How to ask for an A -- and get it

Gulp.

I've hesitated publishing this post, since it goes against nearly everything I believe in, but here goes.

For a few years in grad school, I taught a handful of courses. Sometimes I was a TA, and others I was the instructor, doling out grades on my own (which were then subject to a professor's review and approval). And in that process I learned two things about students and grades:

1. There is definitely a right way and a wrong way to ask for a better grade.

2. It's rarely the ones who need a boost who do the asking. If I had a nickel for every time someone with an A- whined about it...

Since this is my first September in 25 years I'm NOT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL!!!!! as a student or a teacher, I thought I'd take one for the team. Both teams. Students and teachers. And teach students. How to ask for a better grade. Without annoying, pestering, infuriating, insulting or otherwise bothering their instructors.

Not only that. I've asked for feedback from a bunch of my friends through a Facebook thread. They are a group of professors who have taught at schools across the country including U.C. Berkeley, U.C.L.A., Wake Forest University and Cornell.

Ready, class? I give you:

Grade Pumping 101

PRELIMINARIES

1. Remember that your professor or TA owes you nothing. You aren't his or her boss. You aren't buying your degree. You're merely paying for the privilege of an earning a degree from your institution by enrolling a course of study that includes your professor's class. Repeat after me: I AM NOT ENTITLED.

2. Study your target. A few profs said they will reevaluate your entire assignment or exam, which can result in a lower grade. Are you prepared to face that consequence? Other profs detest grade grovelers so much they'll write you off for the rest of the semester. "I'm absolutely allergic to students asking for higher grades," says one. "I certainly put them under more scrutiny after asking." A rare few might admire your pep. Ask around. Read the person, not just the textbook.

3. Remember that professors are people. Which means some of the same principles of asking apply in this setting, too. See this page for a crash course.

IN THE ACTUAL CONVERSATION OR EMAIL

1. If you're making your request over email (not a bad idea -- written records are good for prof and student alike), use your university address. Says one disenchanted professor: "Why must I receive something from 'pimpskater69' (no joke) at hotmail?" [email adjusted to protect student's privacy.]

2. Always use a salutation. Not "hey professor," which several respondents said they actually received. "Just because you wrote it on your iPhone doesn't mean that you can skip the pleasantries," one recommends. Another adds: "It's irked me to no end how their smart phone communication patterns seem to have erased all sense of politeness (Besides many, many 'hey professors' I've also gotten NO salutation AND NO signature. So I had to google the student's email address to even find out who was emailing me)." Not a good way to start your conversation.

3. Write, "Dear Professor Johnson, I'm conserned about my grade in your Renaissance Sonnet midterm" and be prepared to be the butt of many a joke while the professor is talking trash behind your back. (And yes, they talk about their students.) So: Spell Check!!

The fact that these professors had to remind me to ask people to spell check suggests that students don't -- even while grade groveling. Which makes me want to cry for America's future.

4. If you opt for a chat in person, don't raise the issue after class, in the library during a random run in or right when you get your assignment back. Go during office hours or make an appointment. Confesses one beleaguered academic: "I hate it when students wander into my office unannounced and expect me to be able to drop everything and talk to them for 20 minutes. You would never do that with your doctor or lawyer; don't assume your professors aren't equally scheduled, even if it looks like we're 'only' working at our computers."

5. Don't sound indignant or accuse the professor of anything untoward. Yes, some profs are vengeful cretins with mommy issues. Most are simply trying to teach you something.

6. Don't blame the TA. "The TA didn't understand my brilliant argument." "The TA was clearly biased against this point of view." "The TA hates me and can't run a section." If you have issues with the TA, a grade boosting conversation is not the time to raise them.

7. Don't bring up other students's grades. Remember when you told your mumsie, "But Madison's mom lets her have two donuts for dinner!" and she smacked you? Good.

8. Don't wait until the end of the semester or quarter to address your grade. And if you want an A- at the end of the conversation, don't set out with a C-. Be realistic. Know thy place.

9. Big no no: Being or appearing opportunistic. If you have a legitimate reason -- suspected grading error, personal tragedy that affected your work, misunderstanding the assignment, a blue screen just as you were hitting send -- asking for an adjustment or extension may be warranted. If you're just angling for a boost and curious if the prof will go for it, save yourselves both the effort and skip it. (Also: don't lie. You have no idea how obvious it is.)

