Why do I put up with this shit?

Most days I really enjoy being a graduate student. I love having class, talking about books, I even enjoy writing papers and look forward to the days when I can write papers about the topics I choose. However, today was one of those days that I asked myself repeatedly why do I put up with this shit? Please allow me to elaborate.

I am sitting in my office today. I was writing a paper on literacy surveys I conducted about my families literacy habits/acquisition. It was a rolling along smoothly and I was actually enjoying my brother's vastly different point of view on the importance of literacy. He believes that being able to read and write does not matter and that you are, in fact, better off not knowing how to read. Let's just say he believes ignorance is bliss on a certain level. I realize I am grossly misrepresenting his view of literacy with that statement but his opinion of literacy is tangential to this story. Anyway, imagine a happy zewell cool cranking out his homework listening to Kanye West's "Touch the Sky." A very catchy tune by the way.

I hear a tap on the door, thanking it is a student I shout, "Come in." In walks a professor who has read my thesis. He is holding a bunch of post-it notes stuck together. On it is written a crappy little poem which he proceeds to stick to the monitor of my computer. Several lines of of a poem written from about five or so different words. It did not make all that much sense to me but of course I have to play along and ask "What is this?" He says, "That is my ode to your thesis." I am either dumbfounded or just plain disinterested at this point so I say, "Alright" and stare at him blankly. He says those are the words that are repetitive in your thesis so I decided to write you a poem. I was taken aback so I look at the post it notes more closely. It has the words truth, confession, sexuality and like three articles/pronouns written and rewritten to make a shitty little poem. He says, "You see how the same words used and reused can be repetitive?"

I pause for a moment but before I can think I grab the poem and wad it up, and toss it in the trash can, and say "Thanks for pointing that out." He seems a little shocked by this action, and says awkwardly "Didn't you like it?" At this point I have a strange mix of fear, anger, and repulsion brewing. I am trying to control my natural reaction to lash out viciously because I am very close to graduating and I don't want to torpedo my graduation two days before my defense. So I choke down my rage and staring at the trash can without looking at him I say "Yeah it was very clever" and then I look directly at him and say, "Kudos." I sit looking at him angrily without speaking. It begins to dawn on him I do not find this remotely funny. He looks almost jellied out like he realizes his poor attempt at humor has not only bombed but that it has bombed so spectacularly that it might even be a bit dangerous. I stare him intently and say "Is that all? If so I have a paper to write, and I really need to get back to work." He says, "yeah...uh that was it. Um... Think about trying to..uh..cut down on some of that...you know...repeated word use." He never looks at me again before walking out of the door.

I sat there looking at the computer for what seemed like eternity choking down the impulse to either walk next door and blast him verbally or just throw him a beat down. I had a strange mix of fear and shame going that I haven't felt since I was a kid when I used defend my father for all the abuse he used to throw my way. To my credit (or discredit I cannot decide which) I never said a word. I sat there like a bitch and acted professional. Ten years ago I would have beat him down, thrown him out of the second floor window, and walked out of here with my head held high, and no regrets. I have found myself wondering all day what has happened to me?

I am so angry but part of me thinks I may have overreacted to his little poem. The English major in me thinks I should have found it clever and played along. But the real person in me knows that it was a petty, shitty, little backhanded way of taking a shot at me by a very small man. How could anyone think something like that was funny knowing a person had spent the better part of a year working on this project, and would be very sensitive to such a petty joke? I should have just told him "Next time why don't you try circling the words and writing repetitive in the margins you fucking dick."

I have wondered all day long why I put up with this shit. Being a professor doesn't even pay well. I could make more money going home and starting my own construction company or working as a contractor. I could coach high school football and be making 85,000 in four years as an athletic director/head coach. I know there are assholes like this guy in every profession but I think I should at least be compensated well for dealing with their all their bullshit. It was so insulting and degrading that I really do not even care if I graduate anymore.

I am not really sure what hurts most at this point: the fact that I did not say anything, or the fact that his poem was so insulting and hurtful? I know this: Whichever, I think my defense just got a lot more interesting.