Amy Sue Nathan

Do you make assumptions?

Assumptions.  When I read I try not to make them, but sometimes I do.  How about you?

County College didn’t look very collegiate set in the suburbs between a strip mall and a playground. I was accustomed to ivy covered walls or sprawling metropolitan campuses. But County College was accredited, it was twenty minutes from home and they wanted to interview me.

I shook the static out of my pant leg and surveyed the full parking lot. Most of the students wore work attire, not college clothes. It would mean beefing up the wardrobe – if I got the job. County geared its courses to working adults and students going back to school. These students would be mature and motivated, taking classes because they wanted to better themselves, not because their parents packed the car and dropped them off. County College students were not there to find themselves or grow up, they were here to either finish what they started or change direction – a far cry from my TA days at U of C where the students were pretentious undergrads with hangovers.

I rubbed my lips together. I had on just a hint of gloss and could feel it drying out. I shut the car door and headed toward the entrance,. Pulsing through me were the the sights and sounds of getting back to my professional self discussing the political climate of the Civil War, the real history of Abraham Lincoln and emancipation.  At five-four I felt tall.

An atrium greeted me. In lieu of hallowed halls I found wide full-windowed pathways. I followed arrows to the History Department where I would meet with the Chairman. Or was Chairwoman? Chairperson? I’d play it safe and stick with Dr. Talbot. It had been more than a dozen years since I worked for a college. Had the protocol changed? Was it different at a state commuter college than a prestigious private university? I was about to find out. Dr. Talbot was waiting for me. I recognized her from her photo on the college website but she was younger and prettier than the college had allowed the photo to reveal. I imagined I could relate to Dr. Talbot, she couldn’t have been more than fifty, wearing black pants and white cotton sweater with pearls. In her office I saw a blazer hanging on the back of her oversized chair. She was petite but I knew that size had nothing to do with stature or strength. We got right down to business.

“You haven’t been in an academic environment in a long time,” she said. “But your background is excellent.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I understand taking time off to raise a family.” I nodded but said nothing. I wasn’t giving her any ammunition. “I did the same thing years ago, started back part-time as well, and then got my PhD at Loyola. And then, about ten years ago, I came here.”

Maybe she was older than I thought. I couldn’t imagine getting a PhD while the kids were at home. She motioned to the window which overlooked a green expanse. Now that looked like a college – picnic benches and trees in a big square outlined by buildings.

“County is very academic,” she said, “But you might find it a bit more laid back than…” she glanced down at notes. “You might find it a bit more relaxed than U of C or University of Maryland.”
“It sounds like there’s a good balance here.” I hoped it would rub off on me.

“That’s true,” she said. “As you know, we need someone to teach Early American History two nights a week for the summer session. Would that be manageable for you if we offered you the position?” she said.

“It would be,” I said, even though I had no idea how I would make it work.

“I’m glad to hear that, and after the summer the position is still part-time, but the class is during the day” Dr. Talbot said. She looked at her computer screen, her watch and then back at me.

“Now then, I’ve got a meeting so I asked one of my best professors to show you around the campus. Sandy teaches European History as well as History Ed Theory.”

Ah, the second opinion. That was happening sooner than I thought. I imagined coming back for a second interview and getting the once-over from a trusted colleague. But getting it over in one fell swoop was a good thing. I wouldn’t have to concoct another outfit.

“We’ve worked together now for almost ten years, and I trust Sandy’s opinion,” she continued. “Plus, the class you would teach would be in the lecture hall Sandy uses during the day and you’d share office space. So, while this is a professional position, compatibility with Sandy does matter.”

“I understand,” I said. And I did. Sandy Smith had tenure. She was probably a displaced academic snob – the ying to Dr. Talbot’s yang.

Someone tapped on the door and opened it before Dr. Talbot said another word. A man, probably in his fifties, grasped the door like he was ready to pull it shut again. He had a salt and pepper crew cut –more pepper than salt — and wore a pale pink Oxford tucked into belted olive chinos. When I thought of potential adult students I always thought of women. Of course there would be men too.

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you were finished,” he said.

I looked at the door jam. Salt and pepper was six feet or six-one. I learned how to gauge height during a women’s safety course when I was an undergrad, so we could help the police find a suspect if need be. One night I went out with a man who said he was five-nine. All that safety information flooded back and when we left the restaurant. I told him to go ahead and visually measured him when he walked through the door. Five-seven – with shoes on.

“Good timing,” she said. Dr. Talbot stood. I followed.

“Evie Weber; Dr. Alexander Smith.”

Dr. Smith nodded and stepped inside the office pushing the door shut behind him with a twist of his leg. He extended his right hand to me. I obliged. His hand dwarfed mine not only in strength but in size. My heart beat faster. I wanted the job more than I thought.

“Nice to meet you Dr. Smith,” I said.

He looked at me straight on — a no-bullshit guy. His eyes were bright blue. A brief smile softened his square jaw. He raised his eyebrows. They had not yet turned gray.

“Call me Sandy,” he said.