It’s quite obvious ME is in hell. Anything to make a literary audience think man, that’s so 9th level. ME must have dug themselves all the way down. They are baffled as to why the door reads Department of Being Told Your Problem until she looks up and sees DEMON. DEMON huffs loudly over a tiny desk, though he comes up no higher than ME’s waist. The Demon still manages to look down on ME as ME approaches.
DEMON: What the hell do you want?
ME: I thought this was the Department of Complaints.
DEMON: Were you given the keys to the actual Department of Complaint?
ME: It said it was an EMPLOYEE DOOR
FLASHBACK if necessary. EMPLOYEE DOOR PUPPET was really quite rude about it. DEMON stares, not sure what, exactly, the student is getting at. He sighs and pulls down an organizational University Chart. It’s done in various methods of puppetry. There’s a clear stone wall between those to who the policies apply and those who have the power to say oh, just fuck off already. Some do, in fact.
ME: But you’re a public institution! Your funding as a research institution should matter it matters!
DEMON snaps gum he clearly doesn’t have.
DEMON: Did any of those regulatory services you tried even care what we did?
ME: The Provost told them my problem was I didn’t like the way class was taught.
DEMON: Wasn’t it? At least the Ombudspeople have just left you in an emotional hell while you wait.
FLASHBACK IF NEEDED. LEVEL SEVEN IS FUCKING HELL. ME BARELY ESCAPES ITS GRASP.
DEMON:The PROVOST said you just didn’t like how the class was taught. That is your complaint because we tell you it is.
ME: But I never said that!
DEMON SIGHS LIKE HE HAD NEVER, EVER, EVER BEEN SO PUT OUT.
Demon: FINE. Let me see your paperwork.
ME GIVES IT OVER. DEMON PEERS AT IT. AS SOON AS DEMON REALIZES THE DOCUMENTATION SHOWS ME IS TELLING THE TRUTH, DEMON BECOMES FURIOUS AT IT.
ME: Respondents cannot dismiss complaints about themselves.
DEMON: THEY ABSOLUTELY CAN!
ME: Says who?
DEMON: The RESPONDENT!
ME: So the provost gets to decide what a student’s complaint is regardless of what their complaint is?
DEMON LEANS BACK.
DEMON: So you DO get it! You just play ignorant.
ME IS SHAKING AT THIS POINT.
ME: That’s not this works.
DEMON HANDS ME A DIAMOND SHOVEL COVERED IN SHIT.
DEMON: You can keep digging, but not a single SHITSTAIN in this institution cares to know the truth. The sooner you learn powerful men can just tell you what your problem is the better.
ME: For whom?
DEMON DOESN‘T FEEL THE NEED TO SAY IT.