Dr Mike Williams Meets His Mentor, Harry

At noon, Harry, head down, with the lightest of treads, tried to slip past ASH-FAM and into his office without being nabbed by Don, a student, or a colleague. Harry had got into his office safely and was breathing in relief, when a timid knock sounded. He couldn’t suppress the groan that came out - and it might have been heard - but to his credit, Harry cheerily yelled out,

“Come in!”

The chap who walked in wasted no time and got straight into it. Exhausting. But also a bit hilarious.

“I’m Mike Williams, the new probationary lecturer”, he was saying. Harry vaguely remembered him from the interviews - months ago now. The babble went on,

“The Dean”

“Paul”

“Yes, sorry, Paul, has allocated you to be my mentor. I’m really sorry to intrude, I can see you’re busy and you need a bit of space, but I’m really a bit desperate for a few bits of advice. I’ll try not to take much of your time, but I do need a few pointers, if you can help me?”

Harry grinned. This Mike chap was almost pleading, desperate - but at least it wasn’t Don with more sodding admin to do, or a student with some kind of motivation problem. He said,

“Aah - I guess Paul checked his spreadsheet and decided I’m the most admin-light, eh?”

“Something like that”, Mike murmured, looking a bit awkward. Poor boy.

“Sit down, then, and let’s do a quick ten minutes. I’m not going to be able to get stuck into anything much anyway - we’ve got staff meeting in an hour. And just to let you know, if we have to do any paperwork for this, like mentor meeting report or some bloody rubbish like that, I’ll be asking you to do it. I can’t face one more form to fill in right now”.

“Fair enough”, agreed Mike, and Harry warmed to the chap as he saw the relief on his face.

Poor bugger. He’s got no idea yet.

Harry leaned back -

“Shoot, then”.

“Erm, I didn’t exactly prepare for this meeting; I should have made a list of points and prioritised them”.

“Points? That sounds alarming. I thought Don and induction training between them were supposed to handle settling-in”.

Mike looked abashed, hesitated - but then it all came blurting out in what must have been a random order. Harry stretched his legs out, flexed his ankles, and focused in to listen.

”There’s no handbook and the Dean says it’s all on the website but I can’t find half the things I need to know and I don’t want to be bothering Don every ten minutes. So … how much detail, I mean, how many words should I write, for my PhD supervisory meeting reports? And where do I find templates for all the things I need to prepare, I mean, all the reports and readlists and things? And is there a way to sync my passwords across all the campus software and access everything with a single login instead of logging into everything separately and having ten tabs open?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the flow burbled on.

“Erm - how do they weight research, teaching and admin for probation assessments? And how many seminar readings do you expect the 2nd years to do for their core course? Oh - and the only Gents toilet I can find is right across campus on MEDTECH”.

Mike sat back. He was breathing fast, but deeply. He had his notebook open and was clenching his pen tightly. The poor chap was awash with anxiety. God, imagine coming into all this as a rookie. Must be pretty nightmarish.

Harry grinned an easy, relaxed grin and stretched his long legs out, leaning back in his swivel chair and looking out of the window, considering where to start. He opened his top drawer and realised that Mike could see that it was empty - apart from a quarter bottle of whisky and a heavy crystal glass, next to a packet of small cigarillos and a paper pack of Fishermen’s Friends sweets. Harry closed the drawer smoothly and slowly, with no embarrassment or awkwardness; no need for any. With difficulty, he opened the crammed second drawer, which offered, he knew, a horrible contrast: loose receipts, post-its, broken pens, loose change and scraps of scribbled napkins. Harry grabbed a pad of lilac Post-its and began to jot notes on it. As he wrote, trying to work backwards through the long query list, Harry couldn't stop his mouth.

“Toilets? It’s usually the female staff who ask that on their first day. Got an issue?” Mike looked abashed. Ah - a shy type. Better go carefully.

“Not really. I’m just not ready for Gender-Neutral Toilets. And I’m also a pretty private person about that stuff. When I was a kid, I used to run into the house after school and straight into the toilet after holding it for hours”.

Harry stretched back in his chair, nodding his head, and grinned,

“I think we can all relate to that. School Toilets! Places for banter and even physical violence, eh? Not to mention the lack of care with cleaning up after bodily functions”.

Harry wheeled his chair forwards, leaned over the desk, picked up his Lamy, and began to write smoothly as he spoke. Let’s help this chap sort himself out - toilets, my goodness!

“So … toilets first - go down one extra floor and there’s a nice quiet basement gents. But we’ve got an unspoken etiquette for it - pee only. Anything more solid” (Harry laughed), “And you have to trek over to MEDTECH. Those buggers don’t care - they’re almost insensible, not like us ASH types”. He looked up and raised his eyebrows in amusement but noticed that Mike didn’t seem to be relaxed by the joke. This was hard work. Poor chap’s frozen. Already.

“Here’s the web link for templates. Readlists, report forms, registers and so on. You should be able to find most things. Not all of them, of course - that would be too obvious and easy, ha. And watch out that there are often 3 or 4 versions on there - they never have time to delete the old outdated ones and just shove new ones up there”.

