Primordial: An Abstraction

38

“I want to declare my intent to go up for tenure,” I say. “Do I have to put it in writing or is my word good enough?”

“You are a student, if I’m not mistaken,” responds the chairperson of the Promotion and Tenure committee, a lumbering man with off-kilter shoulders and a beard he keeps to conceal a deep cleft palate.

“Yes. I suppose.”

“Students can’t go up for tenure. They aren’t eligible.” He touches his overlip.

“I received tenure before, though. And I have all of the requisite publications.” I hand him my curriculum vita and a copy of my latest book. “Generally my work has been positively reviewed in all of the major journals in my field of study. There have been a few bad reviews, but they were written exclusively by scholars whose ideas I turned inside-out, exposing their idiot cores.”

The chairperson makes bird noises as he peruses my c.v. and skims through my book. “Impressive,” he concludes, touching his overlip again. I’m beginning to think that it’s a nervous tic. “But as I said, students can’t go up for tenure. You are a student.”

I flex my jaw. “I can see your deformity.” I point at his face. “Your cleft palate. There. I can see it. That beard isn’t hiding anything.”

Sighing, the chairperson smiles a crooked smile. “What a relief. I was trying to get you to notice it.” Once again he touches his overlip. “Sometimes people forget to say anything. I keep meaning to shave but I never get around to it.”

We shake hands before I leave.