Poor Grad Student

I felt like the little drummer boy for the first half of last week, nervously awaiting a team meeting on The Big Project That Puts Bread on the Table.  It didn't help that the night before, Professor Tom (i.e. Big Boss) stopped by my office (I have a real office to myself, with a door and everything-- that's how big this project is) to say that he looked forward to my input at the meeting.  He was half joking when he responded to my look of alarm with "Well, that's why I gave you this office, right?"

But half serious was too much serious for me.  I am very junior on the project and usually spend group meetings nodding and turning my head to say, "Prof Fudge?" whenever a question is posed in my general direction.  On Wednesday, I watched, aghast, pa rum rum rum drumming in my head, as the other teams presented their updates with detailed tables, slides, and plans, knowing full well that I had no gifts to bring and that Fudge only drew up a plan the night before.  When I was called on, I replied with a suave, "Yes, um, Fudge?"  It drew unintended laughs.

In the end, I blubbered a few sentences and Prof Tom was generous enough to find them sufficient.  Later, he said that he "had to" call on me because I was sitting next to him.  In actuality, Amber, silent throughout the meeting, was sitting next to him.  I was next to Amber.  Maybe she was so stealthy that he didn't even notice her.

Note to self: Be more like Amber.