Every morning I come into my office, 9 o'clock, ready to spend another day running the university. I spend my time researching effective education strategies, planning for the future, and doing everything I can to make the UB experience a great one for thousands of students every semester.
But no matter how much work I do, I've gotta tell you: from my staff I get no respect.
When I call a meeting, I'm lucky if any of the vice presidents show up. When I try to hold a press conference, I have to set up my own microphone and podium because the AV guys are too busy playing "God of War" to help. Hell, even my secretary forgets to take down my phone messages most of the time. I get no respect, no respect at all.
Just last week I tried to sit Provost Tripathi down for a meeting about UB2020, and I couldn't even get him to take me seriously. All he kept saying was, "Chill out man, we've got like, 14 years before that thing is due. Besides, there's always Cliff's Notes if we don't get through the whole thing in time."
I don't even think he knew what I was talking about.
It recently took me a month of searching the campus to find Beau Willis, my chief of staff. Turns out he renovated the seldom-used basement of Slee Hall into a dimly-lit poker room. I don't even want to know what the books for University Business Services look like anymore. Last time I asked him, all he said was, "Don't worry, it'll all be straight as soon as I finish a little business down at the waterfront."
I swear when I hired these people it was because I thought they'd do their jobs well and support my efforts to continually improve the UB community. Man should I have known better.
With Tripathi's lack of guidance, I fear that all of UB's academic affairs are slowly devolving into nothing more than a punkish street gang. I swear I saw Vice President for Research Jorge Jose and Vice President for Health Sciences David Dunn wearing matching hoodies and carrying spray paint outside of Squire Hall last time I was on South Campus. That would explain the fresh tags on all the UB signs down there.
John Grela, chief of campus police, won't even help me try to stop them. "It's only South Campus," Grela told me. "It's not like it really matters."
Of course that means he also won't help break up the student riots that seem to be engulfing Ellicott. Apparently after years of dirty bathrooms and incomplete work orders, a band of students has taken over Joe Krakowiak's office, which isn't a surprise considering how often he's on vacation.
The part that does irk me is that my former right-hand man, Student Affairs VP Dennis Black, is reportedly leading the revolts. I should've sensed something was up when I asked him (of all people) to help me prepare an address to the student body and he told me to "talk to the hand."
Spectrum readers, I don't even know what to do anymore. As president, I'm supposed to be able to command the respect of my staff and colleagues. I made an appeal to SUNY Chancellor John Ryan on Friday, but he was too busy shooting the back nine at some snooty country club as part of his self-mandated long weekend ritual.
Therefore I leave control of the university to you, the students. I guess I'll just spend the rest of my tenure at UB in my tuition-funded mansion with my family and flying home to my native California during the bitter winter months, because in the end, I get no respect.
