Whenever I look ahead at my work schedule and see travel I get a sinking feeling. I really don't like it, I don't like the airports, I don't like the conferences and I don't like the hotels. The seminars always fail to capture me and never present anything I couldn't have read from my bench. The ceremony doesn't impress me either. Everyone there knows that these awards are decided before the initiative produces anything and more than half the people who are there don't care about what they were trying to produce in the first place. These are basically industry events and I could explore the boundaries of verbal diarrhea if that's what I wanted to write about today. Given that it's not, I will just keep it short by saying that I consider myself a researcher first and by that virtue these events leave me missing my lab.
When the reminder popped up on my calendar I felt an uneasy queasiness in the pit of my stomach. I looked at the list of attendees and there was my name, Michelle, where I expected to see it. Somewhere in my mind I was hoping the feeling would last so I could skip the whole thing with illness. Someone else could make our "presence known" as my boss liked to say. In times like that I use avoidance as my best defence to having my nerves grated by his poor attempts to disguise his politicking.
These tasks often get delegated to me, because despite my inwardly less than cheerful demeanour, I've never been able to successfully channel that into the sort of bellicosity required to make others feel uneasy. On the contrary, people at these things tend to find me charming, engaging and generally pleasant. And while women are becoming more of a presence in the field, it is one still dominated by men, so my boss figures he can win some points even if I don't say anything. In some ways I tend to stand out and people remember me.
I've always spent a lot of time in front of mirrors. As a teenager I spent more time looking into the reflective glass than I did into television screens. It was an inescapable part of my every day. I studied myself from every angle, tried to envision the angle others would see me from and surveyed my imperfections. The mirror had the power to fill me with confidence or belittle my every effort. I needed my mirrors, I couldn't live without them, they reflected the me I wanted to project, without them I wouldn't even know what that was. Having to go to these conferences always leads me to an inescapable night in front of the mirror. Despite my best attempts to shake it, I really do care what people think about me and my looks.
I recently turned 43, I no longer have the youthful looks that led to infuriating patronizing I would usually be on the receiving end of. I would have preferred not getting older, but conversely I have become more comfortable in my body. In a perfect, paradox free life, I would have had this mindset at 25. I'm still pretty thin, at 5'7" 150ish, but my butt sticks out a bit more than before and my hips flair more; a trait that takes some eyes with it when I move. My legs are strong from playing soccer, the muscle shows on the front of my thighs in tight clothing. My breasts don't sag or cause me back trouble and in that I feel blessed. Even at my age I have my brown hair kept long and don't straighten the little curls. All in all I feel confident when I enter a room and don't shy away from tight clothing or let self doubt surround my mind if a guy chooses to stare.
I have a few different outfits that I like to wear for these events. They have an order depending on the length of the conference and if those attending will be similar to the last one. My vanity doesn't really allow me to go to these things looking like the way I feel about them; this is probably another reason I'm picked to go. Looking professional, in the traditional sense, is important. This is much different from looking professional in a real sense, in a real sense what I wear under my lab coat is often a pair a jeans, but that doesn't fly at an event where the idea is to present an image detached from reality. For something like this, it's what I call "business sexy", which is generally greys, blacks, and whites with beige accessories. Some women have the body type that can make the pants suit look fabulous but I know my limits. For me, it's skirts just above the knee, blouses, jackets and two inch heels. I also throw a three inch pair in for the evening dinner on the last day.
These tight fitting skirts and shoes aren't the most comfortable things to wear, however in the interest of packing light the only other clothing item I pack is a robe to wear in the hotel. Bringing me to the thing I hate at least as much as the conferences: the hotel room. These things often wrap up around 3-4 in the afternoon daily leaving me with nothing to do. Lots of them go off drinking and carousing, but only one of those really interests me and I don't need a crowd to do it. That isn't to say a bottle of wine alone in a hotel room doesn't have its own depressive qualities.
In most ways my life is pretty typical and boring. I am the mother of two wonderful children, a 20 year marriage, two car garage, swimming pool and many of the other stereotypes of the upper-middle class. By day, I'm a scientist in a lab and by night I turn into a homework dictator, the latter is a role that gets more tiring by the year. The night before I left for the fateful conference was not unlike most nights in our household. Lisa, my daughter, would be sitting at the dinning room table practicing her dirty looks in my direction much more than the problems in her math book. Every night it was her job to put at least an hour into her studies, which made it my job to judge when that hour had actually taken place. It was a power struggle of epically minor proportions in the grande scheme, but like all power struggles the scale is relative. In our house this one was centre stage, to the point of being another reason I didn't want to travel. She would be able to manipulate her dad into relaxing her confines and we both knew there was nothing I could do about it. I could almost hear the smugness in her voice when she reminded me that I was leaving the next day.
I felt a little burnt out that night when I finally made it to bed around 11. We cuddled for a bit in a show a solidarity against our teenage daughter. Our cuddling gave way to more heavy petting knowing we would be apart for a few days. Soon my husband made his way between my legs to perform oral sex on me. It was exactly what I needed, I felt myself melt into the bed and he softly licked and gently pressed my sensitive spots. He had a pretty good gauge of my mood and didn't get aggressive or overbearing. My stress was evaporating, we met again for a kiss before having a very deep sleep.
I woke up and made Lisa breakfast before seeing her to school. My son drove me to the airport seeing as he didn't have classes that morning. He helped me with my bag and gave me a big hug and kiss. I do have a loving family, which makes my actions and decisions of the coming days all the more irrational and perplexing. Once on the plane, I got the trapped feeling of not being able to turn back; I really hate that feeling.
The first few days of the conference were as expected. Workshops and seminars that barely scratch the surface. The industry of science is pushed to the forefront. This is basically making sure people get paid, keeping the money changing hands often regardless of merit. There are dirty elements to it, luckily I am not in a consultant heavy area and can remain aloof from a lot of it. Making connections and getting paid keep the train moving just as in any other industry. Real discovery almost always takes a back seat to business and political objective. I don't claim to have a better way, so I have to temper my criticism with that obvious caveat. Regardless of how constructive the criticism is, it bares repeating how much I hate the award portion of events.
As the final day wore on my mind continued to wander, as so often it does, I started to think about numbers. There is something about numbers that will never cease to fascinate me, it's a pass-time for me and I enjoy it. It's strange that, in a room full of physicists, it's so rare that I can find someone to actually talk to about numbers. Most just want to flirt with me or keep the conversation superficial at the risk of showing some gap in knowledge. This sort of pride is common in these circles, I don't really get it, because when I don't know something I want to find out about it, not change the subject to avoid being exposed. Having ignorance exposed is the only way to change it into knowledge, provided that it's approached with an open yet critical mind.
