Dear Butterscotch,
I am a junior faculty member at the School of Government at Fred’s University and I’m writing because I am scared for my life.
It all started when the faculty met to vote on who would be our new department Chair. I’ll be honest with you, I didn’t pay too much attention to the election at the time. Both of the candidates were white men with a bad habit of butt pinching, a history of violent outbursts and signs of mild cognitive impairment. Same old, same old–with the emphasis on old.
Things took a turn when the current Chair, who was defending his title, lost the election in what I can only assume was a fair vote. As always, the votes were counted by Marjorie Mopey, a Very Old Lady who has been on retainer in the department since her divorce in 1979 and works without pay. According to tradition a pet graduate student, a junior faculty member, the Assistant Chair, and both candidates sat and watched as the ballots were counted over a box of Pecan Sandies and a jug of unrefrigerated Cranapple juice.
What could go wrong?
There were meal moths in the Pecan Sandies, but that’s not what I’m concerned about.
When the election came out in favor of the challenger, the current Department chair pulled the plastic tablecloth off the folding table where the votes were tallied and walked away from a river of Cranapple juice and soggy ballots. He accused the Assistant Chair of voter fraud and demanded a recount.
That was all within the range of the deranged behavior we have come to expect in a department that has been put under receivership twice. What came next, though, has me wondering if I should buy a handgun.
The votes were recounted by the Very Old Lady in the presence of the entire Department despite the mess. There was no ambiguity or credible accusation of fraud. And yet the current Chair threatened the Assistant Chair with violence if he did not overturn the results of the election.
Here’s where it got crazy: the next day the Chair hired some Vocational Tech students to build a gallows on the quad outside our Department and encouraged a group of disgruntled graduate students to stage a protest against the Assistant Chair.
The graduate students were up in arms because their lounge is being turned into a private bathroom for the Assistant Chair, not because they believed the election was fraudulent.
When the graduate students realized they were just pawns in yet another game, they returned to their sad little apartment shares to pick over their unpublishable dissertations and eat off-brand Ramen.
But the Chair managed to mobilize a mob of random protesters via Facebook ads placed by his research assistant and paid for with the Government Department Chair’s Slush Fund. NB that money was supposed to be used to make a Graduate Student Nook in the supply closet to replace their lounge.
The Chair had people protesting 5G, the disappearance of Creamy Brocolli Soup in the cafeteria, and abortions for rape and incest victims. I hate to tell you, Butterscotch, but the Cats Aren’t Real people were there too–not sure if they are ironic or idiotic.
In exchange for some dubious Pecan Sandies (again paid for with his Slush Fund) the protesters chanted “Death to the Assistant Dean” and positioned themselves on the gallows with pitchforks that let me tell you were very sharp.
Things took a turn when the mob realized that the Pecan Sandies were moldy and they began climbing the gallows to reach the office window of the Assistant Chair, which the current Chair had pointed out to them. Some of the more nimble protesters managed to propel themselves on the balustrade outside the Assistant Dean’s office and one managed to use a grappling hook attached to a stone gargoyle to swing himself all the way to the windowsill.
According to official documents from a Fred’s University investigation, the Very Old Lady heard the shouts of “Hang The Ass” and sprang into action. The Very Old Lady managed to sneak the Assistant Chair out of the building through a steam tunnel to which she has the only remaining rusty key.
When the Assistant Chair and the Very Old Lady emerged at the other side of campus by the Poxycodone Park Opioid Deaths Memorial, they were approached by what appeared to be a Fred’s University security guard but wisely refused his offer of aid. It later emerged that the so-called security guard was in the pay of the Chair.
Rumor has it that the Assistant Chair has left town and is hiding in a friend’s basement where he spends his days scrolling through death threats against him on Twitter. Those death threats have escalated and the Chair has printed up Hang The Ass red caps and “wife-beater” shirts which he hands out at the gallows every afternoon.
My question: Is it safe to speak out? No one seems to be challenging the Chair. Though when the chair calls the threats “gallows humor,” I notice no one laughs.
In Fear And Trembling,
Fraidy Cat Fac
(Not saying I was one of the witnesses at the vote)
Dear Fraidy Cat Fac,
Although cats are indeed real, I think you are not a cat. You are only human, and of course, you are afraid.
The Chair is extremely dangerous. He has threatened the life of one colleague and he could easily go after an election witness, especially junior faculty. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Your colleagues fear for their lives, that’s why they are not speaking up.
When people are facing the threat of murder, they can’t tell the truth. Neither should you. Keep your head down like everyone else. This is not worth dying for. You have possible tenure to look forward to in ten years for goodness sake!
The Chair is a known narcissist and you only have two choices when dealing with narcissists:
- Ignore them and don’t feed their ego at the expense of your self-respect.
- Feed their ego by responding to their bullying and suffer soul-crushing abuse.
The first choice is the best in a life and death situation like this one in the School of Government.
Although Fred’s University has launched the Race for The Cure For Narcissism and raised millions of public and private money for the cause, there is still no cure in sight.
For my part, cats do not suffer from malignant narcissism. We have what is called healthy narcissism, a comfortable belief in ourselves and our superiority to humans. Although this is just an academic advice column, I have other means at my disposal.
I intend to take this situation into my own paws. The Chair can expect a visit to his favorite velvet armchair later tonight. So scratchable, so pee-able.
Meow,
Butterscotch
Also Read: Academic Condolence Cards