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From orders above, the ping pong table (and its ugly sister, the foosball table) have been sequestered to the loading dock. Ted and I moved it from the loading dock to that rare sun-filled room about a year ago and we rolled it back to storage after one last match. It will probably be dusted off once in a while for a game, but no one likes chasing errant slams scuttling under crates of forgotten equipment. Pity, since the ping pong table has been an beacon for students and staff during its heyday.

Some players took the game so seriously–Can would only play with 3-star balls or better. On the other end of the spectrum Josh and Adam perfected a variant of ping pong where one could play off the walls, the opponent, or the occasional bystander. In any case, the welcoming syncopation between the ball’s patter and players banter bounced through the basement’s stoic halls.

I managed to drop by the room this morning where a woman was already painting the walls white, again. We talked a little…ironically, the room is being converted to the offices of a magazine dedicated to conservation. The room had a bare, sterile feeling with the exception of the white board. Somehow, though, all our scores were still there, a glimmer of the room’s former identity. “Yeah, I’m doing that next,” the woman said nonchalantly. She didn’t mean it menacingly, but I quickly snapped a few pictures to preserve the origins of that room.

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