Worse than herding cats

Signing up faculty to interview for my doctoral study is worse than herding cats! Worse than wrangling medical students to do timings in keyboarding! Worse than listening to some idiot pound on a bongo drum in front of the yoga studio across the street! Argh. So far I have two legitimate subjects who have indicated interest in participating in my study by filling in my web screener. They gifted me with their contact information. I emailed them the instructions on how to make their rich picture. And now they are silent. Maybe they are immersed in drawing their masterpiece. Maybe they are out of town. Maybe I should just chill out and not make it all about me.

I did a dress rehearsal with my former colleague, Sheryl, who took time out from the grueling and mostly discouraging task of applying for administrative assistant jobs at age 66. We sat at her dining room table. I brought out all my gear: timer, audio-recorder, script, and when we were ready, I pressed REC and proceeded to interview her about her perceptions of academic quality in vocational programs at for-profit career colleges.

Considering we were both recently laid off from such an institution, it isn't surprising that she had a lot to say. She proudly displayed her neatly penciled rich picture, an orderly diagram of a system in which students enter, are transformed, and exit presumably better for the experience. The system breaks down, she said, when there are problems with management's lack of willingness to commit resources on behalf of students. Sheryl pointed out the dainty bomb image she used to indicate the presence of a problem. I had to look hard to see it, a neat and tidy explosion at the corner of the edifice of education. It warmed my heart to see she had taken the assignment seriously. There's nothing like seeing a 66-year-old ex-teacher drawing little pictures of bombs.

Afterward, I went home and transcribed the file, which I have to say is the most tedious, time-consuming task I can ever remember voluntarily undertaking. I set the transcription software to play at half-speed, so we sounded like Cheech and Chong. Hey, man, getting students to do their homework is a drag, man. Yeah, man, I know what you mean, man. I had a hard time typing, I was laughing so hard. Sheryl at half-speed conveyed the impression of a thoughtful drunk after a couple glasses of wine. I at half-speed, on the other hand, sounded like I'd been drinking for days, and smoking anything that came my way. I haven't done either in a long time, so it was a little disconcerting to imagine that I used to really sound like that. Whhh.. uh.. whar..? Back when I was about 19 or 20. But I had nothing of interest to say back then, anyway, so I doubt anyone noticed or cared.

Now I'm a lot older and supposedly smarter. Look at me, working on a doctorate. I must be smart, right? Unemployed... maybe unemployable, but really, really smart.

I am impatient with my interview subjects. It would be nice if they would step up briskly and submit to my study willingly and with enthusiasm. Maybe that is too much to expect. At this point, I'd be satisfied if they would just respond to my emails.