THE VIEW FROM THE FOURTH FLOOR

Written by Driscilla Dehtan Storrs

Four years ago when I applied for the Clerkship Coordinator/Transcriptionist position, most of the interview was conducted in the 4^th floor conference room. The interview was friendly enough, but my gaze kept turning toward the ceiling-to-floor wall-to-wall windows looking to the north from the Tech HSC. The view looked out onto three flagpoles – Tech, U.S. and Texas flags – and the parking lot. Beyond the parking lot were wheat fields, the Rawls Golf Course, and the Texas sky as far as the eye could see. I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes focused in the room. My husband has always teased me about my appreciation of the plains. He grew up in Colorado, and for a number of years we lived in Ft. Collins, Colorado, on the Front Range of the Rockies. From there, we moved to Athens, Texas, at the western edge of the Piney Woods. Both of these were beautiful locations, but I complained about feeling closed in. On our trips back to see family in the Texas Panhandle, I would breathe a sigh of relief at the openness of the plains, and Robert would shake his head and say, “I know. I know. Not a tree to spoil the view.” When we finally moved back to the Panhandle area (officially the South Plains), I was grateful to be back where the sky was a vital part of the scenery. Then in the interview on 4^th floor, I had a great view of golf-course green grass and autumn foliage as well as the blue Texas sky. Apparently noticing that I couldn’t stop looking out the window, the business manager who was conducting the interview said, “I’ve always liked the view from the 4^th floor. If you go to the 3^rd floor, you don’t get a wide enough view. If you go to the 5^th floor, you get a great view, but it’s too far to identify any of the people. I think 4^th floor is just right.” Ah, someone who understood.

For the first couple of years in my job, the 4^th floor conference room was the lunch room for “the girls.” We had a lot of interesting conversations while I continued to gaze lovingly onto the horizon outside the wall of windows.

Two years ago, our department chairman, retired military, accepted an opportunity to take a three-month assignment in Iraq. He left Lubbock in March and returned in June, so he was in Iraq when summer was heating up. In one of his e-mails to the department, he described the sun parched brownness of the area where he was located. He said, “Compared to Iraq, Lubbock looks like Paradise.” I went to the conference room – still my favorite view – and took pictures through the window – pictures of the three flags waving in the Texas breeze with the golf course visible beyond – and included them in a care package to our chairman. My note with the pictures said, “Just to remind you what Paradise looks like.”

Last year, our department began an expansion project that is still underway. As one of the early steps of the expansion, two of us had to give up our individual offices and were assigned to share the conference room. Now the view is mine at all times. My officemate and I have a full view of the north sky and can see weather systems coming in – blue cold fronts, gray rainstorms, and red dust storms. In fact, when a weather front is approaching, we can count on having a number of visitors to come in to check on it. One day last December, dark clouds formed, teasing us with the possibility of rain. After a few large drops fell, the rain stopped, the wind strengthened and the horizon turned red as a dust storm moved in. Several hours later, the wind died down, the air cleared of dirt, and a partial rainbow appeared in the sky. I thought only in Texas would a rainbow appear after a dirt storm.

Sometimes when I work late, I’m still in the office at sunset. I’ve tried to take pictures of some of the beautiful sunsets, but the inadequacy of the digital image mocks my efforts. I’ve decided you just have to be there in person to enjoy it.

When people come into the office for the first time, they usually comment on the view. Most frequently, the comment is something along the lines of, “You really have a great view here” or “You have the best view in the building.” But sometimes the comments are a little more unusual. One student looked out the window and said, “Too much sky. There’s nothing to anchor us to the planet. I don’t know how it is that everything doesn’t just float off into space.” It turned out she was from Boston and loved the noise and crowding of the city. In Lubbock she had deliberately found an apartment near an ambulance service because the sound of the siren was homey and comforting to her. The wide open spaces are not for everyone. At another time, a group of three students came in, and one of them stopped suddenly, stared out the windows and said, “Mountains! There should be mountains out there.” I assured him the mountains were indeed out there, but he would have to drive several hours to see them. In the meantime, (I borrowed my husband’s comment) there wasn’t a mountain in the way to spoil the view. The plains are not for everyone either.

My office in the former conference room is temporary. At some point, the room will be returned to its conference room status or be given to someone of higher rank and I’ll be assigned to an interior windowless room – or the basement – but for now, I’m enjoying the perk of the shared office and the unobstructed view of the flat horizon.

Posted by Nicki Wilcoxson for Driscilla Storrs