In February, I accepted a postdoc in my university’s horticulture department. I am a linguist–they are horticulturalists (is that right?)–but they needed informatics and by golly, that’s right up my alley.
My next year was settled. I had a postdoc. I had health insurance. I renewed the lease on my house. I even gleefully visited my old professor, from the bad old days when I was a biology major, to quietly gloat that I had gotten my Ph.D. and was on the road to a good place.
This morning, less than six weeks before the postdoc was scheduled to begin, the fucker in horticulture sends me a very short email saying, paraphrased, “sorry, FAKE!”
WHAT A FUCKING ASSHOLE! How dishonest! How selfish! My income! My health insurance! My whole next year! He simply can’t do this to me.
I got out of biology because of the extremely abusive and repressive attitude towards the students, who are treated something worse than the lab rats, held back, hammered down, underpaid, overutilized, and have their work stolen and published under the professor’s name as a reward. How on earth I could have trusted myself back into those vipers’ hands, I just don’t understand right now.
Fucks. Fucks. Fucks. Fucks. Fucks. I’m just lucky I got out.