The First 90 Days by Michael Watkins
8 min @ my desk, Toronto, ON
He is doing it again. And he is getting away with it, again. Just because he has that big rich voice equal parts molasses and honey, people lap up whatever he says. I hate these faculty/student evenings at the Dean’s, mostly because it is fertile territory for his prowling.
He’s holding court and using the ‘Royal We’, which I hate. But the worst part is he’s making shit up and no one is calling him on it. He just said physiology when he should have said physiognomy – what does the shape of the face have to do with the circulatory system? The assembled fawning females are oblivious, they’re leaning forward, snuggling into the sonorous blanket of his voice. They’re seduced by the timber, lulled by the cadence. Of course I recognize what is happening because they are me fourteen years ago.
But they will tire of him. They will see the flaws much sooner than I did. They will hear him getting strident when he is defensive, they will see him unsure of his footing, and the spell will break. He won’t notice at first that they’ve moved on, he’s always surprised at how quickly things change. Everything happens faster these days.
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