The only people impressed with a PhD are undergrads and those who actually have a PhD. This is why when I finally got through to the department head at FAU and he identified himself to me as “Dr. Wilhelm” I knew we were not going to be fast friends. “Dude,” I wanted to say, “get over yourself.”
It had taken a while to even get to speak to this paragon in person. Apparently the life of Dr. Frederick Wilhelm, University Professor, is frightfully complex and his schedule is beyond the understanding of we cretins in the Private Sector. His secretary (“Mrs. Braithewaite”) was insistent that students could only speak to him during office hours. “I’m not one of his students,” I kept saying.
“Nevertheless,” said Mrs. Braithewaite.
Of course when he finally returned my call I was out with the dog, and when I called him back 5 seconds later, I got Mrs. Braithewaite. “Fiona,” I said, purposely annoying her, “it’s Guy again.”
“I’ll see if the doctor is in,” she said grandly, and I wanted to reach through the phone and slap her. “Of course he’s in,” I told her. “He just called.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Mrs. Braithewaite.
After a long pause Mrs. Braithewaite told me the doctor would take my call. “Alert the media,” I thought bleakly. “Organize a street dance. Ignite the fireworks: The doctor will take my call.”
A stern, Teutonic voice answered. “Hello, Guy,” he said. “This is Dr.Wilhelm.”
This was an overt power play; the good doctor obviously thought that by calling me by my first name while using his formal title he would establish a pecking order. “Hello, Fred,” I said. “Thank you for speaking with me,” and there was an appalled silence on the other end of the phone.
“I’m so sorry I missed your call,” I continued, “I was just taking the dog out.”
“You have a dog with you while you work?” he said sternly, as though his worst expectations were confirmed. But then, unexpectedly he softened just a hair, ”What kind of dog?”
“She’s a rescue dog,” I told him, seeing an opening, “mainly Lab mixed with….” but he cut me off.
“A mutt?” he said.
“Well,” I said, stung, “I guess so.” I paused “ But she’s part German shepherd,” I said brightly , as if that might sway Dr. Wilhelm.
I swear I heard him spit on the floor. “A mongrel is not a German Shepherd, ” he said harshly. “That is a pure, noble bloodline.”
Now I was creeped out. Call me old-fashioned but when someone with a thick German accent starts talking about pure bloodlines I get uncomfortable. I decided to get to the point.
“My company needs to hire a part time researcher,” I told him, “and in the past we’ve had good luck hiring grad students from FAU.” I told him the hours and the salary and asked if he could recommend any of his students. “No experience necessary,” I told him.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t want my students corrupted by the private sector.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “You’re not selling them into a life of servitude and bondage. It’s a job. A chance to make money and get experience.”
“Whether they get a job is not my concern,” said the doctor loftily. “My job is to teach them, not employ them.”
“Well, Fred,” I said, and I could hear him wince, “I’m so sorry to waste your time.”
“Good day,” he said. “And please refrain from calling your mongrel a German shepherd.”