I suppose it had to happen at some point of my stay in Oxford. Today I locked myself out of my room. The procedure was to borrow a spare key from the porter and return it right away. After I returned the spare key I punched in our building code and I stepped in with from the heat, glad for the brief coolness that inhabited the ground floor but resenting the two flights of stairs that would take me to my own hot room.
For whatever reason, before I started climbing up, I had an urge to go downstairs where the small basement hallway is lined by locked doors. These steps are dark and wooden instead of carpet like the ones that lead to the bedrooms. I’m thinking it should be cooler down there. With every step down the sour smell of damp mildew and urine gets stronger. When I reach the bottom I check all the doors again to see if they are locked. I’ve done this once before and they were all locked then. Unreasonably disappointed, I turn back to the stairs when a dirty round object catches my eye. Dusty and covered in who knows what was a frisbee beside the staircase with these words on it:
Could it really be from 1992 -since before I was born? If it was, how long has it been down here with this candy wrapper and dented soda can? Why did no one clean it up since who knows when? With the tip of two fingers I flipped the frisbee over and leaned it against the stair railings. It is most definitely from Illinois.
I think I shall leave it there for now. Perhaps someone from the WiE program 2014 will find it.