Opinions Back to Fool: My Annual Complaints Laura Kelsey S o the 2007 fall semester is in full swing here at Douglas, and I'd like to be the first to take a swing at the college. As I am unsure of whom to address my complaints to, I will exercise my right to protest in print, and at the same time (hopefully) give the hint to any readers who may be perpetrating the problems I discuss. My first seal of disapproval is to be stamped on the foreheads of all the smokers outside the west entrance of the foyer. There is a designated smoking area for these students and faculty, but most of the time—especially when it rains—they huddle around the door like a herd of water buffalo protecting their young — but they are hurting others, not helping anyone, and security needs to address the issue. I understand that in a few years outdoor smoking areas will be banned altogether, but I will have moved on by then, and future bylaws do not help my present lung capacity. My next grievance involves health as well—it seems that most able-bodied students do not realize that the elevator needs to be free for those who are mobility-impaired, or for staff moving “Stairs are great for your ass—so I implore the student body to use them” large appliances. Recently, I was injured and found myself having a very hard time getting around. As a usually active person, I am inclined to take the stairs to classes; but my damaged legs no longer agree with me. I should be using one of the school’s elevators, rather than limping up the stairs to the fifth floor. Instead, I learned quickly that lazy students are constantly filling the elevator, making it take much longer than necessary, and discouraging me from using it. Granted, students are only human, and humans get tired and damaged. But I find it hard to believe so many students are physically disabled, whether permanently or temporarily —especially when the elevator doors open and people come pushing in before I can exit. Stairs are great for your ass—some folk even pay to use the Stairmasters in the gym. So, I implore the student body to leave the elevator to those whose bodies are broken. My final gripe is ripe with bitterness, so I will try to keep it light. The bookstore is a constant source of scowl-faced students, what with its ever-increasing prices and lack of used books. But last week, I was faced with a new bookstore induced grumble—the Douglas College book return policy. The policy states, “Returns will be accepted within 14 calendar days with the sales receipt.” This makes enough sense: The bookstore needs to keep things up-to-date, and it does not want to be ripped off. I feel the same way. So, when, in a flurry of book purchases, I bought the wrong course pack and lost my sales receipt, I went back just days later to exchange the unopened, still current pack. Unfortunately for me, the incorrect item I bought was just over $10, and the one I actually needed was $44.10. But my luck got worse, because the clerk refused to exchange the course packs, even though I wanted to swap for a more expensive item. When I asked where I could complain, she said, “Nowhere.” And therefore I aired my dirty displeasure here in the college newspaper. But, in doing so, I encourage all students to write in to the paper about their complaints and voice their concerns in our letters section— because that’s one reason we have it. Complain about me complaining; I'll just bitch right back. Wait, so I'm not “HB Free” after all? Laura Kelsey oe a series of three vaccine shots spaced over the sixth grade, most of my classmates and I received pins that we proudly displayed on our oversized t-shirts. The buttons read “I B HB FREE”: The simplicity of the message kept the slogan in my head for the next ten years. In that time, when the need for medical blood work arose, I proudly reiterated the pin’s straightforward saying, comforted in my belief that I would never be susceptible to the disease. And doctors never second- guessed the vaccine’s preventative power—so I was never tested. Then, last month, during a session of routine allergy analysis, my doctor decided to order extra blood work. With the tests, he included the ABC’s of Hepatitis— which I scoffed at. “No worries about the Hep B, doc! I’ve been vaccinated, so ‘I B HB FREE.”” But the testing went ahead, anyways, and I received the strange results a few weeks later. Everything was normal, not even a cat allergy. What shocked me was what I didn’t have in my blood. The doctor explained to me that I did not have the Hepatitis B anti-bodies that had been injected into when I was 11 years old; so, although I did not have the disease, it was as though I had never been vaccinated. I was stunned. All these years I had assumed I had been immune to an illness that I was very much vulnerable to. What happens if I had said yes to a Hep B-sufferers orgy, or became blood brothers with a group of suspiciously jaundiced locals —all the while thinking I was resistant to their physical plight? The vaccine gave me a false sense of security, and its failings remind me how there is rarely 100 percent protection toward the prevention of disease; and it also had me wondering if further testing is required to determine if any other vaccines or immunizations have failed over my lifetime. In sixth grade, I got my pin, but no proof—I will definitely not be led blindly to a needle again!