ask if I needed help. When I told her I was nearly finished, she apologized and explained that she thought I was part of the maintenance staff. Her name was Lucy, and she had just started this Summer. 

 

Aug 11

 

It’s a week later and I still don’t have my office key. 

 

I went shopping with Erica in search of an ottoman to set in front of the accent chairs, which I’ve decided to turn to face the window. We went to two furniture resale stores and TJ-Maxx, which is a discount clothing and home goods store. The resale stores didn’t have anything that interested me, but we did find a leather couch set that looked suspiciously like the set we left at the end of our driveway four years ago. We felt strange about it—the way you might feel when running into friends you randomly stopped talking to. The TJ Maxx had a few decent options, but three ottoman-sized kids were treating the furniture section like a jungle gym. One of them decided to become a sales associate and show me which of the ottomans had a removable top with room for storage. Before I left, he asked me if I thought it would be okay if he hid a few toys in one of the ottomans. I told the little devil that I’d leave the decision up to him. 

 

Aug 12

 

I got an email from IT services to set up my phone in the new office. The technician apologized for the delay and said they were busy with other tickets. That’s how jobs get done at the university—by ticket. A professor notices a broken window and submits a ticket to facilities, or a department chair needs another section of PSYC 101 and submits a ticket to registrar.

 

I told the IT guy that I could meet him later that day if he had a key to my new office, because I was still waiting on that ticket to be processed by Key and Lock. We apparently have a department whose job it is to process keys or maintain locks. The IT guy didn’t have a key. I went in the next day and found the office was unlocked, so I arranged to have my phone moved. It only took a few minutes.

 

Aug 14

 

It has been 10 days, and I still don’t have a key to my office. But I have purchased the following items:

·      Two faux-leather ottomans ($125)

·      Coffee maker and box of (allegedly recyclable) dark roast pods ($75)

·      Six 12”x18” picture frames ($70) and poster prints of my book covers ($70)

These are all in my car awaiting delivery to my office.

 

Aug 18

 

The automated email from the Key and Lock office at my university promised ten days for low priority projects. At 11 days I sent a follow-up email to check on the status. They didn’t respond. It’s been 15 days and I have my first block of office hours but cannot get into my office. I can’t even reach my office door, because the little ante-room that leads to my office has its own key. I tried to find my dean, who has a master key, but he was at the dentist’s. Then I tried his assistant, who didn’t have a key. She said, “I don’t know what it is about that Key and Lock department! I had to wait two months for my key.” That was unsettling, but only because I’d like to have my key before I leave anything valuable inside my office. In the meantime, I’m driving around town with a car full of furniture and electronics like I’m moving into a dorm room. All that’s missing is a collapsible clothes hamper.

 

The dean’s assistant snagged a maintenance worker who was able to let me in.

 

I made a shelf for books that I’ve published. I only have copies of my two most recent books. I’ve given all the others away. And so I ordered new copies using my author discount. I still spent nearly $200 on copies of my own books. It's a strong argument in favor of self-publishing. I sat at my desk in my beautifully large office to begin working on my courses, and within ten minutes I was annoyed by a dial tone from an office nearby. Is there one sheet of drywall between us? The dial tone ran for one whole minute, I swear to God, and then it cycled between dial tone and the sound of electronic buttons being pressed. At least the concrete walls of my former office were sound proof. 

 

Right now and through the wall I’m listening to an automated voice saying, “Thank you, please listen to following options…”. It was interrupted by a cell-phone ringtone. I made a note to bring earplugs.

 

Aug 20

 

Today I was let into my office by a cleaner named Sarah. I brought my framed book covers and installed them above the bookcases. I used these tiny brads that looked like heavy needles, and I gently tapped them into the wall, careful not to annoy my office neighbors.

 

Before I left for the day, I was surprised in my office by a pair of young men. They brought a paper form and a giant key ring. “We’re here because I think you’re waiting on a key?” said the bigger of the two, and I said that I was. I felt like an editor had just emailed me with good news! I was hoping that this meant I was about to officially complete my office move, but the guy explained that they just needed to make sure the key worked before they had my copy made. It worked. 

