I’ve been thinking
a lot about money lately. Our university’s faculty are part of a union.
This year, we’re renegotiating our contract, and our major appeal is
for more money.
Those who
oppose this argument call the faculty greedy and self-serving, but
really, we’re looking to be average. You see, we are the second lowest
paid faculty of all the universities and colleges in the state.Our
argument is that we’d like to be paid what the average faculty member
makes in our particular university system.
I rather
delight in the notion that we faculty want to be average, though I’m not
sure if I’m eager to go on strike in a fight for average-ness. Just
imagine: instead of the rallying cry, “The people united will never be
defeated,” we’ll be chanting awkwardly, “The average people united will
never be defeated.”
This issue of higher salaries has become even more important to me because of my recent promotion.
After two
years of service at the university, I earned a promotion this spring
from assistant to associate professor. (Promotion isn’t connected with
tenure here, so to those of you who are aware of academic promotion
procedures, don’t get too excited thinking I just finagled tenure in two
years! I didn’t.)
I was so
excited about this promotion until I saw exactly how much more money
I’ll earn a year. Gulp. It’s a paltry, sad amount. I can’t believe I
invested so much extra effort these past two years for so little payoff.
This revelation makes me wonder: What exactly am I willing to do for
money?
And the answer is, just about anything.
While I
love the teaching and scholarship that comes with being a professor, I’m
not a fan of the committee work that is required of good academic
citizens.
Don’t get
me wrong; I happily serve on several committees that meet regularly,
discuss pertinent issues, and make decisions. I just wish committee
membership didn’t require homework. I mean, it’s like I’m back in grad
school, taking classes. Only this time, the classes are for ETERNITY.
I’ll never graduate.
And the
worst part is when I’m asked to help raise money for academic programs
supported by said committees. I hate, loathe, and despise asking people
for money.
I once quit a job as a telemarketer because I couldn’t make the weekly sales quota of 5 subscriptions per week.
In the
fifth grade, my friend Patricia could saunter up to boy (any boy!) and
ask for and receive a quarter, so she and I could play Ms.PacMan at the
roller rink. Any boy I encountered looked away with disdain.
Clearly, my
sauntering skills were sorely lacking.
When I
was a Girl Scout I was supposed to sell cookies door-to-door in our
neighborhood, but I handed over the order sheet to my Dad who took it to
work with him. He, not I, earned several hundred dollars for my troop.
What I
didn’t know when I accepted the post of chief fundraiser for a
university committee despite my pathetic track record of raising money
is that Montana is home to some truly fascinating fundraising concepts.
It’s amazing to me what people here will do for money.
Take for instance:
Cow Patty Bingo:
Equipment—one chalk-lined, grassy field, one un-constipated cow.
Participants buy a number and wait for Bossy to do her business on the field.
Live Auction Animal Husbandry:
Equipment—auctioneer, several “straws” of bull semen
Participants bid on “Grade A” (who’s doing the grading here?) bull spunk
Kiss a Pig:
Equipment—mason jars, candidates’ pictures, willing pig
Participants donate money to mason jar of fave candidate. Winning candidate must smooch Wilbur.
Pink Flamingo Stalking:
Equipment—plastic pink flamingos
Participants donate funds to have pink flamingos surreptitiously placed on someone’s front lawn for whole neighborhood to enjoy. Fun for the whole family.
Cow Patty Bingo:
Equipment—one chalk-lined, grassy field, one un-constipated cow.
Participants buy a number and wait for Bossy to do her business on the field.
Live Auction Animal Husbandry:
Equipment—auctioneer, several “straws” of bull semen
Participants bid on “Grade A” (who’s doing the grading here?) bull spunk
Kiss a Pig:
Equipment—mason jars, candidates’ pictures, willing pig
Participants donate money to mason jar of fave candidate. Winning candidate must smooch Wilbur.
Pink Flamingo Stalking:
Equipment—plastic pink flamingos
Participants donate funds to have pink flamingos surreptitiously placed on someone’s front lawn for whole neighborhood to enjoy. Fun for the whole family.
For my committee fundraisers, I arranged
dinners and silent auctions to a collective yawn. Had I known livestock
could be involved, my fundraisers would have undoubtedly been more
popular albeit a little smelly.
I guess my ignorance of local fundraisers
is just another sign that I haven’t fully integrated myself into Montana life yet.
And
despite my wee raise for promotion this year, I wonder if I will
continue to volunteer for university activities that are clearly beyond
my capabilities. I bet I will. I don’t have tenure yet.
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