Dean Ourman

When I was hired at the U of Roqueforte/Weaks in 2001, Radiation Safety was part of HSU, or “Health Services of the University,” the medical group which mainly doctored the students. Being new to the area, I went to HSU for my my primary care physician, Dr. Brad Rochester, who I still see to this day. The RSO at that time answered to a Dean; Clint Ourman, MD PhD. I didn’t have many interactions with him. He retired soon after I was hired and the strongest memory is having a small retirement lunch at a nearby brew pub.

After Dean Ourman retired a disastrous change took place: the Radiation Safety group was placed under the control of HSG, the Health and Safety Group, which was lead by Marcus Clovenhooves. Marcus was a tall, red haired man who wore the oddest looking cowboy boots I’ve ever seen. They were rather stumpy, his feet seemed to be a size 6 extra wide, but they had high heels which forced his knees forward such that he seemed to be walking on his tip toes. He chain smoked cigars when outside, but even indoors there seemed to be wisps of smoke occasionally rising from his slightly pointed ears.

Marcus had a bizarre little henchman, or henchwoman, named Marguerita Semolina, who cooked the books for HSG. Her budgets never balanced, but somehow she kept her job. Soon after the change, Penny heard a strange thumping noise coming down the hall outside the office door. She got up from her desk to peek out the door, and opened it just as Marguerita was opening it from the outside, almost leading to poor Marita falling on her face. As it was, a dozen or so bobby pins fell from her curly black hair all over the floor. She picked up an old radio speaker from her gray plastic cart and used the magnet to pick up the pins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry” said Penny. “I just heard a thumping and wanted to see…”

“It’s OK,” said Margie “you just heard my cart. I just need to find one more matching wheel and it won’t be quite as noisy anymore. I built that cart from the ground up. Do you need one? I rescue ’em from the dumpsters whenever I see ’em.”

“Oh, um, no thanks. Not in the market at the moment. Are you here to see Antonin?”

Marguerita turned to her cart and picked up a rusty red toolbox. She gave a little grunt as she lifted it up, then walked over to Penny’s desk and set it down with a thump. Bobby pins, paper circles, rust and several ants shook loose onto the distraught desk.

“Is that a three hole punch?” Marguerita asked. “I save the little paper donut holes. Thanks.” And she emptied the paper holes into a large manila envelope and the floor.

“Did you want to see Antonin?” Penny repeated. But he had already come out of his office on hearing the approaching storm.

“Hi, you must be Marguerita. Marcus Cloaca told me to expect you.”

“Hi, yes, you can call me Margie or Marita, or Marguerita. Marcus, and it’s Clovenhooves, not Cloaca, a cloaca is a chicken’s vent, or butthole, Marcus sent me over to check everyone’s computer.” She opened her toolbox and pulled our some rusty pliers, tweezers, jewelers glass, elmers glue and what appeared to be duck taped RAM sticks.

“Our computers are fine, Marita,” said Antonin, involuntarily putting his hands against the door jambs leading to his office, eyes a bit wider in disbelief and terror, “and if we do have any problems we’ll just call IT.” Penny hid a smile behind the back of her hand.

“IT will charge you too much. It’s my job to keep spending within budget. I do as much as I can for every group under HSG, and from now on that includes you.”

“Thanks for explaining that, Marguerita. And thanks for stopping by. Give my regards to Bacchus.”

“Marcus.”