seems industrial organization professors just study organization. I don’t seem to have the quality of organization myself.”
Peter chuckled at his little joke. No one else did. Peter massaged his scalp but finding no hair continued self-consciously. “Umm. Yes. Well, as I was saying, there isn’t much to report. As for a second position, clearly, we have to see what the budget is for Edmund’s position and, umm, the risk averseness of the candidate.”
Again , Peter gave a little chuckle.
Snickers of laughter reluctantly broke out around the room. It wasn’t clear if they were laughing at th e appalling microeconomics joke or the idea that the next hire would also die. Though, it soon became apparent where the focus of the room was.
People threw out suggestions of colleagues whom they didn’t like who should be offered the position. One person asked if the department could offer the position to his wife, as his divorce was costing him a packet. Others, irritated by the graduate students they had to supervise, offered them up as bait. Jefferson observed dryly that his sympathy for the hiring committee was perhaps misplaced. It seemed there were plenty of candidates.
Walter banged his fist on the desk, trying to call the meeting back to order. “Let’s hope the hiring committee has more progress to report next time,” Walter said acidly. “I am sure they don’t want to have to increase their teaching loads to cover the shortfall. The second agenda item is who is going to teach the Econ 101 class, which is now unexpectedly without a professor. The class takes place on Mondays and Wednesdays at nine a.m. Any volunteers?”
Now the room was deathly quiet. No one berated Walter for not mentioning that the class was without a professor because that professor had been murdered. To do so might draw unwanted attention and, therefore, the responsibility of teaching the class. Instead, people looked intently at their computer screens, studied their cuticles, seemed fascinated to discover they had shoelaces, and were amazed by the number of wrinkles on the backs of their hands.
After a minute or so of very uncomfortable silence, Walter smiled. “Well, C.J.,” Walter said in an overly cheery tone, “since you love me as much a...what was the phrase exactly...‘hog loves mud’ I think...I am quite sure you won’t mind doing me this little favor. Would you?”
C.J. had not climbed this high in a male dominated profession for no reason. She did not display her emotions, regardless of how she felt. And right now she was furious. Edmund’s class was on Mondays and Wednesdays. Her class was on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Now she would be teaching all four days, with little time for research. “Oh Walt. You just go and sign me right up, sugar.”
Walter smiled victoriously . He would needle that Tex Mex disaster into resigning one of these days. If it was the last thing he did.
Walter then peered down at his notes, unsure how to introduce the third agenda item. Now he couldn’t avoid the topic of Edmund dying so inconveniently in the department. “As you know, our dear friend and colleague Edmund DeBeyer has...passed on.”
People looked up from their computer screens. It was a bit late in the meeting to start expressing sympathy now. What was Walter up to?
“His funeral will be tomorrow night at the Triunity Church on the Square. Seven o’clock start.”
C.J. wondered how the body had been released from autopsy so quickly. Maybe the forensic lab had liked spending time with Edmund as much as his work colleagues had. Or, perhaps more likely, The Ego had jumped the queue, thanks to the Eaton University powers that be.
Walter looked down at his notes again and shuffled his papers awkwardly. “Also, the Provost and the college,” Walter stopped. That didn’t sound right. That sounded like he was doing the bidding of others.
Walter continued, s peaking slowly and deliberately, “I am concerned about how
Peter chuckled at his little joke. No one else did. Peter massaged his scalp but finding no hair continued self-consciously. “Umm. Yes. Well, as I was saying, there isn’t much to report. As for a second position, clearly, we have to see what the budget is for Edmund’s position and, umm, the risk averseness of the candidate.”
Again , Peter gave a little chuckle.
Snickers of laughter reluctantly broke out around the room. It wasn’t clear if they were laughing at th e appalling microeconomics joke or the idea that the next hire would also die. Though, it soon became apparent where the focus of the room was.
People threw out suggestions of colleagues whom they didn’t like who should be offered the position. One person asked if the department could offer the position to his wife, as his divorce was costing him a packet. Others, irritated by the graduate students they had to supervise, offered them up as bait. Jefferson observed dryly that his sympathy for the hiring committee was perhaps misplaced. It seemed there were plenty of candidates.
Walter banged his fist on the desk, trying to call the meeting back to order. “Let’s hope the hiring committee has more progress to report next time,” Walter said acidly. “I am sure they don’t want to have to increase their teaching loads to cover the shortfall. The second agenda item is who is going to teach the Econ 101 class, which is now unexpectedly without a professor. The class takes place on Mondays and Wednesdays at nine a.m. Any volunteers?”
Now the room was deathly quiet. No one berated Walter for not mentioning that the class was without a professor because that professor had been murdered. To do so might draw unwanted attention and, therefore, the responsibility of teaching the class. Instead, people looked intently at their computer screens, studied their cuticles, seemed fascinated to discover they had shoelaces, and were amazed by the number of wrinkles on the backs of their hands.
After a minute or so of very uncomfortable silence, Walter smiled. “Well, C.J.,” Walter said in an overly cheery tone, “since you love me as much a...what was the phrase exactly...‘hog loves mud’ I think...I am quite sure you won’t mind doing me this little favor. Would you?”
C.J. had not climbed this high in a male dominated profession for no reason. She did not display her emotions, regardless of how she felt. And right now she was furious. Edmund’s class was on Mondays and Wednesdays. Her class was on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Now she would be teaching all four days, with little time for research. “Oh Walt. You just go and sign me right up, sugar.”
Walter smiled victoriously . He would needle that Tex Mex disaster into resigning one of these days. If it was the last thing he did.
Walter then peered down at his notes, unsure how to introduce the third agenda item. Now he couldn’t avoid the topic of Edmund dying so inconveniently in the department. “As you know, our dear friend and colleague Edmund DeBeyer has...passed on.”
People looked up from their computer screens. It was a bit late in the meeting to start expressing sympathy now. What was Walter up to?
“His funeral will be tomorrow night at the Triunity Church on the Square. Seven o’clock start.”
C.J. wondered how the body had been released from autopsy so quickly. Maybe the forensic lab had liked spending time with Edmund as much as his work colleagues had. Or, perhaps more likely, The Ego had jumped the queue, thanks to the Eaton University powers that be.
Walter looked down at his notes again and shuffled his papers awkwardly. “Also, the Provost and the college,” Walter stopped. That didn’t sound right. That sounded like he was doing the bidding of others.
Walter continued, s peaking slowly and deliberately, “I am concerned about how
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