locked out

Last night, I drove home in tears.
The day had begun fairly well, then proceeded to slide over to the dark side.
I have been in the process of applying for a job opening, but was having some difficulty getting a file completed and getting another uploaded. At the department meeting, it became very clear that if I were serious about the job, I needed to finish up my application quickly. After all, several folks there at the meeting knew two weeks earlier that I was applying; I'm sure they were all wondering if I had changed my mind, though none had approached me concerning my decision.
For the file not yet written, I am sure folks might have wondered if I were simply procrastinating. I wish that had been true. But, no. The file was not yet written because I hadn't yet determined how to even begin the document. A preliminary search the week earlier had yielded no such document had ever existed except as a listed requirement for this particular job opening at this particular institution.
A unique document. Wonderful.
Nonetheless, the time had certainly come for me to compose such a document, even though I did not know what exactly was to be discussed in such a piece. My mind had been tasked with the work for a week and, ready or not, the writing was now at hand.
Truly wonderful.
My schedule was already quite busy, with midterm approaching and the preparation and grading of tests for my classes and the grading of piles of lab documents. Why not one more item crying loudly for attention?
Fine.
That afternoon, one of my students from last term came to see me about a make-up test. She has been going through a very bad divorce since the third week of this term. When she arrived, I counseled her to opt for a hardship withdrawal and sent her to the necessary office to start that process.
I truly hated to see her leave the class, hated for her to be going through such a hard divorce, hated that her husband had shut her out of the funeral for her father-in-law. I know her to be smart and optimistic and helpful toward others. I know her to also be fabulous at organizing study groups to benefit other students. Now, she would be gone and her absence would be a tangible change to the class dynamics.
That evening, I returned the red-stained exams to my students. A few had done well, but many had not. I scolded the class, reminding them, as I have all term, that this next material rested firmly on all of the preceding material. If they were lacking a solid understanding of all that was covered for the first two exams, the third exam would assure them a failing grade in the class. I reminded them of the need to study more, alone or in groups or with me during office hours. I was pretty hard on them.
I then began the new material to a more somber, but hopefully for diligent, class.
Then we had our soap-making lab. By this time, I was tired. I knew the lab would be a long one, requiring me to be on my feet for yet a few hours more.
Then, afterward, I exited the main building and found: I could not get to my office.
Again.
Frustrated, I contacted security for the second Wednesday in a row. Yes, they would send someone by. Yes, if I wanted, I could send them an email in the morning and make a request to change the lock-down times for the two buildings.
And I waited. And waited some more, in the chill night air, wearing only the T-shirt for that night's lab. I distracted myself by texting my bfe, complaining to him about the situation. He was incredulous that I did not have a key.
Finally, after almost ten minutes had elapsed, I called security again.
I could almost hear the "Oops!" in the dispatcher's voice. She assured me that someone would be by shortly.
And so I waited a bit longer.
And when the officer arrived, he proceeded to chide me for not taking what he thought was an acceptable alternate route to reach my office. As if I were somehow to blame for finding myself locked out of the building. But when I reminded him of the actual working of the fire door, he conceded that I was correct.
Meanwhile, he had unlocked the outer door, for which I have no key, for which I have never even been offered a key. And as I entered the curved hall leading to my office, I found myself sobbing.
I so want to stay at this university.
I so want to continue doing what I do there.
But I don't even have a key to enter the building where my office is located.

I took myself home and wrote the scholarly description document. Actually, the document fairly well wrote itself. I even uploaded it that very evening and made plans to complete the job application the next day.

Today, I updated the software on my computer to allow me to scan in my transcript, the last piece remaining for my application to be submitted.
I also wrote the following to security and sent a copy to the department head.
Here's hoping I will not be locked out next Wednesday.

"For the second week in a row, I have emerged from an evening lab in the south wing of the Science Center to find myself locked out of the north wing, where my office is located.
I have taught at Armstrong for many years and this has not been an issue until this term. I do not understand why the Science Center bulidings are being locked earlier now than in the past.
Last night, I waited almost 15 minutes for Campus Police to come by and unlock the door. This was on a chilly night; my jacket, of course, was in my office, as I did not need it to traverse the short distance between the two buildings. The officer suggested that I could have entered the north wing by exiting the south wing on the second floor and then entering the first level of the north wing via the fire door between the stairwell and hall. I reminded him that the fire door is locked on the stairwell side, making that path to my office inaccessible. He agreed.
Now, in accordance with my first conversation with the dispatcher last night, I am requesting that the doors to the Science Center buildings remain unlocked until at least 10:20 PM.
Please."

It would have been nice if I had been offered a key.
Even if I only have two months left in this job.