First Person

Indecision

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By Daniel P. Ames

I'm hunting for a job -- I think. My wife accuses me of being indecisive. Maybe she's right, maybe she isn't. I can't decide.

In any case, I am a Ph.D., one year out of graduate school, working as a research assistant professor at a water-research lab. I love my work -- lots of freedom, good support staff, and interesting projects. Unfortunately, my projects are quickly running out of money. This is the challenge of being financed 100 percent by soft money, not knowing for sure if the job will be here in six months. My friends outside of academe, particularly those who own businesses, don't see this as a problem. "In my world, there is no such thing as hard money," they say. "Just be glad to have a job."

On the other hand, I watch the tenured faculty members around me spend nine months teaching and pondering the universe at their own whim, covering a few summer months with a research grant if they have one, going on a three-month vacation if they don't; and I think, cool. Nice situation to be in. No summer grant money? Live on beans for a while and spend some time seeing the country. Write papers in your pajamas under a palm tree somewhere.

My indecisiveness arises from this question: Is it better to keep the research-only, soft-money position I am comfortable with in a town where my wife and I have strong family ties; or to move out of my comfort zone in an effort to get a steady tenure-track appointment that will combine teaching and research?

I decided to start looking. This led me to an interview last May at one of the California State universities. It went great as far as I could tell: 7 a.m. breakfast, 7 p.m. dinner, and a one-man parade in and out of every office in the department during the intervening hours.

I had wondered what decisive questions they would ask me: How do you feel about affirmative action? What is your approach to teaching? How do you compute super-critical open channel flow?

Surprisingly, the questions were nothing near what I had expected. Instead, the most common question was, "So, what do you want to know?" That took me off guard. What do you mean, what do I want to know? Who is doing the interviewing here? I inquired about the university, the department, the administration, the weather, and so forth. I didn't know what I wanted to know. It hit me that night in the hotel: I want to know what I have to tell you that will convince you to offer me the job!

Actually, I wasn't absolutely sure that I wanted that particular appointment, given the poor state of the economy in California (and the fact that my current home would cost four times as much to duplicate there). I decided to make that decision if and when the job was offered. As the weeks wore on and I waited for the department to call, I got more and more excited about the job. We could live in a house with bullet holes in the garage. No problem. (The real-estate agent had shown me just such a house the day after my interview. He said it was probably the best I could do on an assistant-professor's salary.)

After a few weeks, I was convinced that I would take the job if it were offered. We were on vacation, standing in line for the "California Screamin'" roller coaster (at Disney's California Adventure in Anaheim), when I got the call on my cell phone: "We were very interested in you. You were perfect for the position we advertised. However, we changed our minds on what we want. We are hiring someone else." Thanks, but no thanks.

Here I was worried about my own indecisiveness, and the search committee changed its list of expectations in the middle of the hiring process. The politics of the situation were obvious during the interview. Faculty members in the department were split about the research specialty of the prospective hire. One faction wrote the job announcement; the other faction had the final say. Needless to say, not all of the screamin' that afternoon resulted from the roller-coaster loop around Mickey's ears.

My next interview was at a large corporation not far from where we live. I had learned from the first experience that academic departments are very flaky, so I decided to try for a job in industry instead. Sure enough the interview was professional, quick, organized -- no indecisiveness at all: What do you know? What don't you know? When can you start? Can you pass a drug test?

Two days later I had an incredible offer -- 10 percent more than my current salary; 10 to 20 percent bonuses every June; relocation assistance; a long-term, steady position with a cubicle on the third floor. No more writing proposals, no more soft money, close to family, and best of all, no indecisive, flaky academicians. It was the perfect offer (except for the cubicle).

Give us your reply in five days. Five days later I still couldn't decide.

I told my wife to flip a coin. Since childhood, I have had a longstanding policy on decision making: Flip a coin, if you are disappointed with the outcome of the flip, take the opposite choice. It's a nearly foolproof approach. My wife huffed at me (she was ready for the job search to be over). She flipped the coin -- tails: accept the job.

I was disappointed. I really don't want to sit in a cubicle on the third floor. The next day I called and turned down the offer. Maybe academicians are flaky. Maybe I'm flaky. Maybe I ought to stick with academics.

So here I am trying to balance my time between doing real work, writing proposals, and sending out CVs. I have found four openings that look pretty good. I almost promised my wife last night that I would accept the next offer that comes along. However that would be too much of a commitment -- a little too decisive.

I'd rather take a wait-and-see attitude. If there is an academic department out there that can be decisive enough to offer me a job, then I'll get out a coin and see how it goes.