10. Another: Using emotional blackmail. If there's a bigger picture -- GPA on the line and med school acceptance riding on a single final exam grade -- consider mentioning it, depending on the instructor's personality. But remember, professors have Ph.D's, which means means they probably became inured to petty manipulations during grad school.

11. Don't whine, threaten or bribe. Unless we're talking Lindt. Milk Chocolate. Truffles. Left on my doorstep in a brown bag with the word "your lost library card" written in pencil across the front.

12. Do come prepared with an argument. One that does not include the phrases "I'm usually an A student so I deserve a better grade," or "I worked very hard so I deserve an A." A professor confesses she was touched by a student's persistence and explanations that she had truly worked soooooo hard. But the student showed the professor drafts to prove her point. And she was already "the best student in the class after all." In the end, the professor gave the student an A. From an A-.

12a. If you have an A-, consider whether taking 100 hours of rewrites to transform your grade into an A will really translate into better happiness, self-worth, serenity and lifelong success, or if there's something better you could be doing. Because more than a decade out of college, I remember a few grades I got (and didn't get, alas) but they all blend together now into a happy haze. (Unless you're truly interested in the material or want to score a recommendation letter or need to boost that grade for some reason. Then toil away!)

13. Craft your argument by focusing on the assignment and conclude with the clear reason you would like a better grade. Perhaps in that section of the exam, you misunderstood the directions and, based on the way you read the passage, your essay is actually on topic. (I didn't bend under that argument, but someone else might.) Perhaps you had a problem at work and couldn't get the paper done on time and want to avoid the penalty. Perhaps you used a certain method to solve the problem and, though it's not the approach taught in lecture, you got the right answer and you're asking the professor to consider accepting it (if the exam was graded by a TA, that is). Perhaps you got sick the night of the take-home exam and you were throwing up the whole time. (But leave out those anatomical details. Sad but true, I've gotten descriptions of things I can't forget to this day.) Then, ask the professor to reevaluate your work in light of this new information.

14. Be courteous. Seriously: a little civility, consideration for the professor's time to process your request and review the material in question, an expression of regret that it's come to this, and

a dash of gratitude will go a long way, these professors said.

15. Remember that in this type of asking, as in all others, appearances count. "They absolutely need to come across as serious, super hard working, and, ultimately, deserving of what they're asking for." So do your best to be seem interested in the course material, overall. If you skip class or admit that you haven't bought the textbook, good luck.

16. If you don't have a concrete reason for raising a certain grade, a better strategy to improve your final grade is to ask the professor what you should be doing in the future. As someone who's watched several students' grades jump up by one or two full letters over the course of the semester, I can attest that those with the greatest improvements communicated with me early on, kept in touch and acted like they wanted to learn the material. Maybe you won't get an A for Effort, but your persistent commitment might be a factor in the final grade, if the professor has to make a call between a B- and C+, for example.

17. Whether or not you get what you want, say thanks!! For two reasons. First, the above point about courtesy. Second, this is the same person who will be reviewing your next exam or final grade. Professors try to stay objective -- and some have very clear numerical methods for calculating grades -- but do you really want to be taught by someone who thinks you're an moronic ingrate?

18. If you do think there's a deeper problem -- bias, incompetence, intoxication -- alert the course head or department chair.

EXTRA CREDIT:

Several professors added this impassioned plea: Don't call us Ms. or Mr. Really, do I need to be writing this? Apparently, I do. As Dr. Evil says, "I didn't spend 6 years in Evil Medical School to be called Mr.!"

Essay question: Do you have any charming or chilling stories of asking or being asked for a better grade? Spill the beans below!

Tell me about this painting?

Saturday, it was pouring. Perfect museum weather!

Mr. A and I met up with my dad, stepmom and La Sorella for a visit to Boston's Museum of Fine Arts.

My dad is an architect. I've written about his passion for beauty and his penchant for architectural gossip here and here.

Thus my asking for the day is nothing ambitious, nothing that shatters glass ceilings or threatens the status quo. On the contrary, it's one of the oldest, most familiar and most comfortable kinds of questions I know. I asked my dad to tell me about the art we were looking at.