Harry tore off the Post-it and moved on to the next blank one. He wasn’t sure that this was what mentoring was meant to be, but hey-ho, the chap was new and had clearly got himself into a state already.

“PhDs - you’re new - you shouldn’t really have any yet? But when you do, get your PhD student to do the supervision meeting write-ups and you just check them over. They’re supposed to be entered into the GRADPORT section of the VILE”.

Harry paused. No point hiding things - Mike would have to get used to it all, so might as well be frank with him from the get-go.

“And no, I’m afraid you can’t sync passwords - they say it’s for security reasons, but we all know that it’s because all our IT systems here are all cheap clunky versions of real grown-up software - and none of them articulate with each other. Just remember that this isn’t the private sector - so don’t expect things to work or be quality - and you won’t be too disappointed”. Harry smiled what he hoped was an encouraging, chin-up chicken! kind of smile, but he could see that Mike’s anxious demeanour wasn’t fading. What could he do? The truth was brutal and the only way to survive was to know and accept it - and stick together as colleagues.

As Harry peeled off more Post-its, ink flowing freely, he tried to remember Mike’s cv from the hiring panel and wondered, surely he’s done teaching before? He dimly remembered that Mike was a graduate from one of those new universities. Suppose he’s simply worried about whether the standards or processes are different here.

“Readings - well, however many you give them, it doesn’t make much difference. There’ll always be the one or two keen ones who will read as much as you can throw at ‘em, the four or five who consistently read nothing or don’t even turn up half the time; and the rest might manage to skim-read one article on the bus coming into class. They’re all broke and in debt, they’ve all got so-called ‘part time’ jobs at 30 hours a week, they’re all young people dealing with the usual young people’s problems - so don’t expect too much”.

Mike looked alarmed. Harry sighed. The truth hurt - but it had to be told.

“You need to remember that people like you and me who’ve come this far were the class swots, not the average students. Don’t raise your expectations”.

Mike was writing fast, in deep focus; Harry didn’t even bother this time to attempt eye contact and a smile. He was aiming for reassuring complicity, but there seemed to be no opportunity.

“Got it all? That it? I think you’ve got a Post-it for everything now”.

Harry sat back again and took a long stretch. That had been fairly easy. And Mike Williams seemed like a nice chap. Too nice. Bit earnest. Hope he’ll be ok here.

Mike apparently didn’t have to look at his notebook to remember the remaining point. He spoke hesitantly and looked pretty miserable.

“Erm, criteria for passing probation?”

Christ on a bike! This poor chap is really a fretter.

Harry smiled and leaned back luxuriously, relaxed. He remembered his old supervisor at Oxford and tried to make his voice similarly avuncular and reassuring.

“We’ll talk about probation hearings another day - you’ve only just got here, for God’s sake. Don’t be so anxious”.

Harry smiled widely and raised his eyebrows, but Mike’s face didn’t relax in response.

Mike was taking a long slow breath out and finishing scribbling down his own notes, then he scrabbled to take the sheaf of lilac post-its that Harry held out to him.

His own notes plus my Post-its. A belt-and-braces kind of chap.

Finally, Mike smiled, although to be honest, it wasn’t much of a smile.

“Harry, this is brilliant, thanks so much. You’re right, I’ve got 3 years’ probationary period, so there’s no hurry now. But I wonder if I can ask just one more thing? This is, erm, less information and more of an advice thing.”

“Ah, advice: you mean, what a mentor is really meant to do?”, gently reprimanded Harry, grinning.

“Yes, sorry. I guess I should have asked Don most of this … sorry”.

“It’s ok, don’t look so glum. So, what’s this last burning thing, then? Location of the photocopier? Menu for the staff Christmas lunch? I can see you like to think ahead - and to worry!”

“No, this really is something I need mentor advice for. I’ve been given Izzie - Isobel Sharpe - to supervise”.

Harry wasn’t quick enough to stop his instant pursing of lips as he slowly nodded his head and tried to shift gear fast back to the avuncular reassuring look. Honestly! Had Paul really done that?

“So, she seems a bit -”

“Sullen? Hostile? Barmy?”

“Well, let’s say - negative. The thing is, more than her attitude and her problem - she’s supposed to submit in June and she’s only got 60 000 words in a first draft kind of state”. Harry winced. Mike looked stricken.

Mike said,

“Yes, I know. The Dean made it clear to me that she must complete on time - there’s some sort of financial fallout if not - and that I’m responsible. I don’t know where to start - I never supervised anybody at PhD level before”.

Mike looked a bit embarrassed as he ploughed on,

“And I know that passing through probation will depend on loads of things”,

“KPIs”, murmured Harry, allowing himself a sarcastic tone. KPIs! In a public University!

“Oh, yes, I guess, Key Performance Indicators, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded,

“I’m afraid it is”.

“And obviously, successful PhD supervision would be one of them. And Izzie is so far from being a straightforward case”.

“You can certainly call her that, if you want to be delicate about it.”

Harry considered for a moment. He opened his top drawer, looked at the mints, closed the drawer.

“Hmm ... I’m guessing that Paul must have put you two together out of workload-management desperation; anyone else would try to refuse to work with her, but you’re new, so you don't know her history, plus you’ll buckle under”.

