Hannelore Takes Note

By Margit Amundsen

What is a meat donut? What should you do about a fedora-wearing blind date? What makes a trampoline class dangerous? Is there such a thing as too much snark? Are French people funny? Join grad student Hannelore Riker on her adventures to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margit Amundsen
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988255203

Margit Amundsen

Some reviews for Hannelore Takes Note:"[L]ike talking to a girlfriend...lovely in [parts], funny everywhere else.""[I]t was compelling, the characters were imaginative.""[T]o each his own. This book wasn't for me." :o"I really enjoyed this book and was laughing out loud at some of the antics...""The author did a really great job of writing with a snarky wit...The characters were well developed..."

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Hannelore Takes Note

Margit Amundsen

Copyright © 2012 by Margit Amundsen

Smashwords Edition

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Characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by author.

Original cover design by retrogradestudio.com for exclusive use by Margit Amundsen

For L.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter One: September

Signed the petition yet?

Joel didn't wait for my answer. He had turned his head to see who was coming down the hallway. It was Ernestine.

Ernestine. Have you signed our petition yet?

For dental care?

No. No, we're asking the department to build new offices for the TAs. You know, on the other side of the building.

Oh.

If she said anything else, I missed it. I was too fascinated by her new black, clumpy shoes. Orthotics? Or a fashion statement?

She kept walking down the hall with phonebooks on her feet. Joel popped his head back into my cubicle, rolled his eyes.

Right. A-nyway, I’m having lunch with Wischnevksy and Davis tomorrow. Think they’ll pay for me?

The word no was almost out of my mouth, but Joel had already moved two doors down, to get Randy’s signature.

I returned to my course evaluations. Our department always provided TAs with copies of students' hand-written comments.

This one had lots of rounded vowels and neat printing. The work of a female. She had written, on the minus side: Hannah [sic] often seemed impatient and did not add office hours before exam week. On the plus side: The review sessions were helpfull [sic].

Next evaluation. Written thickly in pencil, very sloppy. The work of a male. This man of few words had noted only The quizzes must stop! Right on, dude.

I reached the last two evaluations.

TA was very organized and helped me to understand the lectures. I think she could be a bit more up-beat. This one was tricky. Did it count as a positive review, or a negative one? On the plus side, I was organized; on the minus side, I was not perky enough. Did the obvious flaws in my personality cancel out my effectiveness as an instructor? I decided to add it to the negative tally.

It was followed by a final evaluation that was even more to the point: Smile more. This meant I had received a total of eight evaluations explicitly referencing my solemnity. It also meant I'd done worse than last semester, when I’d received a total of six doesn't smile enough evaluations. Instead of doing better, I was doing worse. Punks.

I put the evaluations aside. It was time for another lunchtime talk. I locked my cubicle door and headed for the stairs.

I ended up behind Margo. Because she was the department administrator and I a mere graduate student, she saw no need to greet me. She did not acknowledge grad students unless it was absolutely necessary. Faculty members, on the other hand, got full and regular displays of her teeth. Maybe someone had once told her to smile more?

She continued down the hall, and I made my way to the conference room. It was filling up. I found a seat next to Jennifer who was eating a banana.

Can I still get a ride with you after the reception?

I nodded and wanted to ask about the two books on Congress she’d borrowed from me, but Howell, flushed red as usual, was already starting to introduce today’s speaker. Howell's tweedy jacket offered a counterpoint to his checkered shirt. The requisite good-natured ribbing – harhar – that was part of Howell’s public speaking was bound to come next. A year before I arrived on campus, Howell had made a risqué remark about a visiting speaker’s wife. Mark told me that things had nearly devolved into an all-out brawl. I had yet to get any confirmation of the story, but it provided a nice image. Howell’s face had probably gotten extra red during the altercation. Bet no one had fallen asleep during that talk.

Howell was done with his warm-up. It was time to start the feature presentation.

Let’s get started. Brian – Dr. Matthews – completed his dissertation at a rival institution that has poached two members of our faculty. But that institution has yet to achieve the job placement track record we enjoy. Here, Howell stopped to snuffle a laugh. A few of the other Silverbacks, who sat near the wall, chuckled as well.

We won’t hold this against him, however. We want to welcome Brian, and I will go ahead and turn things over to him, so that we can begin with the talk, he now gestured toward our visitor, whose face was obscured from my view until he stood and took a few steps toward the lectern. We’ll leave some time for questions afterward. Howell found a seat near the front and, apparently pleased with his witty remarks, smiled broadly as he settled into his chair.

