Big Tuna

For three people who are taking a course pass/fail, for three people who haven't purchased the text book or taken any notes in class, who have walked out of lecture for onion rings, boredom, or just to chat with friends, Allison, Laura, and I are fastidious about being punctual to Environmental Health. Each class, we rush to the lecture hall at least 8 minutes early, just as the previous class is about to let out. We do all this to stake a seat in the prized last row, where demand exceeds supply. Once we spread our stuff in the seats, we go about our business--take a walk, check our email, do econ problem sets, pass notes, spill steak & cheese all over the desk (surprisingly, not me)-- anything that doesn't involve listening. It's not that we are terrible students, it's just that Environmental Health is very crowded and depressing. The bits of knowledge that manage to seep in despair us, like How Two Drops of Mercury Slowly Killed a Beloved Professor, Never Swim in Open Water After Rain (only in the northeast), Haiti, Sometimes Standards are Made Up in the Absence of Knowledge, and of course, How Being an Academic Can Lead to Death Threats. And for the past week, the course has felt like a giant game of Marry Boff Kill (chuck, f*ck or destroy) with Cholera, Arsenic, and Thirst. So we do our best to lay low in the back row, all the while knowing that though our topic is different, we're training to be exactly like our lecturers. The back row is a rare gift of a break. Because in life, we can't actually hide from our public health calling and pretend we don't hear what bothers us. In life, we're taking on the giant problems (pharmaceutical spending, long term care, health reform, etc), using the same analytical methods Environmental Health is teaching us, and dismantling the problems, one tiny depressing piece at a time. We just won't be doing it from 10:30-12:30PM on Mondays and Wednesdays.