Which he would have done anyway. ;)

image credit: MFA

Where is Paradiso?

"You have to try Caffe Paradiso," I told my mom, aunt and Mr. A in Boston's North End, where we for a stroll the afternoon after Commencement. "They used to have a location in Cambridge, too, but that closed a few years ago. Tragic."

I owe my caffeine addiction to my mom. For years, when I was growing up, coffee was our Sunday morning ritual, until the pediatrician told her to stick to milk at least until my first tooth came in. More recently, we picked it up again, until I moved in with Mr. A.

These days we steal away after work or during lunch breaks, trading updates about our mornings between comments about the current coffee experience. Like: "I think the barista has a crush on you, mom," followed by her scoffing giggle: denial.

So of course when I mentioned this place she perked up and exclaimed, "I think you told me about it!"

"Yes, that's the one! With the perfectly foamed cappuccinos and soccer matches. If we hang a left it should be right here... here... maybe just half a block down... wait, where is it!?"

Had the second location also shut down, which would be real loss for the cultural and culinary landscape of Boston and one more twisted tribute to this crushing recession, or was I just not remembering things right? I could see its corner location. Plenty of windows, the stack of cannoli in the glass case which I always passed over for the imported delicacies. Berry torte. Tiramisu.

This was my first Friday as a non-student, and as the dust settled I began to realize something rather unsettling: Facts were slipping away. Back on campus, I knew exactly which building had the bathroom on the ground floor when my family needed to make a pitstop, but when I started telling them what room I'd taught in, I stopped cold. I glanced at a few of the empty rooms and they all looked so... identical.

Then there were Cambridge's side streets, which I used to navigated on car, bike and foot under snow and sunshine. Now when I needed to get back to campus, I made more wrong turns than Lindsay Lohan on the way to sobriety.

After leaving Boston in 2008, I'd been back just twice. I was traipsing around like a tourguide, but could I really call this town my own?

I ducked into another cafe and anxiously asked the men at the counter -- men who looked like the owned not just the cafe but the neighborhood -- where I could find Paradiso.

It was two doors down. We'd walked right past it. We all down, inhaled the coffee steam and smiled.

Lost, now found.

Here are a few of the pictures Mr. A snapped that day.

Commencement magic?

Commencement tickets are notoriously hard to come by, and Monday morning, a few days from the big event, I was still short a few. Every student gets two, so my parents were definitely in, but what about La Sorella and Mr. A? I checked with my advisor and tried the alumni office, but no go.

In a last ditch effort, I sent an email to my department's logistical guru, Wanda.

Hi Wanda!

Greetings feom Maryland/Washington DC, where I came to decompress now that I'm done!

I saw [Advisor], who gave me a tip on getting commencement tickets, since I

was unsuccessful with the alumni office. She said that sometimes professors have

extras. Do you think you could ask around, or send an email to the faculty, to

see if anyone has 1 extra ticket?

[Redacted.] If not no tragedy, but maybe last minute miracles do happen? :)

Thanks, and take care! See you soon!

La Roxy

The next day she answered:

I have one extra ticket for the commencement ceremony. I will set it in your mailbox here for you to pick-up.

Tuesday afternoon, I spotted a friend on Facebook saying he "has tix for the morning exercises to give away. Will have them tomorrow."

I quickly replied, "Could I claim one from you, if you still have it?"

Six hours later, he answered that the extra ticket was mine.

So Mom, Dad, Sis and Sweetheart all got to fit at the ceremony, and the rest of my family who generously made the trek to celebrate this moment with me watched from large screens nearby. It was a magical, wonderful, and unspeakably happy day. One I will never forget.

Thanks to all for coming, and thanks to Wanda, Professor Thornber and Nathan for helping my family fit. Thanks also to Beth for offering her robe so I wouldn't have to rent or buy one -- and I didn't even have to ask! And to Nicole and Brandon, for being the hosts with da most. And to everyone else who made that day so special.

With affection and gratitude,

La Roxy

[image credit]

Overheard in the grad student lounge...

I'm in D.C. for a week to see friends and explore a city I keep meaning to visit. More on that, soon. But first, a short illustrative anecdote.

