My Optimism is Getting me Nowhere

I've gotta hand it to the ninjas over there at Georgetown Residence Life.  I didn't see this one coming.

So.  When they sent me my housing agreement (along with their admonitions to get it back to them as soon as possible because it was time sensitive-HAHAHAHA)  they included the name of my future apartment-mate.

I looked him up and sent him a message on facebook.  It was a standard: "hey, I'm your apartment-mate for next year, nice to meet you, let's talk sometime about what we're each bringing to the shared kitchen.  Here's my number, etc...."

A few hours later he sent me back a message saying, basically: "oh hey it's great to meet you too, but my letter says my roommate's name is *****.  Are you sure you have the right person?"

I checked my letter.  Yes, I was sure.

"Clever girl," I said in my best guy-from-Jurrassic-Park-who-realizes-he's-been-outsmarted-by-raptors voice.  In this metaphor, the office of residence life is the pack of velociraptors.

I call up the office of residence life.  I ask if the person who is supposed to be in charge but who is never in her office is in her office.  She is not.  She "just stepped out."

When my reslife swears they are made of truth,
I do believe them, though I know they lie.

Shakespearean asides aside, I ended up talking to a very nice guy who had access to files and he pulled mine up.  "Oh," he said, "that is your apartment-mate.  The guy who he thinks is his apartment-mate canceled and withdrew his application a while ago, which is why you are his apartment-mate now."

Me:  "Okay...  does he know that?"

Him:  "... we should have sent him an e-mail letting him know that."

Alright, so no real harm done, but just one more fun chapter in navigating a heavily bureaucratic system. The terrible thing is that it has still been about fifty times more pleasant than dealing with insurance companies.