A salute to those who often go unnoticed by students on campus

It's another late-night-turned-early-morning and the work is almost done. Like most everyone else on this campus, I'm looking forward to the start of my tomorrow today, just five short hours from now, and I'm not exactly excited about it. Actually, I'm kind of dreading the incessant bleat of the alarm clock and the solemn eyelids still shut walk to the bathroom come 10 a.m.

But, then again, it might not be so bad. If it is anything like yesterday morning, that morning routine of teeth brushing and soap lathering might just be the highlight of my day.

You see, most mornings, the bathroom my nine hall mates and I share is a nagging reminder that I didn't get enough sleep the night before, or that there was still unfinished work to do in between my 11 o'clock English and 12:30 Italian classes. Usually, the mirror reflects back a bitter 19-year-old male that would much rather be continuing that shower dream I was just yanked from than getting in the actual shower. The wee morning hours (and by "wee", I mean the ridiculous hour of 10 a.m.) most always hold for me the realization that the day has started, whether I was ready to catch up with the sun's schedule or not.

But yesterday, my morning commute to the bathroom was interrupted by a jolly man named Rich. Immediately, he stopped short what he was doing and smiled, giggling to himself as he watched my sleep-deprived stumble along the corridor. I went about my business for a moment, not realizing there was another man witnessing my Crest and Oral B tooth-dance. Then, a glance to the mirror with eyes finally able to say their first "hello" to the daylight, and I saw him: Rich, my faithful Building Services representative, with a light-bulb in hand and a Dennis the Menace grin plastered to his face.

"Hey, Rich! How's it going man?" I spurted out, sincere glee accompanying my words.

"Pretty good, man, pretty good. Whatcha doing up so early, huh? Never thought I'd see you at this hour," he replied.

And that was all it took to make my day. I threw back a toothpaste-muffled chuckle and shook my head, marveling at the way such a simple verbal jab could make me feel warm and welcome and like I was home.

Rich always makes me feel that way, like I'm where I'm supposed to be and that things are how they are supposed to be. I met him last year on a similar occasion three stories down in my old bathroom. That day, I had slept in and missed a few classes, lying to myself that I "didn't mean to fall back asleep." I walked in with a towel around my waist, frustrated with the fact that what my Italian professor was going over was going to be the one part that actually was on the final. The door creaked open and I saw Rich tinkering with the paper towel dispenser. He looked at me and my grim countenance and said, "Some days the alarm just don't go off, don't it?"

I'm not quite sure that he realizes what he does for me, for us. And he's not the only one. There's Bernadette in the Wu Dining Hall, jolly and accented, spicing up daily life with a warm compliment or an even warmer smile. Or, what about Ernie at Frist, towering over his co-workers with an air of friendliness and jovial emotion with every meal he serves up. Sometimes it's the proctor that takes the time to smile as I pass him, or the nurse in McCosh that helps me realize that a red eye can mean you need more sleep, not pink eye ointment.

I'm not connected to these people through a common understanding of what it's like to be a student here at Princeton. Nor am I in awe of their intellectual prowess as much as I am with various professors and preceptors. These people do not have authority over me like any of my deans or advisers.

Yet, in many ways, these people are much more of what Princeton means to me than anyone else. They are a constant reminder that this institution is more than just facts and numbers and books and homework. They show us all that there is more to Princeton than a lecture or study session or precept or office hours.

These people — the ones that work day in and day out to ensure that we wake up comfortably and go to sleep with a full belly — are the ones that show us that Princeton is more than just a place to learn — it is a place to live.

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Their lives are unavoidably intertwined with our own, and the verve with which they attack daily life inevitably rubs off on all of us at one point or another, helping to remind us that life does exist outside of lecture hall.

Sometimes, it's an amiable high-five as a Princeton Club is handed across the counter. And sometimes, it's just a good-humored joke thrown your way as you brush your teeth. Alfred Brown '05 is from Manhattan Beach, Calif. He can be reached at aebtwo@princeton.edu.