Putting One's Mitty in

“Yes, how many years of academia now, Sally?’ asked Professor Mitty. “You’d been stuck in the system for many years when I last saw you – did you ever retry for that fellowship? Or are you still at research assistant level?”

After her outburst, Sally couldn't call this unfair; yet she did. She had tried to be personal at him but what she had received was for more cutting. With sudden dignity she rose:  “I’ll have that back – from all of you!” She began snatching her manuscript from the group. “This is not a safe space to discuss my work! I never want to be in a room with you again!” This last part was the only time that she met the Professor’s face.

Sally stormed out wondering if she should try for a refund. How unfair that her modest sum of entry was the one to be squandered. She was aware in the hall that someone had left the room. It was the course leader: “Sally, I see you’re upset. What has happened?”

Part of Sally wanted to tell all, but she wrestled with the desire to tell this strange woman to keep out of her life.

“You weren't very constructive in what you said about his work – that’s not the ethos of the group.”

“You should heard what he said about mine – 10 years ago,” Sally retorted.

“I assume there is some past with Professor Mitty, whether professional or personal I shan't enquire,"

“Wise,” Sally snapped. “But I can’t stay in the room with him, which seems so unfair, as he is the one that should be leaving-"

“Why – he is a regular a the group."

“You could have warned me of that before I came, and saved myself alot of...” Sally trailed off to get out her inhaler. She did not have asthma but liked the effect, as it was more socially acceptable than panic attacks or having chicket – her rare and misunderstood trait.

She would have to seek out Qum’si before it got too late.

Qum’si was a kind of mentor that Sally had been seeing for a while. Not romantically -  Sally did not comment on that – but as a guide and therapist. His helpfulness varied.

Thankfully, he was able to answer the phone and the evening was still young – unlike our Sally, who felt she was too old to be a research assistant when she had spent all her life in a university, studying for this degree and that; changing her field as the funding councils changed their whims to try and remain in the only environment she knew.

As Qum’si knew, Sally was a special breed. She hated personality tests – or rather  she hated the results. She loved to be asked questions, but not the ensuing categorisation. Whatever system you tried with Sally, she was in an odd box, one that didn’t function in any world except for academia, or perhaps writing. She couldn’t face the public – she would say outrageous things to them. She didn’t like teamwork and she hated change - except the subject of her degrees, which she chose herself. Imposed change was something repugnant. It gave her chicket.

At nearly 40, Sally had a potentially long working life ahead of her but she perceived that she was too old to retrain. She had become too used to a certain life to try anything else unless it were very similar. Given Sally’s gifts and personality, it was hard to think of what other occupation might suit. But Qum’si read between the lines and could see that Sally’s academic life might be on the brink of disaster.

He tried to get Sally to relate what was so upsetting about this professor and what he had done to her which made her unable to be in a  room with him ten years on.