Frustration cycle

I'm sitting at my desk, busily checking student statuses for an important project.

The office phone rings. I ignore it and the secretary picks it up. That's fine, it's not my phone. It's not my job to answer it.

Someone walks in the door. He towers over me, probably over six feet tall, and I'm sitting down. I smile politely as the secretary's phone call ends. She helps him. I keep typing numbers. He talks loudly. I realize I've typed in the same name twice. I try to block out the sound and keep working, a smile pasted stickily on my face.

Another student walks in the door. Even taller than the first one. He comes to my desk and looks at me hesitantly. I glance up, he draws a breath... I cut him off and say, "She'll help you in just a minute." He closes his mouth and nods. He stands there waiting, inches in front of my desk. The other student is taking a long time. The second student keeps looking back at me. My sticky smile melts rapidly into a grimace of frustration. My pulse speeds up.My palms are sweaty. My insides scream at me to ask what his question is, to offer to help him. I feel I'm being very rude. He's inches away, he's staring at me, staring me down, wondering who this incompetent student secretary is who won't help him. It's not my job, I think to myself. I have my own work. But I can't remember what name I was on, and the spreadsheets in front of me are blending together into one confusing mass. The first student is still talking, loudly, louder every minute, it's so loud, the second student stares and stares... I stand abruptly and walk into another office until they're gone. It's not my job. I'm not a receptionist. Over and over again, pounding through my head, but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know that there's no REAL office space for me, that I'm just sitting at the front desk looking silly because there's nowhere else to put me. He just sees another student secretary,  younger, probably, and shorter than him, who is being very rude and refusing to help him.

The noise distracts me. I can't think. Finally I return to my desk and pick up where I left off.  They're gone. I can breathe again. My pulse slows. I wipe my hands on my skirt and try to remember what I was doing when it started.

The phone is ringing again.