I hate having trouble sleeping on a Sunday night. It does shitty things to your Monday morning and sets the week off to a bad start. Just to let you know, this blog will be about education. Yes, it’s about time I started using my brain again. And this time it was completely my choice. No one made me go to school – so all this pain, which is hopefully to my gain, is completely my fault. Like all those other things in life.
Sad to say, this blog won’t be about dating – or rather, my sometimes less than delightful forays. It’s been a slow January, even if the year started off with a bang. (I’ll leave that one up to you.) Alas, no NHL players or celebrities to speak of; in spite of my vehement exclamations that I will date Drake, hanging around Goodnight and ordering many Latin Lovers (tequila abstainers need not apply), which accordingly is his favourite drink.
Nay, fill one void with the next I suppose. And nothing could be nobler than education, am I wrong? (Yes) So I’ve launched myself back into the willing arms (and pocketbook) of higher education. You too may enroll in a certificate course in Medical and Scientific Challenges of Marketing of New Therapeutics for the cool price of a sweet two g’s.
It was my first day of school last Thursday. Peeling myself away from my desk at 5 pm is very difficult as it never seems there is enough time in the work day as it is. Though the benefit of printing all my notes at work is a definite plus, given that’s as much as my workplace is contributing to this course. I may have to scam a few extra pens or staplers to express my feelings on that subject.
I’m still not officially a U of T student (thank goodness), but it certainly is overwhelming, in a complete reverse culture shock kind of way, how diverse U of T is. Coming from the gym major (where my year had 3.5 Asians, the half knows who she is and is okay with it) at Queen’s University (which rhymes with Culture of Whiteness) it really is a weird kick in the face. Other than ethnic diversity there is also diversity in educational/professional background.
To start, the course itself is part of the Masters of Biotechnology program which is a professional program, similar to an MBA, just much more specialized. The course is also an elective for people in graduate studies in pharmacy/pharmaceuticals. And then there’s me – I’m a “professional” with a life sciences background (and/or gym major). The thought of being considered a professional oftentimes seems laughable to me.
I was a bit nervous to go back to school; similar to anything that you haven’t done in a while and aren’t too particularly good at, some anxiety comes along with it. (Does anyone else feel that way about driving or is that something about me being an Asian female driver?) What if the kids are mean? What if they’re entirely juvenile? What if they’re all wearing sweatpants?
Well, as I’ve learned from the working world, you never really leave high school. It’s going to be the same old shit forever. Sorry kids who weren’t popular in high school; I don’t know what to tell you. MTV’s “I Used to be Fat” is wrong: who you are in high school does follow you. It’s tough when you show up to a class (regardless of whether it’s at the masters level) in work wear. Knowingly, I could have changed my outfit, but a little part of me always likes being different. After all, I never wore sweat pants to my gym classes.
During the intermission (of a three hour class) I went to the bathroom and the door leading into the bathroom hallway locks you out after you exit. I know now that apparently you can go all the way around and come back through the front door, but that didn’t help then. I tugged at the door with a large window a few times – once to see that it was locked, twice to illustrate to the people inside that I wasn’t able to get back in and once more for full effect. Several people stared at me blank faced. I pointed to the doorknob, gave my best forlorn look and finally a girl push the bar of the door from the inside. I uttered a thank you and didn't hear anything in return. Oh well. Everyone in the class sort of knows each other in their own small little groups. Luckily I do have one friend in the class, or else I’d feel like an island. I’m sure this will pass; I’m like a parasite – I will worm my way into your heart and lay eggs in it.
I’m not sure how to feel about my prof just yet. He definitely likes to casually drop in all of his accomplishments and experiences, which to be fair are aplenty. However, I thoroughly enjoy his sense of blunt realism. The realities of the job market are not friendly to those who have been safely nestled away in the world of research for the past seven years. The inability to sell is a mighty fault one must overcome in order to be successful. Well then by all rights I should be okay!
Historically, I’m not one to speak much in class. In an academic setting I don’t much care to speak purely to be heard. (In a non-academic setting though, game on.) And maybe they were the first two questions of the course, but the answers seem so devilishly obvious to me, I was sure that I was wrong.
Question the first: why is it bad to be overqualified? I forget what people put up their hands and said. But I knew the answer was – because the company worries you’ll get bored after they invest time in training you, you leave and they have to re-hire. Answer: it’s a cost and the fact that you might leave sooner, rather than later, is seen as a risk.
Question the second: what’s the best kind of drug? Answer: one that people have to be on forever. It’s the most profitable .Yes sir, life is not beautiful sometimes. There are many bottom lines out there – and not all of them are about cures and happiness and rainbows and butterflies.
Are you there higher education? It’s me, Sarah. Bring it.