Brian Matthews, now that I could see him, was quite a handsome fellow. He nodded a little at Howell’s introduction, but he did not appear irritated enough to remove his jacket, roll up his sleeves, and have at it with the red-faced tweed-wearer who'd taken a swipe at his alma mater. Howell's little jabs left Brian Matthews unruffled. What would it take to ruffle him? Perhaps some comment about his wife? A number of faculty members shifted in their seats, and the moment passed. Our hero with the unfortunate initials had already begun with his slides. We were going to learn about Rwanda.

I looked over at Mark and Sara. Both of them appeared unusually attentive. The shirt color he'd selected wasn’t as flattering as it could have been, but there was still no doubt about it: Brian Matthews was a looker. So far, he was certainly far more appealing than the raspy-voiced guy from New York who’d been in the hot seat only a week ago.

In front of me Dani took copious notes. Adam was twitchy as usual.

In the far corner, Bergman had already started to nod off. If the usual pattern held, his snores would be audible in ten minutes. Wischnevsky was listening, his eyes nearly closed to a squint. Reed and Sinclair seemed to be jotting something down.

Four slides into Brian Matthews’ talk, Davis pulled his usual disappearing act and left without a word, patting his chest pockets for his glasses before retrieving them and finding the doorknob.

The talk concluded. Howell surveyed the room to see if there were questions.

He saw Dani’s raised, manicured hand. Not one to be daunted by communal norms of deferring to the Silverbacks for the first questions, she looked to her notes, and asked about one of the slides. Now we had only to wait. Would Brian Matthews, lured by this confident siren, make the same mistake that the man from the Empire State had made? Would he flirt with her rather than answering the question? We did not have to wait long.

I agree that a comparison would be interesting. I tried to address some of those changes in my work by covering the break between the colonial and post-colonial eras. Was there a particular case you were thinking of? He asked this without the slightest tone of condescension. Dani looked just about ready to open her mouth again when Howell cut her off, Maybe the two of you can discuss that more extensively after the talk if we have time – let's see if we have other questions first?

The idea of chatting with Brian Matthews after the talk appealed to Dani. She remained quiet. McCaffrey jumped in to ask a question about the model’s underlying assumptions. The question was met with nods of Silverback approval. The back and forth continued from there.

Once the Silverbacks had made neat work of slicing and dicing Brian Matthews, it was time to prep the welcoming committee. McCaffrey headed to the front of the room to chat with our guest, and Howell joined them to clap Brian Matthews on the shoulder and give him a hearty handshake.

The noise of the audience’s clapping roused Bergman. His chair, which he'd tilted fully back against the wall, came down to all four legs with a thump as he awoke suddenly. After collecting errant saliva with his right sleeve, he looked around the room contentedly. Maybe Jennifer was right. Maybe the additional hours of sleep were what made him more consistently amiable than most of his fellow colleagues.

Wischnevsky and Sinclair now stood together to discuss something. Dani got up, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and appeared ready to ply Brian Matthews with questions. Ernestine rose and headed for the door. The orthotics appeared to have gotten her upright more quickly than usual. Maybe it was the extra weight. We all began to file slowly out of the room.

Are you going to stay long? Jennifer looked tired.

I doubt it. I want to finish my lit review and go to bed early. Why?

I need to get back to the kids. Em has a cold. She sniffed and buttoned her granny-style cardigan. Jennifer and her kids regularly had colds. Her children seemed to be breeding grounds for the full panoply of seasonal illnesses. Even here, in a climate I considered tropical.

I need to get my bag. She started down the hallway.

I don’t think I’ll stay for more than a few minutes. We can leave soon.

Wasn’t Brian Matthews lucky to have his talk scheduled for the same day as our fall reception? The three years of department receptions I'd witnessed had taught me valuable lessons about un-refrigerated hors d’oeuvres. The stomach cramps that had followed my consumption of cold cuts that first year had been violently instructive. Nor, if Ernestine and others were to be believed, had I been the only casualty that year. Even faculty members had suffered. It was rumored Wischnevsky had lost a little corner piece of his tooth to a stale toffee confection from the dessert table.

In any event, I had learned from my mistakes. I now avoided all reception food. Wischnevsky, for his part, remained undaunted. He loaded up on dip before leaning in to chat with Sinclair. A small bit of masticated food landed on Sinclair’s gold silk blouse. She shifted her weight to her right foot but she kept talking to him without missing a beat.

I scanned the room for Jennifer. She didn't seem to be at the reception yet.

Margo counted the wine boxes. She was probably keeping track of how much the grad students were drinking. The budget allotted to the reception had no doubt been cut this year, as belts were being tightened, but Margo kept track of every departmental penny no matter the economic climate. It was possible she would station herself by the beverage table to ensure that only faculty members could get booze. It was also likely she was using the big red bow