We Need To Talk

Huzzah.
Just finished the last of a series of three soc candidate colloquiums. This time around, things looked hopeful. For a second, it appeared as if the faculty to student ratio would be a little less then 10:1. But when that the dust had lifted and men* saw what had occurred, there were ten professors around me, and I the student nerd. Now quick, tell me what great work of literature I just alluded to.

Oh nevermind.

Point was, it was excruciating and now it's over. Just one more obligatory coffee/chat with a candidate and we're done for the year. I am free to not think up analytical questions about people's dissertations. Speaking of which, the purpose of all this awfulness and processing and hobnobbing with faculty is that the Bo' is hiring, folks. So, if you or anyone you know happens to be a soc professor already, perhaps in a city of about 67,000, just put word out there that the Bo' is looking to make an offer. Perhaps the Bo' will not hire whoever you may or may not have had in mind, and perhaps that person will not want to come to the Bo', but that person sure will make the colloquiums more interesting, and really, that's what's most important.

In case you couldn't decipher my meandering thoughts, our theme today is, as usual, excruciating awkwardity. When something needs to be said. When you've got to break it to somebody. Our program today, in three acts.

*and women, this is a soc talk, after all.

Act I
"Listen, I think there has been a mistake." No.
"There's something I have to tell you." No, that didn't sound right either.
"I'm going to tell you something and you're not going to like it. But I need you to not judge me."

And there Mark was, early one morning, pacing to find the right words. It was 1:45 am. He had a prefrosh with him, a crew recruit keen on observing their practice. The crew team, noble masochists that they are, meet at the Polar Bear at 5:30 each morning for their practices. Mark, anxious that the recruit only had one chance to go to practice, felt the pressures and responsibilities of waking the prefrosh on time. If I oversleep, he thought, I'd blow it for this kid. And so, when he awoke at 1:31 am, in his altered state, Mark was frantic. He thought it was 5:31 am, and that they were already late. Quickly, he dragged the prefrosh out of bed and the two of them made a dash for the Polar Bear. Along the way, en route to the restroom, Mark saw his roommate. "Hey, you're up already!" Mark exclaimed in surprise, as he's normally the only one up at 5:30. In fact, Mark found it odd that he kept bumping into people all the way to the Polar Bear. "This is weird," he kept saying to the prefrosh, "there usually isn't anyone up at this hour." Things got more odd, of course, when they reached the statue. And waited. And waited. And no one showed up. Finally, Mark, who, along with the prefrosh, was watchless, decided to check the clock in the crew van. It blinked 1:45.

There he stood. This prefrosh, checking out the Bo'. Evaluating. Judging. Considering whether he should apply. And there Mark stood, this sophisticated, college upperclassman. Dear God, he thought, how do I beging to explain our stupidity?

Act II
Tam, like the good nerd that he is, is on great terms with most of his professors. They love his artwork, they love his thoughtful analysis, and they love his good grades. And so, he felt no hesitations joking around with them. Coming back from the summer, he ran into a professor he had had, who was pregnant.

"When's the baby coming out?" He said, jokingly pointing and poking at the bulge of her stomach.

"I already gave birth. I'm having a hard time getting back in my original shape."

Um. Congratulations?

Act III
We have a routine. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, the crew eats together after biochem. We eat in one of the long tables in the Dark Room. We always announce, ahead of time, who's eating that day and who's not, who has to run to lab, who has to go to work, who has time to hang. The row of us, we keep clear tabs on everyone and we respect the system. So last week, when I knew I was eating lunch with Band Man, I announced it to the group ahead of time. Many a jokes were made at my expense. (How else are jokes made?) But I took it in stride. All was well.

Today, however, 10 minutes before heading into class, an email message from Band Man. Can we reschedule? Of course we can. It was totally understandable. And we quickly found another time.

All I had to do now, was break ik it to my friends that I'll be eating with them. Because I got ditched. At the last minute. By my professor.