When I was back on campus, I was sitting in the grad student lounge of my department. A bunch of people were there working, and at one point someone opened a window (ok, it was me) to let in a gust of cool air. It was really cold outside -- in the low 50s -- but this was much needed air, I assure you, since the room felt like no one had opened a window since 2006.

A woman in the room told the friend sitting across from her: "It's so cold in here. I'm gonna go grab my scarf from next door."

She left and returned with a scarf.

Two minutes later, she told her friend: "God, it's cold in here. I'm going to find a different room. My fingers are freezing, I can't type."

She packed up her things and left.

A minute after she left, her friend turned to everyone else in the room and he asked, "Does anyone mind if I close the window? It is kind of cold in here."

The room had meanwhile aired out. No one minded. The window was closed.

The non-asker ended up in some other room, perhaps grumbling at the open window or window opener. The asker ended up in a warm room, sitting where he pleased. I almost hate it that a man and a woman are the protagonists -- it's almost too simple, to tempting to reduce this to a gender thing!

To make it more than a gender thing, the next post rephrases the question along different terms: asking versus guessing.

Bliss

Finito!!!!

Dissertation written, revised, edited and approved!!!!

With three golden signatures, one from each of my committee members, on the critical Dissertation Approval Form!!!!!!!!!

Thank you, dear readers, for your encouraging comments and notes back in December. You motivated me when I most needed it, and for that gesture, for your patience and for your continued support throughout this graduate school journey, you get a special line in my acknowledgements, along with my sincere gratitude.

So... I just realized this is my last Friday as a student. I'm now back on campus in Boston, staying with friends. I'll be here until Commencement (with detours up and down the east coast to see people). That's right: Come late May I'll don the funny hat, smile for the birdie. I was ready to skip it, but Mr. A told me I had no choice in the matter. And when Mr. A asks for something, it's very hard for me to say no.

My friends, this evening, made pasta and fresh mushroom-cherry tomato sauce (both from scratch, mmmm) and we watched a movie.

On Tuesday I hand the whole thing in to to the registrar.

And then I'm getting drunk.

Next on my list: everything I've been putting off for months and years like reading mystery novels, writing, writing, writing (stuff that requires no footnotes, like blog posts and short stories and handwritten letters and lists of movies I'm going to see), learning to bake bread, getting back to the business I just launched, learning a new language, dancing tango regularly, riding our bikes along the boardwalk, working my way through that massive stack of magazines with a Meadow Mule by my side and my cell phone off, making a website for my mom, going to museums again, learning about investing in general and specific, watching some TED talks, making the duck and portobello lasagna I set my eye on in 2006 and chicken pot pie and tom kha soup and pizza dough fritters, sleeping on various couches in various cities in various countries, working my butt off for fun and profit, roadtripping through the South, trying to take photographs like these, churning butter in Amish country with my little sister, visiting my dad in Texas and actually spending time with him (last time I went was a month before this deadline so you can guess how that went), eating tons of pinkberry, buying paints and using them, cleaning out my closet and making a trip to Goodwill, playing some piano, recording stories from my grandmother for my future grandchildren, getting something for friend who has a new baby from my other friend who has a new store, watching Hulu on weekends and taking a break to work (and not the opposite), watching season one of The Wire since everyone tells me I have to, digitizing all those VHS cassettes and giving them to the fam, having a Katherine Hepburn movie marathon, eating brunch -- brunch! -- and tracking down a paycheck from 2008 I never received, sewing on all the fallen buttons that I've stashed in the button box, sleeping in until 2, selling a few bookcases on Craigslist, buying a few books on Amazon, going back to Italy, walking or biking everywhere in my neighborhood instead of driving because I'm in no rush to get there, infusing some vodka with tiny tasty red things, going hiking somewhere lush, staying in a cabin for two whole weeks and sitting on its deck and outlining a novel I'll know never write while secretly hoping I might, fixing that little tear on the slipcover of my armchair I haven't had time to think about until now, regularly checking and probably indulging a little too often in Gilt, taking flamenco lessons again, spending the morning at my favorite oceanfront cafe and watching the waves crash, and finally finally finally not having a deadline tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

Writing, writing, writing

I'm a little more than a week away from submitting the final draft of the dissertation, so this post will be short.

