I'm lost, but keep moving--the endless halls keep me moving, offering me no rest. I am utterly disoriented; I pass through ever-linking corridors, squares inside of squares that have no ending or beginning, no windows visible from the hallways--the landmarks are "this firedoor" or "that stairwell." Where is the department office? "This place is a labyrinth", I think, despairing that I can't possibly succeed in graduate school if I can't even figure out where my professors' offices are. I have to ask a few people and turn a few more wrong corners before I find myself outside of the English Department office.

Later I'm told that Turlington Hall is "architecturally correct"--every space is used; it is a feat of architectural ingenuity. Most people, however, describe the design as the work of a madman.

My students are similiarly disoriented when they try to find my office in Turlington for their first conference with me. As each student arrives, exhausted and befuddled, I congratulate him or her on successfully navigating through the tortuous academic, administrative, and architectural spaces to arrive at this point.