Chapter 10: My Future and Self Imposed Exile

For the following two years, I immersed myself in my education. My efforts won me the admiration from my classmates and teachers. I began my second year of my master’s program in the new position of a graduate assistant. It provided me with a better income than I had at the police station, as well as a reduction in the cost of my studies. I was pleased with both of those perks. While I would sadly miss my police colleagues, particularly Lt. Barnes, he was my staunch supporter. On my last day on the job, he invited me to his office to discuss how I helped improve support in his department. He also told me not to become a stranger and that I would make a great detective. Then he told me to get the hell out of his office, he still had cases to solve.

The desk sergeant, I know, was glad I was going. He still could not believe I had dumped a perfect ten in his words.

In my new position, I was teaching two different classes. One was statistical analysis basics. The other was using the SPSS package, or the Statistical Package for Social Sciences. Both of these packages were real snoozers. If I had not consumed a Jolt Cola every morning, I would have fallen asleep during my own lectures.

During this time, I realized I had become a numbers nerd. I ended up being exactly the opposite of what I wanted to be.

Statistics was dull, and I tried to make the lectures as engaging as possible. It occurred to me to utilize sports statistics wherever feasible to keep students engaged. I obtained high scores on the instructor assessments at the end of the semester. Comments include “he made a boring subject interesting.” I suppose I did.

My new employment as a teaching graduate assistant provided me with additional money. With the increased wealth, I was able to afford better accommodations. I located an apartment close to the state university. Being closer to the campus meant I no longer had to worry about Ginny finding out where I lived. My self-imposed isolation had finally came to an end.

I went out and spent more time with the other students and some of the instructors. I was astonished to learn that most of the other professors in the department considered me to be their peer. It was clear that I was still treated as a junior lecturer among the department professors with tenure.

Every week, a group of students, graduate assistants, and junior instructors gathered at a neighborhood tavern. Each person would donate a little amount of money, which would be enough to buy a couple of pitchers of beer and food. It was fantastic to mingle outside of class. In addition to the beer and snacks, there were darts, a Foosball table, and a handful of pinball machines. I was the Foosball champion in our group, and I seldom lost a game. We normally played for one round of beer. Usually, someone else paid for my round.

When I arrived at the pub one night, I overheard a young woman challenge the local Foosball champion to a match. I was still wearing my coat and yelled across the bar for everyone to hang on because I’d be there as soon as I took my coat off. I hung my coat over the back of a chair next to one of the other graduate assistants as I prepared for the night’s major event.

I picked up my cup, walked over to the Foosball table, and got myself in position to play. Before the ball dropped on the table, I introduced myself to her. “Hello, I’m James Mercer.”

I asked her what department she worked in and whether she was new. She identified herself as Mary Kate O’Sullivan, and she was a new graduate assistant in the Poli-Science department. Despite the fact that anybody could attend, the Poli-Sci students were not frequent visitors to our table. It was uncommon for anyone from the Political Science department to join us and share a pitcher. They tended to keep to themselves.

Our encounter was intense from the moment the first ball was dropped. It lasted more than an hour. First, I scored a point in front of the goal, and then she scored. On defense, we appeared to be equal. It was difficult for any of us to score against the other. Some of our sessions lasted fifteen minutes. I won the match by one goal. We were both soaked in perspiration, and I’m sure we didn’t smell very good. I even got a blister on my left hand from spinning the handle while attempting a shot on goal. After the game, I was ready to go home, take a shower, and sleep. The only negative outcome was that I only drank one beer all evening.