Abstract: (Like all academics I will summarize my articles into a paragraph so you can skim the abstract and impress the department chair and/or the Dean with the 25 cent version of the tale) This article applies the theory of lowest common denominator and testicular-fondle theory to the phenomena of grad student success and failure. In this study two grad students with manners fail miserably, while a loud and rude grad student who touches his testicles succeeds wildly with the department and later professionally.
Introduction
My parents raised me all f#%ing wrong. I realize that now. I never really had a shot in life. You see I was raised not to manhandle my testicles in public and also not to insult people’s homes. My parents even taught me stupid things like dressing for an occasion and bringing gifts to a host when invited over to their home. All useless archaic bulls#$%t ( sorry, I’m bleeping everything for the benefit of all the soccer moms, FCC employees and good Jesus folk who might stumble upon this blog-o-tragedy).
Anyway, it wasn’t until after grad school that I learned just how badly my parents had done raising me. You see despite volumes of qualitative research which sat in the trunk of my car for weeks on end, I failed to truly appreciate the concept of reflexivity until after graduation.
“This program is bullsh#t!” and other delightful dinner conversations
I was in somewhat of a freak out. I could not believe that I had left the house without the bottle of wine that I purchased for the dinner. My mother suggested I stop and buy a cheese plate… but what if the host was lactose intolerant. I really knew very little about Dr. Z’s dining habits and needs. In the end I opted to go with a nice house season flower. I forget the type. Dr. Z’s wife graciously accepted the gift and showed me to the living room where several of the other grad students were already awkwardly perched.
There was Christine, the driven would-be politician. Grad school for her appeared to be some detour from her sleep-my-way-to-the-middle career in the state bureaucracy. She spent most of her time laughing awkwardly and/or rolling her eyes when anyone else spoke on virtually any topic.
There was Felix who sat well-dressed, politely perched on a blue velvet ottoman. Felix had entered the program at the same time as me and we would later become friends. Next to Felix was Ryan the sneezing Bill O’Rielly wanna be. Denise the feminist and Sara the houseplant. Err I mean colleague who was working on her MRS degree.
And then there was Mikey. Mikey wore stone-washed jeans with torn knees and had a pony tail that almost reached his ass. Mikey had first attracted my attention at a meeting for all the Teaching Assistants. He came into the office with polariods of what appeared to be an 18 yr old Latina sprawled out nude in a dorm room. “Don’t get no better than this” he repeated several times.
At the time I was humored by the fact that he was essentially revealing to me that he was f%$&ing one of his students and photographing it. I imagined he would be bounced out of the program any day. I’ll admit it, I thought he was an idiot and unprofessional. I was so foolish.
Back inside Dr. Z’s house Mikey kicked off the conversation with his usual grace and charm, “This program is a f$#%ing joke, isn’t it.” He laughed smiling from ear to ear. Dr. Z stood in the door way smiling. Felix coughed uncomfortably. I looked at my shoes. Christine said “Dr. Z. do you know William Peterson the Senator? I attended one of his parties last week. He’s so funny.”
Dr. Z sat down, “Yes, yes I think I do.” He requested that we all introduce ourselves. I smiled and spoke briefly about my background noting that I was from Missouri. From that time forward everyone in the department asked me if I missed Wisconsin. Someone also apparently spread gossip that I was a Mormon, an inaccuracy that I could never chase from professor’s minds no matter how much I disavowed it.
Christine smiled, laughed and began to recite every politician she had ever met, had lunch at the same restaurant with or seen crossing the street in front of the capital. And then it was Mikey’s turn, “Man what’s with this art on the walls. This is ugly.”
“My son painted these” Dr. Z responded.
“Oh, I thought so ‘cuz it looked like a 5 year old did it.”
“My son was 34 when he painted these. That’s what he does.”
Christine cleared her throat. Paul went to the bathroom. Felix stifled a laugh. I pretended to tie my shoe. Mikey laughed. Dr. Z maintained the same awkward smile. “Let me check the roast,” Dr. Z said as he shot up out of his chair.
Christine looked at me and whispered (holding her hand in front of her face) “oh my god, he’s playing with his privates.”
Sure enough it was true. Mikey was not only a scholar in the making, but also a professional ball handler.
Good Manners, Good Jobs
I left that night thinking that Mikey was a moron. Felix and I laughed about the whole thing the next day over lunch. Little did we know that three years later Mikey would be making over 60 thousand dollars a year and have an appointment as an instructor at the very school we graduated from and we would be both unemployed.