1) I have been loving your asking stories. It's going to be an awesome collection -- they run the gamut in styles, approaches and objectives, even continents. If you haven't sent in an anecdote yet, please consider doing so. My aim is to compile as many concrete examples of successful askings, negotiations and the like and then post them as a reference for people.

2) A preview of what I've asked for these past weeks, and which I will report here, once I'm back in daily writing mode:

--Asked for a pay rate higher than what a client offered me
--Asked for a professionally oriented opportunity that I am still smiling about
--Sought permission from my adviser to do something drastic
--Sought strategies about handling a conundrum
--Asked if I could help someone with her job search
--Asked someone else the same thing
--Also: follow up on the parking ticket appeal
--And a reflection on why askers make good givers

3) A friend and reader alerted me about this rousing blog post about our favorite subject:

http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2009/12/can_nice_girls_negotiate.html

It's from the Harvard Business Review and has a wealth of info, concrete strategies and perspectives in the comments section. The original poster's stance -- that a nice women can ask -- is of course laudable, too. So, while you're not reading this, do read that!!

4) The image above: What I'll be doing the weekend of April 16, once I send in the dissertation... I'm thinking some place in the mountains, cozy, with a hammock, a porch and a mystery novel. And no balconies.

[Credit: ffffound.com]

DONE

I have sitting in front of me a full draft of the chapter: 45 pages on two poems by Baudelaire.

It's not where I'd like it to be, but I realize it never will be. Because he is Baudelaire, and I am a Virgo. But that's that. I will give it one, max two, more edits and send it off tomorrow.

Once I decided that I had no alternative but to work on it, it suddenly became perversely easy. I hung out with a friend -- but at a cafe, she reading and I writing. I took breaks, but I was always eager to get back.

Your notes kept me on task in a way nothing quite has before. Thank you, dear readers.

Next post: Three askings I did manage to sneak in these past days...

But first, I think I'm going to go roast a chicken.

Dissertation Limerick

This arrived in my inbox:

Dissertation Limerick

To finally get that degree
You must put down the globes for the tree
Keep e-mail at bay
At least for the day
Soon you'll be La Roxy, PhD.

By TL

Just thought I'd share. 'Cause I love it. Thank yee, Tee!

It's working -- so I'm working!!

I asked for one thing alone yesterday ("Excuse me, is your CD skipping?" at the cafe where I parked myself for the day to edit the chapter. The barista checked, and it was indeed. Result: calming music restored.) because--

Great Jehosephat!!!

It's working!!

All your encouragements and admonitions have been AWESOME.

What a day. From 9 a.m. until 8 p.m., I've wrote, trimmed and regrouped. Every time I snuck into my email or glanced at the blog and saw your comments, your messages compelled me to hunker back down. Then, yesterday evening, I got a call from La Divina, my Italian cousin, who had read my plea and promised this: on December 24 she will call back to inquire if I've met my goal. If so, she will book a ticket that moment and come visit in March! STUPENDO!!!!

Man. THIS is the way to finish a tough chapter. One that I've been twisting and turning for more than a year (when the rest took a third as long -- sheesh). This is it: my aim is completion, not perfection. This academic deadline is like any professional one. Love those mantras. Here's one more: Basta.

Thank you, everybody.

Plan for the entire next week? Rinse and repeat.

Please keep your messages coming. They are inspiring, and something I'll cherish long after this deadline. More importantly, every time I'm feeling naughty, about to click on the Scrabulous icon on Facebook or glance at Huffington Post, I will read your words and get back to writing mine.

Thine,

La Roxy

Help me finish this chapter, o reader?

I'd like to write "up" this next asking, as opposed to just writing it, but I must confess: my brain is fried. I'm soooo close to finishing this damn chapter. All the pieces are there. The only problem is figuring out the best order to put them in as I build that section's overall argument.

You'd think that the friendship between Logic and her buddy Rhetoric would make the order of the ideas presented self explanatory. But, dear reader, that is not the case. For I am a modular thinker. Fronts are backs, insides are outsides, most good ideas have drawbacks and absurd ones have their merits; supporting evidence can be used after stating a point, or broken down into smaller ideas and used to sandwich a point, or used as a lead-in to a point. Counter-arguments can either intersect arguments, or be grouped together after a thread has fully evolved, or be built in subtly throughout the journey. There is no right or wrong way, just an incrementally-better-than-the-alternatives way.

