Disillusioned once again by BU-reaucracy

Ryan burst through our door, a smile on his lips and a packet in his hand. “I’m going on the harbor cruise!” he exclaimed.

Ryan, a proud member of the class of 2000, had waited in line and got tickets to every Senior Week event he wanted. And his friends were all going too.

Next year, I thought, I’m going to go on the cruise. I’m going to wait in line or whatever to get this final chance to bond with the members of my class. On a boat.

Fast Forward to 2001. The Student Activities Office, responsible for such exciting events as “Fall Welcome,” “Parents Weekend” and the titillating “Activities Expo,” decided that this year, all tickets would be reserved via the Internet and awarded by “random” lottery. Students would receive notification of which tickets they could purchase at SAO. We would no longer have to wait in line, we were assured, and the tickets would not be hogged by the students who arrive the earliest.

There was a time when I felt lukewarm about filling my final week here with BU-sponsored events. I’ve noticed that their idea of fun doesn’t usually complement mine. Then I got a letter from the SAO inviting me to all the exciting events. “Join your classmates for a night out with the Boston Pops,” it beckoned. That’s not a bad idea, I thought. I would love to join my classmates and pretend to like classical music. Thanks SAO!

Imagine my disappointment when the e-mail landed in my Inbox: Harbor Cruise: 0, Boston Pops: 0, Red Sox: 0. I could go on. I didn’t receive a single ticket to a single event, except for the President’s Champaign Reception, which my parents had already ordered on their own.

Wow, I thought, BU has shafted me before, but I sure didn’t see this one coming. This was a maximum security-style shafting. They promoted these events to me, got me all excited and then REFUSED TO SELL ME ANY TICKETS! Even the Mystery Bank of Delaware has to follow through with their pre-approved Visa, and although a certain rip-off, their mystery interest rate would never come close to costing me 80 grand.

What is the point of all this, if they can’t let everyone come to at least one event?! Only BU could turn an activity, created solely for the purpose of enjoyment, into such a major headache.

I’ll be honest here. I really don’t give a hoot about the Boston Pops or some lame “Clambake” on a cold beach. All I wanted was one last opportunity to see the people I’ve met over the last few years, many of whom I’ve already lost touch with and don’t ever expect to see again. But I guess even that’s too much to ask.

I went down to the SAO, determined to find out what had happened. A nice lady explained to me that the tickets had been distributed by a “computer algorithm” that even she didn’t understand. She advised me that students would have a second chance to get unclaimed tickets next week, if we were willing to wait in line at 9:30 a.m. with a “crazy” mess of students. Exactly like the students last year, except with only a few tickets remaining. Maybe I was the only one shafted, I thought, so I set out to find some seniors to tell me the real story.

I found Melissa Krodman, a COM student, at the BU Pub. She wondered, “What’s the point of a Senior Week if you can’t go with your friends?” She said her boyfriend had gotten a ticket to the senior ball, but that she hadn’t. What good is a single ticket to a formal dance if you’re not a reject?

“Everybody thinks [the Internet distribution] is the worst idea,” said Tanya Shnaydman, a CAS student, who said she somehow wound up with six tickets, while most of her friends got one or zero. I guess the computer really liked her Terrier Card number.

Tanya’s friend, Rachel DuBois of CAS, said she only got one ticket for the Harbor Cruise and that none of her friends are going, leaving her dumbfounded. Drinking on a boat by yourself is only fun if you’re a belligerent sailor, which I understand she was not.

“My roommate was so sad,” said Janai Dimitri from CAS. “She called me and left a message saying that she had gotten nothing. She was practically in tears.” Way to go, BU. Your bureaucratic indifference actually made her roommate cry. “If people really want the ticket, they should just be able to wait in line,” she said.

“They should hold the events in venues that can accommodate everybody,” said Alyssa Sherman, of COM. “This is our last hurrah. With what we pay in tuition, it’s the least they can do to say thank you.”

And when that glossy packet comes in the mail a few years down the line asking for a financial “You’re welcome,” I’ll be sure to remember this final parting embrace. Goodbye BU. Thanks for leaving me with something to remember you by.