Last Call

Professor

I became a lawyer when I was still a tadpole, and I’ll shamelessly confess that I always enjoyed the “prestige” of the field.

Sadly enough, I came to the field of academia very late and it’s just bad luck that academia has a caste system as rigid as any in India.

My job is the lowest on the totem pole, and the pay is minimal, but I do love it so. And by the way, to all you 50 male lawyers who have said to me, “I’d love to do what you do, but I have so many financial obligations,” do you have any idea how obnoxious you sound?  How condescending you sound? You choose a high stress, high pay job and you’re enjoying the rewards. Good for ya. I don’t need a big house or a nanny or a stay at home spouse or a gardener or a 3 carat diamond ring. I look forward to going to work every day in a low stress job.

ANYWAY.

The one thing I crave, and it’s not money, is the lost prestige of being an attorney. I’m not even a “professor.” I’m an instructor. Gawd. That sounds like I’m teaching basket weaving to slack jawed mental defectives.

The dream of being a “REAL PROFESSOR” in a four year school has always been a wispy fantasy at the back of my mind.

I thought it was going to happen 7 years ago. I was offered a position at a small private college. I accepted the job and was scheduled for a final handshake interview with the president at 2:00. At 1:00 they left a message on my machine telling me the job belonged to someone else.

Last year the same small private college told me again that the job was 99% mine, then they sent an email rescinding their offer. Isn’t technology wonderful? They don’t even have to brush you off in person anymore.

So I was going on with my life, happily resigned to being an Untouchable, when I got a call on Monday. From the same school.

Dr. Jones called. He's a good guy, but he isn't the decision maker.

Lucky that I used to be a bar hopper. I was able to interpret the conversation based on Last Call Language.

"We have another tenure track position open," he began, filled with excitement.

Last Call Language: it's late, and you look good after my 6th Budweiser.

"I'll just be honest with you," he began. "We are looking for a Ph.D, not a Juris Doctor. But we offered the job to Dr. A, who turned us down. We offered it to Dr. B, who has a M.A. and a J.D. and a Ph.D, but had terrible job references. School begins in 3 weeks and our travel budget is exhausted. We already know what you've got. Are you interested? If you are, you'll have to come in tomorrow for an interview, because the dean is flying to India on Wednesday!"

Last Call Language: All the really cute girls have gone home, and I don't have the money to hire a hooker, so would you like to drive your car back to my place for a roll in my unwashed sheets? I won't be marrying you or fathering your child, but I'll try to find a decent condom....make up your mind now, or I'll just go home and cue up some porn!

"I...I....guess...." I stammered. "Great!" he replied. "Stay by your phone. How about 1:00 Tuesday?"

I didn't even bother to buy fresh pantyhose.

The phone rang at 12:00 Tuesday.

"Bad news," began Dr. Jones. "The Vice President insists on a Ph.D. He wants to reopen the job advertisement. He said, however, that if we were bound and determined to hire you, we could offer you a one year contract."

I believe this speaks for itself.

"Dr. Jones!" I laughed. "Leave a job where I have 14 years in, a job I love, for the chance of a one year contract! I want to be a professor, but I'm not insane!"

"You're right," he sighed. "Honestly, they'd probably readvertise next spring, terminate your contract, and hire a Ph.D."

"Thanks anyway," I said. "I truly do appreciate your candor."

"Um....would you like to teach an adjunct class during the day this fall?" he asked.

Last Call Language: I won't be marrying you, but can I drop by your place every couple of months for a quick visit if my wife is out of town?

I thanked him for being honest with me hung up.