Graduate degree... A near death experience.

This is pretty long, but an accurate account of my near death experience.

As I’m sure most of you know, the reason that I moved out to the mid-west (aside from the beautiful weather) was to peruse a masters degree. What many of you don’t know, is that I never actually finished it. I completed all the classes and conducted all the necessary research for my thesis, but never finished writing the thesis. You know the story, job, wife, house, kid on the way... It's easy to get caught up in life. Eventually, I had to suck it up and finish it.

So, a year ago I started busting my ass, working on the weekends, and writing this huge masterpiece of a 150 page paper. Went through 6 rounds of revisions with my advisor (Dr. Abdul Shakoor - AKA Shak-Daddy). Finally, after a year, all my hard work paid off... I was now ready to Defend my thesis.

Defending a thesis in my department is a little like being initiated into a geeky frat of sorts, minus the elephant walk and soggy biscuit. You stand in front of your advisor, along with your 2 other committee members, the deans of the department and arts and sciences, and anybody else who wants to come see a grad student getting beat up by his superiors... Here it is: You do a 1 hour presentation about the research, followed up by Q and A. Each professor in the committee gets 30 minutes to fire off questions, followed up by another round of 10 minutes of questions per professor.

Now, before we started, my advisor approached me to let me know that these guys were going to be tough on me, and if I got into any real tough spots, he would have my back. Wow, was that a relief. I knew these guys could be tough. Knowing that my advisor was watching out for me really put my nerves at ease. Plus, he was the 3rd out of the 3 people who were grilling me, so I knew he would toss me some creampuff questions. Also, the second of the two professors (Dr. Carlson - AKA Father Time) was really old, I wasn’t sure if he was even going to ask questions. He is so senile, that he was actually caught walking into oncoming traffic twice that week (100% true).

So, onto the big show. I give my hour presentation. It went off without a hitch. I honestly thought that seeing how well I presented myself, and how thoroughly I described my research, that they would simply ask one or two questions and let me go home with my masters degree....

Professor # 1 - Dr. Moore – Hydrogeologist (Geek-latin for “I like water.”) I knew he would be my toughest customer. He had busted my balls since day 1. He proceeded to ask me some rather difficult questions. Overall, I handled him pretty well. I never had to call in my hard hitting advisor (Shak-daddy) to walk me through the proper answers. “Wow” I think to myself, “this isn’t so bad.”

Onto Professor # 2 – Father Time shoots me over a look as if to ask, “Hey, I recognize your face, but where am I?” Essentially, Old Man Winter over here burps and drools on his shoulder… “God, this is gonna be so easy…,” I think to myself. “Why didn’t I finish this 4 years ago.” Onto the next guy.

Professor # 3 – My advisor, my rock, Dr. “Shak-daddy” Shakoor. What could he possible ask me. I mean, as he told me earlier, he is here to support me. To make sure I don’t get backed into a corner by these other professors. I take a sip of my coffee, preparing for mundane, bullshit questions…

All of the sudden… I look outside. The sky begins to close as if it were the end of days. Shak-daddy began to open his mouth, and I swear I felt the earth quake below my feet. This man, my rock, my support through this whole ordeal, began to rain down a verbal assault on me as if I had defiled his wife and children. He fired off question after question with satanic hell-fire in his eyes. I mean, he was asking me things that I would never have expected, or could have possibly prepared for. Fuck, I didn’t even understand half of the words he used to ask me these questions… WHAT THE FUCK? This guy was here to help me, not to beat me down. He was ruthless, relentless and I could see that he was driven by nothing but pure and absolute hatred. He just kept it coming for almost 50 minutes… I am literally sweating, my hands are clammy, and my voice reverted back to the pre-pubescent cracking of a 13 year old. How could he do this to me. Fucking Benedict Arnold!

Round 2… I pull myself out of the fetal position, and assess the damage. 1 black eye, a broken rib, and my once highly confident nature is nothing by a shell of a battered ego. The water geek, who was essentially “Shocked and Awed” that my advisor would do this to me, forked over a couple of cream puff questions at me for his second round. I could see that he felt genuine sorrow for the verbal assault that I just had to withstand… He takes about 10 minutes with his questions, and onto the Next guy.

Father Time is now sleeping. He poops his pants (smiles a little bit in his senile slumber) and we move on…

Back to Judas… I immediately assume a defensive position. At this point, I’m thinking, “OK, he got it all out of his system the first time, so how tough could this be…” You would think that after 7 years of college, I would have learned something. Nope…

Judas once again lunges at me with a brutal barrage of questions. This time, he is completely vicious. Not only is he asking me ridiculously hard questions, but he is actually asking me trick questions, that no one could possibly answer properly. I mean, this shit has nothing to do with my thesis. At one point, Im pretty sure that I actually had to describe how my research could “bend time” and defend why my procedures didn’t produce a cure for cancer. As I am fumbling through my words to try to muster up something that vaguely resembles an answer, I swear I saw Judas pulling a shiv out from under his shirt, so that he could finish me off jail-yard style. At this point, I welcomed it… For god sakes, would somebody please just call this fight?!?! The kid is getting murdered in there.

Then, I got this overwhelming sense that only one of us were leaving that room alive. I knew what I had to do. Like a battered mongoose, I swipe back at my attacker by asking him “why do these questions even matter?” Oh no… I think I made it angry. He stands up, loosens his tie, and I now notice that I am actually standing in hells 6th ring of fire. Standing in a puddle of my own urine, for some reason, I cant seem to remember how much my life insurance policy is worth. What will my child know about me as he grows up fatherless? I hear a voice from deep within saying, “Jason, follow the light.” Ahh, but Judas wont let me out that easy. In a glorious tempest of hatred and detestation, Judas begins to deliver is death blow. He assumes the crane position from the Karate Kid, and proceeds with his final torrent of fire and brimstone. He doesn’t even bother giving me a chance to respond, as he confident that I do not know the answers. He just goes from question to question, like a casino bar-fly chain smoking Newports. After an additional 20 minutes of ranting, he eventually ceased his bombardment. He actually dropped his microphone at the end as if he just won a freestyle rap battle in the slums of Detroit.

The sky began to clear. I pinch myself… Yes, I’m still alive. 1, 2, 3…. Yes… all my fingers and appendages are still attached.

I’m battered, bruised, and although the experience has caused my balls to shrivel to the size of raisins, I have a Masters Degree…