 

Before they left, I asked if the same key could be used to unlock the door to the ante-room corridor outside my office. It did not. “We’ll have to get you a second key made.” I silently hoped they would test that key, too.

 

When I got home I saw an email from the Key and Lock department. My keys were ready.

 

Aug 24

I picked up my new office keys yesterday! The facilities office was quite a bit further away than I expected, and in retrospect I wish I had driven myself. But somehow I figured that walking to the parking lot and back was already half the journey by foot, and it’s not like I’m in a wheelchair or boot or anything like that. The walk was around 4000 steps according to my watch and 1.5 miles round trip according to my feet. All in full sun at 2pm with a temperature in the mid-90s.

 

I was psychologically prepared to be told that my keys were at some other facilities building, or that they were being held by a third party. Or that I’d need to come with one witness or pay a $50 incidentals charge. Or that I’d need an appointment or special access card. I thought I’d go to the wrong building at least once. All I was told is that the Lock and Key office was in the corner of our East Campus and at the bottom of a hill. “Can’t miss it,” said my dean, and his assistant agreed. I counted six buildings at the bottom of the hill and picked the one closest to the edge of campus. I walked through a dimly lit hallway and through a glass door. “How can I help you?” said a woman emerging from her office.

 

“I’m here to pick up my office keys,” I said.

 

“Are you Patrick?” said the woman.

 

I suddenly felt like campus royalty. They were expecting me! I had my keys and was back in the high heat within one minute. 

 

On the walk back I observed that one of the other buildings on the edge of campus was where students went to collect their mailed packages. A pair of students emerged with a small box and walked to their parked car. Then I saw a student with a box as big as he was. He was quarter mile ahead of me, walking. The poor guy must have been headed to the dorms that were beyond the building I was walking to, because he was still going when I reached my building. As I passed him, I saw that the box he was carrying held one of those scooters with the handlebars, which must be coming back into fashion in the states. I wanted to say, It’s a shame you couldn’t unbox it back there and ride it to campus. But I kept that to myself. Who knows if he needed a socket wrench or something. It would be ten times harder had he unboxed it and, realizing he didn’t have the right tools, stuffed everything back into the box and had to try to hold it all together for the walk back.

 

When I returned to the building I had sweat through my pants, but only at the shins. I was disappointed that, between the walk and a five-mile run that morning, my watch still hadn’t congratulated me on meeting my daily expected step quota.

 

 

Aug 25

 

Full of the hubris a brand new set of office keys, I loaded up my hand-truck with end table, ottoman, a case of printer paper, and a coffee maker. The whole ensemble weighed around 100 pounds, and I probably looked like an official facilities worker maneuvering it around campus. I barely fit inside the elevator, but I made it to the outer door of my office without dropping anything. Then neither of my keys worked on the first door.

 

Lucy from across the hallway is apparently waiting for her key, too. She wondered if maybe they gave me her key by accident, and she tested her hypothesis by trying it in her lock. They both worked on her office door, which was rather disconcerting for her, I feel. 

 

I went and found Sarah to let me into my room again. She was cleaning the women’s bathroom. She asked me how my day was going, and I complained about having new keys that didn’t work. “And it already took 30 days,” I told her. Sarah said she was having a good day.

 

Once she let me into the outer office, I tried my second key and it worked in my office door. Then I called the person who gave me the keys yesterday, and she told me to fill out a ticket.

 

Sept 1, 2026

 

I had left a little sticky note on the door I was powerless to unlock. The note read, “Please Leave Unlocked.” The note worked for a whole week! Poor sweet Sarah didn’t have to let me into my office even once.

 

Then today as I was silently whispering, “Please be open please be open please be open,” Lucy from across the hallway called out. “Jordan stopped by earlier,” she said. “He left the new key on your desk.” I said that I hoped the new key worked, then I considered how ironic it would be if he had locked the outer door as he left—one last kick in the nads. But he hadn’t.

 

That evening I told Erica, “I can now go to and from my office whenever I choose. I feel like a real professor.”