“All right, sorry about that,” Dr. Comstock finally says, even though I’m at least savvy enough to know he’s not sorry. “Had to respond quickly to the Vice Provost, you know how she is.”
“Of course,” I say, even though I don’t know.
“Well,” he says, bringing his hands together over the desk. “Normally this is where I like to give new hires a quick welcome, introduce myself properly, let them know that my door is always open, that sort of thing, but naturally you know all that already.”
“Yes,” I agree.
His door is not always open, but we can both pretend.
“Therefore, let me just say that the whole department is extremely pleased to witness your transition from doctoral student to assistant professor,” he says. “On behalf of the Virginia State University, welcome to the faculty.”
He stands, holding out one hand. The whole thing has an air of showmanship about it, but that’s part of the job. I stand, shake his hand, thank him for the formal welcome. We exchange a few more pleasantries, and then I turn to leave.
“By the way, Caleb,” he says, just as I reach the door. “I need you to attend the Madison Scholars welcome reception next Friday night. I’m supposed to go, but I’m afraid something’s come up. Could you?”
It’s not really a question. It’s more of a test to see how much I want this, because we both know full well that what’s come up is that he doesn’t want to go to a banquet populated by undergraduates.
“Of course,” I say with a smile. “I’d be happy to.”
“Thank you,” he says, and I leave his office, nod to Karen, and finally make my way to campus to teach my first class as a real professor.* * *Truth be told, it’s a little anticlimactic. Even though this time I get to write Professor Caleb Loveless on the whiteboard, this is now my seventh year teaching Calculus I. Even though it’s Honors Calculus, all that really means is that we cover more material and the final is a little harder.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve taught in this exact room before. The view from the narrow, vertical window looks familiar, and I think I remember the strange orange spot on the tile floor in the corner behind the computer.
The first student arrives a full seven minutes before class, puts her things down at a desk in the front row, and walks up to me. Before she opens her mouth, I know exactly how this is going to go.
“Hi, Professor Loveless, I’m Angela Gillard,” she says, holding out a manicured hand. “I just had a few questions before class starts.”
There’s always one. VSU is one of the top-ranked public universities in the U.S., so there’s no shortage of intensely motivated, high-achieving students. Angela’s blond, not a hair out of place, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt despite the heat.
She’ll probably be Secretary of State in twenty years.
“Welcome to Calculus,” I answer her, and she nods, then pulls my syllabus from a neatly-labeled folder. I notice that it’s already highlighted in several colors.
“I wanted to talk to you about the class schedule,” she says, and flips pages until she lands on November. “I have some travel planned that I can’t miss…”
Behind her, the other students start filtering in, one by one. Most of them are dressed like regular college students on a hot late-August day — shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops. It’s close to ninety degrees out. I’d be wearing shorts if I weren’t teaching the class.
“…so I’d like to schedule some one-on-one time to discuss what I’ve missed before Thanksgiving,” Angela is saying.
“My office hours are on the first page,” I say.
She gives me a smile like I didn’t understand her. I did.
“I’d really prefer to schedule a time,” she says.
“If my office hours aren’t enough, we can certainly discuss that come November,” I offer. “Did you have any other concerns?”
Her lips flatten into a line, and she gives me an irritated look, but accepts my answer.
“Yes, about the final,” she says. “Can you tell me…”
I check the clock while she grills me about the timing of the final. Three more minutes until my first class starts, and the room is nearly full.
Despite myself, despite the fact that I’ve done this again and again, I get a little bit nervous. I always do. I’m sure it’s only natural.
“I’m afraid the rooms aren’t assigned until later in the semester,” I tell Angela. She’s not pleased.
“I ask because my finals schedule is going to be very complex, and I’d like to know as soon as possible whether I need to request an alternate exam period,” she says, not backing down an inch.
“Rooms are determined by lottery in mid-November,” I say.
“Surely, some can be arranged earlier?” she says. “It doesn’t seem like it’s so much to ask —”