on being a graduate student

Being a graduate student is a glamorous thing, indeed. During "orientation," we are bombarded with information on everything from clinical malpractice insurance to the advantages of keeping an extra-large bag of cheap kitty-litter in the trunk of your non-four-wheel-drive car to help combat the ice during Boone's winter months. They take our mug-shots for clinic badges, feed us dinner, and send us on our way.

In the first week, we help our supervisors get settled into their offices if they are new. Professors delegate many tasks to their assistants, which may include, but are not limited to: obtaining basic office supplies (i.e. paper-clips, manila folders, post-it notes, etc.), constructing and installing frames for hanging files in filing cabinets, typing old articles that have been xeroxed so many times they are too difficult for students to read (but apparently, not too difficult for a graduate student), sending emails on behalf of the professor who is computer illiterate*, typing up instructions for aforementioned professor to access and navigate his university email account, filing, offering advice on the appropriate microwave time for a left-over hamburger when asked, and performing general secretarial tasks.

In our classes, we are cautioned by our professors over and over AND OVER again not to overload ourselves, attempt to skip class (unless we have the swine flu), or cheat. They go over each extensive syllabus, but by the time we get to our fourth or fifth class, they've all run together because some teachers teach more than one class and all of our classes meet in one of two rooms. We sit through three-hour classes three days each week. We read a lot. We feel our hearts sink as our advisors key in the override code that allows us to take 15 hours, exceeding the graduate school's recommendation of 12 for full-time students with assistantships.

This is going to be fun.

*I find this term ironic in its application to a tenure-track literacy specialist...