In a word:

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

So that's what I've been doing with myself.

What helps is that for once, I have a deadline. Mr. A's parents are coming to town for 10 days, and I must must must be finished with this chapter by then. They arrive on Dec. 24, and I SHALL finish the chapter by then. My committee needs time to read it, and I need time to spend with his fam. And I need to graduate. That, too, come to think of it.

So here's my asking for the day.

I ask you to help me.

Whenever the spirit moves you, drop me a line over email or a comment to this post that prods me to finish this chapter.

You can be mean or nice.

You can do it once between now and Dec. 24 or once a day.

You can call or send me a text, if you have that info. Otherwise, email.

Please don't expect an answer, because that would defeat the purpose. At least, not until Dec. 24.

Sample message ideas, to get you started:

"Step away from the Facebook."

"La Roxy, you have such a bright and beautiful future ahead of you, why put it off any longer?"

"If you're tired, print it out, go for a walk and come back to it with fresh eyes. You can do it!"

"Ok, so, you're not exactly 'employable' but let's gloss over that as you conclude your noble investigation of those 19th century aristocrats who never had to work a day in their lives. Fuuuck! Drop out now and learn a trade!!"

"Be grateful for your visual cortext. It is allowing you read the following words: STOP PROCRASTINATING!!!"

"Dissertation is a state of mind."

"My your thoughts and prose be as clear as a Bavarian lake in January."

"Browsing gadgets on Amazon does not a philosophy doctor make."

"I saw you checking your email between sentences. And you thought no one was watching. Get back to work, bitch."

"If you meet your deadline, I will buy you a car, my pretty."

Oh yeah. I have one more asking to report, from this weekend. Never got around to posting it, since I was busy with the diss. My mom and I went to World Market and I found a bunch of globes for the tree. This is the first Christmas tree Mr. A and I are decorating together, and the first time I've had a tree in my very own house. Exciting!! At the register I asked for a discount, explaining that my mom has a coupon in her email for 25 percent off. We tried to find the coupon on her phone, but it wasn't working. So instead I asked if they could give us any other kind of discount, and we got 10 percent off. I'm surprised it worked, since in my experience they're sticklers, but we lucked out and encountered a cool manager. Thanks!

Now if only I applied the same perseverance to my dissertation.

MUST FOCUS.

PLEASE HELP.

AND, PREEMPTIVELY, THANKS.

How do you explain grad school to an 8-year-old?

Saturday, July 4.

I was at the beach, sleep-reading (there really should be a word for half-trying to read while drifting off to sleep under the sun, lulled by the sound of the waves... somnolection? any suggestions?), when a little girl interrupted.

"Excuse me. Can I borrow your cell phone?"

My first, decidedly non-parental instinct was suspicion. Was it a prank? Would she run away with my smartphone as part of a dare?

Then I realized she might actually have a valid request.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm lost, and I want to call my parents to try to find them."

"Of course! What's the number?"

I called, but no one answered. I left a message.

"Don't worry," I tried. "They probably can't hear the phone ring, but they'll call the minute they get the message. We'll try again soon."

Didn't seem to be helping. She stared into the sand, silent.

"Kids get lost all the time at the beach. I'll make sure you'll find your family..."

"My parents are going to be worried," she answered.

I assured her that as soon as my boyfriend was back from his bike ride, she and I could take a walk to find her parents. I just couldn't leave everything all alone in the sand, though, so I asked her to hang around for a few minutes. Mr. A was on his way back.

She agreed.

To pass the time, and to make her more comfortable, I suggested we build a sand castle. While we (mostly she) assembled a small heart shaped hill, I tried to make small talk.

That's how I got to know Gigi, a really cool third-grader-to-be.

She gave me the scoop on slumber parties: the in thing this season is green nail polish with sparkles.

She told me her favorite subject in school is art, and she proceeded to draw a picture in the sand of a xylophone, whose name she couldn't remember. But she knew it's a sort of piano sort of drum thingie. That's what she plays in the school orchestra, she said, and demonstrated in the air.

