Monday, November 30, 2009
Hank the Homo Nearly Breaks The Email Meter. Larry from Laconia Is First To Fire Up the RYS Spanking Machine.
I have taken a few candidates out to dinner for an opening in our department. I have never asked about a spouse, partner, significant other, or fuck buddy because I don't care. I don't care what you do on your time. I do care about what you do on my employer's time. All my questions and comments are directed toward what I care about.
The culture of my department appears reminiscent of the New York Yankees of the middle to late 1970s. Twenty-five guys getting into 25 cabs after the game. However, during the game, they are the best you will probably see; each contributing in their own way. At that dinner, I need to know how you perform on the field, not what you do off the field.
At dinner, I want to hear about your stream of research. I want to hear what you have been working on, what you are working on, and what you will be working on should you get a job here. I want to hear about assignments that did and did not work in the classroom. I want to hear your thoughts about why you think those assignments did or did not work.
What I don't want to hear about? Your tomato crop. Your cats. Your trip to a rustic cabin where you churned butter. I don't care.
I don't care if you are fucking the captain of the men's or women's basketball team. Unless, they are enrolled in your class at the time of said fucking. Then, I care. Short of that, I could care less whether you go home to John, who breaks you down like a gun every Saturday night, or to Jane, who is a former haute couture model. D.O.N.T. C.A.R.E.
When we are at dinner and you have figured out that I know you will never get the job done in my department, you need to mention something - anything - that you think makes you interesting. Some faculty throw out how much they travel. Others mention the fabulous section of town and/or utlra cool house they live in. You? Your only thing of quasi-interest is your sexuality.
Make sure you get the tiramisu here, Hank the Homo, because this dinner is the last meal you will eat in this town. And, no, you didn't blow my mind. You did, however, bore the crap out of me.