Point and Shoot, FL (YU)—
Q: That’s it?
That’s the story?
A: That’s it.
Chief
took us under his wing.
He
helped us get into Tulane.
We
thought our troubles were over, when we were accepted at Tulane.
Tulane
had a PhD program. An accelerated PhD
program.
We
expected to get our PhDs in three years.
Q: You didn’t?
A: In Disciplined Minds: A Critical Look at Salaried Professionals and the Soul-Battering System That Shapes Their Lives, Jeff Schmidt writes,
The prospect of failing the qualifying test frightens the student, even the student who is best at answering the kind of questions used on the test. The student is frightened because his desired future as a professional in his field of interest is at stake. But he is also frightened because society does not guarantee his material security (except at a life-shortening subsistence level). It seems possible for the individual, if suddenly of no value to employers, to go overnight from a job to walking the streets, from being somebody to being nobody, from living in the suburbs to living on skid row, left to struggle for survival among the desperate at the bottom of society. It doesn't matter that such individual downfall is very unlikely; by simply featuring the possibility, the system announces the fundamental insecurity of the individual. This insecurity unrelentingly haunts the student studying for the qualifying test. The student sees professional training as his chance for a secure future, with status and nonalienating work, his life free from the threat of a nightmarish trip to the bottom of the heap. An important part of his past is also riding on the qualifying test, because no matter how many years he has vested in preparation, coming close to passing is worth nothing in terms of attaining professional status. The years of preparation go down the drain along with the hoped-for career.
We
failed the qualifying exams.
They
said, “You didn’t fail, but we’d like you to take the exams again, and show
improvement.”
“How
much improvement, in what areas?”
“We’ll
know it when we see it. You can’t
quantify the PhD mystique.”
Q: You can’t quantify the PhD mystique? There’s no reply to that.
A: All you can do is rip off their heads, shit
down their neck, and call them Old Turdhead.
We
didn’t have what it took.
Q: But you stole the last year of your
fellowship, stayed at hone, and wrote.
A: Yes. I
gave myself a DIY grant.
Do-it-yourself.
I was
a DIY fellow.
Q: What did Brenda do?
A: She took a job mending books in the Tulane
library.
Q: I guess you showed the principal investigator.
A: Yes, and his XO, too.
The
subordinate investigator (SI) too.
It
hasn’t snowed.
It’s
raining.
A
hard, cold rain.