by Shari Dinkins

For months I was afraid. I had sent in my application materials to the campus and now I waited. And waited. And waited. Truth was I was in love with that campus. I had worked there for three, almost four years. I had worked on committees. Two of them. Sitting in meetings, with full-timers and other part-timers, we tried to patch up curriculum and see how the courses fit together. Meetings, phone calls, drafting documents—on my own unpaid time.

I had read the job announcement carefully, and put my materials together on a Saturday afternoon—a time when most of my friends were picnicking, playing with their dogs, painting their houses. I had sat and written answers to supplemental questions. Finally I put everything into an envelope, stamped it with “first class” and put six ounces of postage on it. The next day, the application was gone, off to the human resources department.

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