After about 10 minutes, I tried calling again, but no answer.

Then I asked her about her family, if she has brothers or sisters.

I asked her about cell phones. Does she have one? (I thought all kids today get cell phones when they turn 2. Where was hers?)

"My dad won't let me have one."

"Really? How come? Does he think it's bad for kids, or did you talk too much and he took it away?"

"No. I lost my old ones." Here she paused, embarrassed, and lowered her voice to a near whisper. "I've had five."

"Sorry, I can't hear you. What did you say?"

"I've had five," she repeated.

"Five?!"

"Five, no, six. I lost them all."

"How did you do that?"

"I just forgot where I put 'em."

I asked her about the internet: Does she use Facebook or MySpace?

"I have a MySpace, but I only used it once. My sister Facebooks."

Eventually, she asked me one question:

"Do you have a job?"

I wondered how to phrase my chosen career path. "I started my postgraduate education in 2002. I think you were learning to differentiate between peepee and poopoo around then. Since then, I have been reading lots of books and journal articles, and typing many, many pages, in hopes that one day I will earning a degree that certifies I have attained the highest level of study in one field. Which basically means that I now know a little more after than I did when I was starting out. Basically I'm a professional student. Also, unemployed. Real life is scary. Learn a trade, kid."

I figured this was not the time to explain grad school to a frightened 8-year-old.

Instead, I told her I'm a writer.

"I write stuff, and post it on the internet. Like, if I have an idea, or want to find out the answer to a question, I will do some research and then tell a bunch of people about what I found."

She nodded.

Mr. A came back and sat with our stuff while I took Gigi for a walk to find her family.

"What color is their umbrella?" I asked.

"Blue with white trim."

Less than a minute after we started walking, she pointed to a group of people.

"That's my aunt!" she exclaimed and bounded over. They were about 50 feet from where we'd been sitting.

I made sure the aunt noticed her, then waved goodbye, but she never looked back.

Gained: Interaction with a member of generation Z.

Help me avoid interest and penalties?

I have a new strategy, and a new goal, which I'll unveil Monday, along with the first set of data.

In the meantime, here are three recent requests, as I shift gears for Year Two...

Wednesday, July 1: Didn't ask a thing! BREAK!!

Thursday, July 2: My undergraduate student loans go into automatic repayment once I graduate. Since I've been a student for so long, the computer decided to list me as finished. Thanks for the hint!

Within a week of my said graduation date, I got a letter from my undergrad loan company, followed soon by another, stating that I owe heaps of money for June and July and if I don't act now, I'll go into default.

DEFAULT!!!!?????????

I had some asking to do, stat!!

I called my grad school's registrar and requested that they sort this out. The clerk said she will write a letter on my behalf to the lender, explaining that it was a computer glitch and I'm still registered.

Next, I called the lender to say a letter is on its way. Will I be penalized in any way because of this miscommunication? Wil I be charged interest, have a black mark on my record, or worse?

That clerk said no.

Gained: Took care of business and smoothed over a technical snafoo.

Next days, coming up next...

Help me talk to the pharmacist?

June 6. Day 341.

Years ago, I took a latin class as part of my grad studies. I don't remember much grammar now, but it was a daily class, which means I do remember the following: that for 6 months, every morning at 10, I met with 10 other people. We saw each other get sick, come to class excited about work or personal lives, stressed about other classes, hung over. We saw the teacher, also a grad student, wear the same purple sweatshirt every day -- I'm not kidding -- for the whole semester. We witnessed each other's haircuts and changing facial hair. And one student's monstrous pimple swell and disappear.

Sounds like work? A MTWThF job? But it's not. Because if in most jobs, you more or less try to keep up appearances (or so my employed friends tell me), at college, and especially at grad school, you don't give a shit.

So latin class was intimate. It was raw. It was reality with no quotation marks. It simply was.

As I write this blog I feel a little like I'm back in latin class, only the info is going one way. Amid all the asking, you see me get sick, plan career moves, try to finish my blessed dissertation, drink coffee after coffee, get haircuts, and fight mouse invasions. Sometimes, I get to read your emails or comments, and I love it!! And getting your contest entries is another reminder that people are out there, reading. It makes me so happy to get an occasional answer. But I know what blogging is: a one-way dispatch, a shout into the abyss. Any answer is sugar on the rim.

