November 10, 2000
Happily Programmed by the Ph.D. Cult
It was in early October 1994 that I first noticed how much graduate school resembles a cult. Other Ph.D. candidates and I were march-ing in even rows toward a series of special priestesses who, from behind their grilles, doled out the substance that would preserve our souls. If we muttered the correct, self-abasing incantation, they gave us the salvation we needed, in a grotesque parody of the ritual of communion and confession.
It was called the financial-aid office.
In many
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