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It may be the height of summer, but the temperature of the Bahen IT
building allows me to wear crisp long-sleeved blouses. Which is why I
doubled my efforts to find the Mythical Ironing Board said to inhabit
the common room.
Right by the door, my roommate said. From the elevator, turn left, go
straight, and go in. By the sink, another said. Somewhere there.
I looked everywhere for anything that vaguely resembled an ironing
surface. I found an outlet near the sink, but the white plastic didn’t
look like something I should be ironing my clothes on.
Up and down. Asking for directions.
On my sixth trip down, I finally collared someone and asked him if he
could please explain to me exactly where the mythical ironing board
was supposed to be.
He walked back with me, opened the door, and said, “It’s right
th… Hey. Hmm. It’s not there.”
Well, at least I know it doesn’t really exist.
Mom, could you bring me an ironing pad? Something small I can use in the room.
ÃƒÂ¤Ã‚Â»Ã‚ÂŠÃƒÂ£Ã‚Â‚Ã‚Â„ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚ÂŽÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚Â¼ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚ÂˆÃƒÂ¥Ã‚ÂžÃ‚Â‹ÃƒÂ£Ã‚Â‚Ã‚Â³ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚Â³ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚Â”ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚Â¥ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚Â¼ÃƒÂ£Ã‚Â‚Ã‚Â¿ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂƒÃ‚Â¼ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚Â¯ÃƒÂ¥Ã‚Â¼Ã‚ÂÃƒÂ¥Ã‚Â½Ã‚Â“ÃƒÂ§Ã‚Â®Ã‚Â±ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚Â¨ÃƒÂ¥Ã‚ÂÃ‚ÂŒÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚Â˜ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚ÂÃƒÂ£Ã‚Â‚Ã‚Â‰ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚Â„ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚ÂŒÃƒÂ¤Ã‚Â¸Ã‚Â€ÃƒÂ¨Ã‚ÂˆÃ‚Â¬ÃƒÂ§Ã‚ÂšÃ‚Â„ÃƒÂ£Ã‚ÂÃ‚Â ÃƒÂ£Ã‚Â€Ã‚Â‚ Now note computers are as common as lunch boxes.
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