The Reluctant Grad Student

Most of the coming week will be spent working on a human subject research project in my department, not writing. My colleagues were caught in a bind: summer vacations have resulted in a low number of grad students hanging around and able to work odd hours shuffling subjects through the rigors of the labs. I don't need the money, but at least it pays well enough that there's something left over after parking. However, I can think of better things to do with my summer than taking DNA samples from people with bad breath.

It's not that I don't like people...I do. In the aggregate. In theeeeeeeory. But not all at once and certainly not in close proximity. In praxis, I want distance. I love the asocial aspect of social networks. Dealing with a strange individual's spit is taking me about 2.5 feet outside my personal space, my bubble. There aren't thick enough latex gloves for the job. This is why teaching works for me. Classrooms and lecture halls afford the perfect buffer. Class over, they leave. It's the rare student who crosses the invisible line to "chat" or beg for grace or engage in some intellectual debate to prove to me they are smarter than their last exam may have (erroneously) led me to believe.

So it is with great reluctance that I lend my latex-protected hands to my fellow grad students and faculty. I will handle the spit. I'll be courteous to the subjects and think about the Pacific Ocean to quell the dry heaves forming as I mix chemicals and label vials. This was NOT what I had in mind when I enlisted in grad school.

MARGE SIMPSON

Bart, don't  make fun of grad students! 

They  just  made  a  terrible  life choice.

Most days, I disagree with Marge. Most days, I'm grateful to get paid to go to school. Most days, I don't have to play with spit. Those are good days. They'll be back.