“I almost had the feeling when I thought about Izzie and about probation criteria - well, as if I’d been set up.”

Harry laughed.

“Oh, you are a worrier, aren’t you? No, Paul doesn’t have that kind of political mind. Unusual for a Dean and, to be honest, unusual in academia. Watch out for that, by the way - backstabbing colleagues, false friends and all that. No, I think this is simple conflict-avoidance; you were the easiest target to pin Izzie on - no pushback.”

Harry looked hard at Mike’s worried face and something occurred to him.

“Then of course, there’s also the possibility that Paul was doing some kind of literal thinking about you two being similar”.

Mike’s anxious face finally rearranged itself into another expression - amazement? distaste? He said,

“What? Similar? We couldn’t be more different!”

Harry scolded himself - Oops. Go carefully, delicate ground here.

“Oh, sorry, of course”.

How to phrase it? Harry went on,

“What I meant by that was, if you don’t mind me speaking frankly ... well, in Paul’s mind, you’re probably two people that he doesn’t quite know how to handle.”

Mike looked puzzled.

Oh God, spell it out, then. Bit crass. But I’m sure that’s all this is, knowing Paul.

“Well, you know - the lesbian and the Black guy”.

Mike still looked puzzled.

Oh well, in for a penny.

“Paul probably thinks that, because you’re both members of what Gravestown is calling this year - what are we calling it this year? oh, yes - ‘under-represented groups’ - that you two might hit it off and work well together”.

Mike was putting a hand up towards his mouth, but he still blurted out -

“Her project! Wicca and lesbians!”

Harry grinned.

“Surely an interesting respite from ‘leadership styles among headteachers’ or whatever’s the hot topic in the sociology of education this year?”

Mike shook his head.

“No. Not for me. A bit uncomfortable, actually. I was brought up in church.”

Bloody hell. People still do that?

Mike went on.

“So, both those things are really far off my knowledge zones. Wicca, isn’t that some kind of pagan magic stuff?”

Oh dear - a church boy, to boot. Paul’s really set something up here. Mike makes Wicca sound like Satanism. He won’t know anything about it, for sure.

Mike was trailing off, sounding genuinely miserable.

“And - lesbians …” .

Maybe the lesbians are more satanic than the Wicca for this chap? He looks like he can hardly say the word. Oh bugger, this is going to be a mess. But I’m the mentor. Can’t say that.

“Now then Mike, buck up. First, as you well know, you don’t need to be a subject expert to help a student: it’s their process that you’ll be overseeing and guiding. Secondly, you’ll have to leave your church stuff - and anything else - politics, family life, all of it - at the door here. Just try to keep neutral”.

“Yes, I’m so sorry”, Mike was saying. He looked deeply miserable and Harry felt a bit sorry for him again.

Mike said,

“Academic neutrality, objectivity, I do know all that, I mean - I didn’t mean, it’s just that …” Again, he trailed off, and looked at the floor.

Harry felt a bit traitorous as he drew on his old Oxford supervisor again, in order to give a convincing demonstration of man-to-man lighthearted confidence-building and said,

“Come on, cheer up, it’ll be OK. You’re young, bright, and you’ve not had the crap beaten out of you yet, so you’re probably full of energy and good ideas. I’ll do what I can to help steer you along through this sea of misery”.

Make a joke of it all, keep it light, buoy him up.

Mike looked up and smiled gratefully, if a bit weakly, and said.

“Thanks!”

Harry grinned. Mentoring - he could do this! He asked,

“That do for now? I need to get a drink before the staff meeting”.

Mike looked alarmed, but Harry grinned again.

“Coffee of course. I recommend you do the same. Better make it a double shot - first meeting back after the summer can be deadly”.

“I didn’t look over the agenda properly yet”, admitted Mike.

“Well, nor did I. Didn’t look at it at all, in fact. And I don’t plan to either - waste of time. I can tell you what it’ll be about: targets, budgets, performance, league tables, task allocation, deadlines. Exam results, league table rankings, budget deficits blah blah.”

“Will we be discussing teaching?”

“God, no! The CATS do all that - “

Mike looked confused.

“The Curriculum Advisory Team. Most of the meeting will probably go over your head. And that will be the case for a good while. It’s a big organisation here, you know”. Harry felt inspired. He felt a good mentor tip coming on.

“Take my advice and keep your mouth shut for the first year. You’ll avoid getting drawn into any of the factions or making enemies. And you won’t get volunteered for anything either. You work in the Sociology of Education, don’t you? Well, treat it all as observation - don’t get involved”.

Want to meet that PhD student, Izzie?

And here’s Don, the faculty administrator who makes Mike feel awkward -

On Campus

Don winked - and was sure that Mike’s smile faltered.

·

Jan 8

On Campus is a novel about lecturers, grad students, admin and support personnel: all of them in a hell that is more realist but only slightly less literal than the one in Kuang’s Katabasis. I first-drafted it in 2018; then my life started lifeing very intensely. Things are finally settling, and I’m on the 4th round of rewrites. Someday, this fucker wil…