University of Virginia Library

Pish-Tosh But No Lockers

By ROGER LEONHARD

Like most incoming
graduate students, the main
objective of my first academic
year was to secure a gym
locker and at least a B average,
in that order.

My advisor –no fool, mind
you –spotted my preferences
immediately and cautioned
that there were fewer lockers
available than students who
wanted them. The word
"scarcity" formed on my lips.
My body trembled My advisor,
Perry Passu, also trembled. We
agreed that such problems
should not concern us. Indeed,
they more properly fall under
the domain of the federal
government, the PTA, and the
National Science Foundation.

We further agreed that any
discussion of my course work
should be deferred, contingent
upon the solution to the Great
Locker Problem. We gave the
secret handshake of our
profession, which I have since
mastered, and I departed for
the gym.

By the time I arrived, I had
managed to memorize several
cleverly prepared appeals:

1. for unspecified medical
reasons, I am required to
play handball (which is
true)

2. I know in my heart that I
need a locker more than
anyone else in the
University

3. the third is a classic
which I am saving for use at
a later date

The man at the cage looked
particularly gullible, and I
launched into my A-material.
"Pish-tosh, he bellowed, spare
me the equity pitch. Lockers
are scarce. If you want one
you'll have to pay $7.50."
"How crass", I muttered, and
began anew. He countered with
many fallacious arguments
concerning the immeasurably
of "merit", "need", and
"deservedness". I paid, but
only because of his badgering
technique. He was obviously in
error.

While recalling that incident
several days later, I noted that
perhaps I had been victimized
in this manner before, and that
this method of allocating goods
may actually be gaining
popularity. A quick phone call,
to a then obscure graduate
student at our Sister
Institution to the North,
confirmed my suspicion that
this was not just a local
movement. But who, I ask,
would have even suspected that
such an obviously unethical
and materialistic procedure'
would be allowed to exist at
Mr. Jefferson's Village?

Over the years, I have been
able to add several more
injustices to my list:
pay-as-you-go xeroxing and
parking spaces to name just a
few. (TIME PASSES)

Recently, I had occasion to
remember that September was
rapidly approaching which
could mean only one thing: it
was time to purchase my
locker and to prepare three
more merit appeals to convince
my department to provide me
with a library carrel. I am
particularly adept at the latter
but I became very concerned
when I noted that all of the
graduate students were
following my lead. Many of my
comrades, I suspect, were
capable of stretching the truth
and there were, after all
(fable-lovers will have already
guesses) only a limited number
of carrels. In a flash, I reacted
in a most despicable manner.

Taking my cue from the
intramural department, I
suggested to our Departmental
Carrel Allocator that the
limited number of carrels be
sold. He was horrified. I've had
my face slapped before, but
never with my own handball
gloves. I appealed to his
intellectual curiosity. A
meeting followed and,
surprisingly, my grad student
comrades agreed to an
experiment.

An auction was held. There
we were, huddled in a spare
room at the bus station, armed
with our "Big Bucks". Each
student was mentally
calculating what he would be
willing to forego in order to
purchase a carrel. It was
beautiful: carrels in both the old
and new sections were
simultaneously cleared in what
I shall call a "market." The
proceeds would be used to
purchase reference books
available to all the graduate
students. By my reckoning,
everyone seemed to be better
off we had the carrels and the
reference books certainly no
one was worse off. I'm not
exactly sure why I was so
impressed. It was as if
something invisible were
lurking in the background
directing the activity.

Alas, the library discovered
our scheme. It was inevitable.
A perceptive library staff
member reported to his
superiors that the carrels
allocated to Department X
were being used to a far greater
extent than those of other
departments. Deviant behavior
of this sort would naturally
warrant an investigation. Our
method of allocation was
pronounced "unethical and
illegal", or was it "immoral and
un-biblical"? Memory fails me.

Apparently, there were
serious flaws in the mechanism
I witnessed at the bus station;
flaws which disappear in the
presence of parking spaces,
lockers and xerox machines.
I'm confused, but curious. I
have, accordingly, asked my
advisor and the department
chairman to appoint a
committee of tenured faculty
members to thoroughly
investigate this mechanism.
Perhaps, if experts can be
found, one or more courses
could be offered to explain the
phenomenon.

Like every fable, this one
has a moral: copies of the
moral may be obtained by
sending 25 cents to Merkle
Press.