Quit Fantasies

It is low-level frustrating to be a new department chair. You are stepping into a bunch of different situations that are already in process and trying to take over control...usually only to learn that what you thought was going on is either way behind or far ahead of where things actually are. That is actually okay -- frustrating, but not deadly.

The problem I am wading through now, however, falls into the category of "the important stuff" -- the stuff I don't want to fuck up, the stuff this job is really about. This problem falls under the heading of "faculty retention" and it is not going well. The faculty member has been lovely to deal with, both open and patient. The administration...well, let's just say xx xxx xxxxxxx xx xxxxxx xxx xxxxxxxxx x xxxx (edited for job security purposes), everyone is working their own agendas while still trying to look like they care, and the only one who has come up with any actual ideas has been me. Me? Yes. The brand new chair who has almost no experience upon which to draw. And everyone seems just a little too happy to tell me why my ideas can't work and not at all willing to actually suggest any of their own or figure out the right labels to apply or boxes to check to make the intent of what I suggested happen.

So yes, today, I'm having fantasies of telling them all to just go stuff it. But I'm not going to, because I'm not going to screw this faculty member. I'll get the deal to happen, even though it is fairly apparent that I have very little actual power because I don't control the right resources. And then I will no doubt trudge on to the next crisis, but there will be some trailing bitterness that will trudge on with me. It didn't have to be this way and, frankly, it was a shitty way to treat a new chair... (another edit here, recommended by a loyal Yesterday supporter).

Gems from the draft box...

On the theory that it is better to laugh then cry, I share with you these gems from the most recent midterm season...

"I'm sorry I missed the exam, my liver hurt."

On the Identification section (what was it and what was its significance to American history?):

The Spanish America war was a war with Spain to win Texas and California.

Serve Me

I've been feeling distinctly under-served lately. This theme has been going on for several months and I'm struggling to think of any example lately where I've felt adequately tended. My biggest complaint is certainly with restaurants. I actually walked out of one on Tuesday when people who walked in after me were tended first -- despite my attempts to get the staff's attention.

That I live in a college town does mean that servers rotate quickly and probably are undertrained, but isn't something like eating out so ubiquitous at this point that most of us, even if we are only 20 and even if we aren't given much training, know what good service is? Of course, the ubiquity of eating out and purchasing services may have dulled our (societal) expectations. We just have our meal, maybe grumble a little that our water was never refilled or that the food took forever to come or that the bacon we asked for on a separate plate came in the pasta, and then move on, knowing that we'd be eating out again the next night or the night after that. Eating out is rarely the treat it was for my family when I was growing up, so I think we expect less.

Since my gig as a single parent has started, however, I'm finding that I crave a bit more out of my out-in-the-world experiences. My kids help with food planning, prep, and clean up only grudgingly. It is a chore to get them to do anything and, frankly, 95% of the work of a meal falls to me. I'm working to shift this dynamic a bit this summer, but for the time being, couldn't someone run and fetch for me? I'm happy to pay for the service. I'm just tired of feeling like I have to police the service.

And I could use a good long foot rub. But that is a whine for another day.

See Me

Once again today, I ran up against the misguided image people have of me and my blood is boiling. What makes this so infuriating is not so much that the image is wrong -- how well can I expect people to understand my interior anyway -- but that people deploy it as if it is a "cute" little quirk of my personality. Except that what they are implying is not cute. To suggest that I'm some sort of overachiever, who doesn't know her own limits, who can't control her energy, who never listens to advice that advocates patience is just insulting. And I'm at a loss as to how people can't see that.

As anyone who has ever ridden a mountain bike or served on a panel with me knows, I do know and (and sometimes overly-) respect my limits. High energy does not mean recklessness. Independence is not just knee-jerk stubbornness. To make these traits into the defining characteristics of my personality, is to question my rationality. And it is not cute.