Sylvie steadiedher breath and rushed into the meeting room. Juggling everything was doing her punctuality no favors. Every seat was already taken, so she pulled a chair from the back and forced her way between a smirking Isa and a sullen Professor Laurier.
Paul opened with a state-of-the-nation style monologue, and Sylvie switched off, tuning in for the rousing finale where he told everyone to work hard and enjoy themselves. She scanned the next items on the agenda: a call for papers for the annual conference, a trip to Paris, and staff well-being.
“Let’s move onto the next item. The call for papers,” Paul said. “And volunteers to attend the Paris convention.”
Sylvie held her hand at shoulder height, aiming for somewhere north of confident but south of desperate.
“Sylvie?” Paul looked in her direction. “Would you be happy to represent the faculty in Paris this year?”
“Absolutely.” Her heart raced. A decent speaking opportunity was just what she needed to raise her academic profile.
“Excellent. You’ll need to work up a paper in the next couple of weeks.”
“No problem at all. I’ll have something with you in the next few days.” Sylvie sat back, satisfied with the outcome of that item.
Paul scanned the room. “We usually send two people. Any other takers?”
Sylvie poked Isa’s thigh sharply. She didn’t want one of the elder professors volunteering.
“I’ll go with Sylvie,” Isa said, rubbing her leg before she glaredat Sylvie.
“That settles it. Thank you both. Let’s move on. I’m looking for a volunteer to take the lead on the university’s well-being program for new staff. The chancellor’s team is all over it, and they need a rep from each faculty. Any offers?”
Every tweed jacket in the room visibly shrank into their chairs.
“It wouldn’t be too much work for anyone to take on. A couple of corporate meetings and a few follow-up actions, I’m sure.” Paul searched for eye contact around the table and landed on an aging lecturer to his left. “Professor Gaultier?”
The slumbering giant made no attempt to reply.
“Antoine?” Paul asked, tapping his enamel pen.
The professor lifted his lidded eyes, his frown creasing further with the disturbance. “I cannot possibly take on any additional duties, Paul. My timetable is creaking with obligations.”
Sylvie tsked under her breath.Something’s creaking, but it’s not your timetable.Most of these over-the-hill professors hadn’t taught a full week of lectures in their academic lives.
“Sylvie? How about you?” Paul raised his eyebrows. “It would complement the work you’re doing with the internationals really nicely.”
She counted the male colleagues around the table. Not one of them had been forced to take on additional duties this term. They leaned back into their seats, enjoying the privilege of their position without further expectation or burden.
“Paul, I just took on the Paris convention, and we agreed that my priority should be publishing,” she said with as much finality as she could muster, given the audience. Most of her colleagues were past their best, in her opinion, but she was still their junior. She didn’t want to attract any criticism or skepticism that she wasn’t worthy of her position in the department, and despite the smoke that Paul had blown up her ass last week, there was still a whole crew of the old guard who would rather not have her type around the table.
Paul scratched his receding hairline, clearly clutching at strawsand desperate to move onto the next agenda item. “Of course. We did.” He braved one more look around the table, with every single pair of eyes averted. Everyone clearly had very important papers to read. “Isabelle, perhaps you and I can discuss your timetable commitments when we next meet? I don’t want us to be the only faculty who cannot field anyone. It wouldn’t look good.”
“Who for?” Isa added, sitting up a little straighter.
“Let’s move on,” Paul said, his whole demeanor sinking beneath the threat of the encounter.
The remaining items passed while Sylvie and Isa seethed between them. When the last call for business came and went, they stomped to Isa’s office for a debrief.
“What a dick.” Isa threw her hands into the air. “I despair of this place. If you and I weren’t here, they’d get nothing done.”
“I can’t believe Paul asked me to take even more on when we’d explicitly talked about reducing my timetable. It’s like we’d never had that conversation.” Sylvie folded her arms in defiance. “I should’ve told him to go fuck himself.”
“You did. Kind of.” Isa giggled. “It was pretty clear that you weren’t going to roll over.”
“What makes me so mad is that those stuffy old guys sit daydreaming, waiting to put their feet up and light cigars.” Sylvie stamped her foot. “I’m so sick of us making the only intelligent contribution in those meetings and them taking the credit.”
“You know old Gaultier is in a bit of trouble this year,” Isa said.
