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The Day When Professors Go Extinct
The erosion of tenure means you’ll find us only in museums.
Every department has that one professor. The dinosaur. The Luddite. The one who spills wine on their students’ papers. Shows YouTube videos the entire class. Starts fights at faculty meetings.
Somehow that one professor became the symbol, not the exception.
People used to look up to professors. You know, back in the 90s. When I saw the first Jurassic Park, Professor Ian Malcolm stole my heart. He was so cool. So smart. So witty.
He could explain chaos theory, while making you just a little wet. I used to fantasize about that moment in the jeep. He’s holding my hand. Dribbling water on my knuckles. Now, let’s say a drop of rain falls on your wrist. Which way is the drop going to roll off?
He made me want to become a professor.
Years later, I read White Noise. A brilliant take-down of academic culture. Still, the job sounded like so much fun.
I mean, Jack Gladney’s job looked easy to me when I was 22, sipping espresso at a hipster hangout. He did nothing all day but lounge around his office and show off his intellect to easily-impressed teens.