As for those intimate daily dispatches: I'm stuck sickville. I asked a girl I met tonight to help me out in the pharmacy. She was the friend of a friend, and when I was coughing up a storm, and should probably have been in bed, I turned to her in the middle of the party we were at and asked her if she could rescue me. She was having fun, and maybe it wasn't the most thoughtful thing to do, but I felt like we'd been talking all night and she was really cool, so hopefully she wouldn't mind.

There was a 24-hour pharmacy a block away, and I wasn't sure what medicine to buy or how to describe my symptoms. Could she possibly come?

"I'd be happy to come!"

In a minute we were at the pharmacy. I rang the bell, and out came the pharmacist, who looked about our age and like he'd been woken up from a nap. He gave me two things: a tasty cough syrup sweetened with honey and a magic pill that's supposed to make colds go bye bye.

We'll see. For now, just looking forward to sleeeeep.

Gained: an Italian interpreter at my hour of darkness. And, actually, a potential new friend. This girl has an interesting job (Latin and ancient Greek private tutor - incidentally!), she is pursuing interesting studies (cognitive psychology) and she's nice enough to walk a sick foreigner to the nearest pharmacy. In fact, we ended the night with tentative plans to hang out Monday!

Your hint today points to a different hour of darkness. See below. This image too, was snapped locally and it's a good metaphor for this city, these days. Not to mention the rest of the financial world. Ahem.

Salary injustice, close to home

May 6. Day 310.

La Sorella called me this morning, flustered.

She took on a babysitting job in Seattle. A baby and a toddler. $10 per hour. It takes her an hour to drive there and back, not paid. Plus the family comes home late and doesn't pay for the extra 10 or 15 minutes. Should she ask for a raise or not? Should she ask them to come on time, or pay her for her time? She was nervous about bringing up these issues, but upset with the status quo.

I told her yes on both counts. Encouraged her. Gave her a few talking points. Told her to find a better paying gig, since even if she got a raise, the base is so low it would probably not jump high enough to be worth it.

Then I hung up.

But I felt like we didn't end the talk well. I wasn't sure I'd given her the best advice. It was snippets of ideas, but nothing coherent. Nothing rousing. Nothing more meaningful than "hope" and "try."

"Can you talk to her?" I asked Eau.

This woman has taught negotiation classes. She bargains down jewelry in Hong Kong to less than 10 percent of the asking price. And she knows about employment law.

It was a moot question. Of course she would. I dialed and handed her the phone.

"Darling," she said, and yes she really does talk that way. "Darling, I heard about your situation, and I have to say, it's really wrong what they are doing. It's unconscionable, really. I mean, given my line of work I'm really tuned into what's fair and equitable and what's not, and anyone would rule that this is exploitation. If you factor in your travel time and gas, you are earning less than minimum wage. Just to put things in perspective, when I was in New York I charged more than five times that. Prices are very inflated there, and you're in a different city, but you're still a college graduate with special training in education. You should be charging much more than $10, especially for two kids.

"I think that what's more important than keeping these clients -- since they are taking advantage of you -- is learning to value your time and talents. People are happy to pay more for a quality product or service, and that's exactly what you're offering. You're intelligent, energetic, wonderful with children, and you've been trained as a teacher. You're a professional. You're not some teenager who wants to make a few extra bucks on top of her allowance. So I'm sure there are other people out there looking for a babysitter or a tutor. I'd find some other clients, and start with a much higher fee. You can always let them bargain it down, but $10 is far too little. And if those people still want to pay $10, they should hire a preteen from the neighborhood.

"Even if the kids take a nap, you shouldn't feel you have it easy or it's not a job. You're still the responsible adult in the house. If something goes wrong, if there's a fire or one of them needs to go to the emergency room, that's actually what you're there for. Just in case. On top of the care you provide when they are awake. Plus, any time you are there, you can't be doing something else. Working a better paying job, or looking for full time work, or doing whatever you want with your time.

"I've found that when people do ask for respect, when they take themselves seriously enough to complain about something or make sure they're treated fairly, people will actually respect them much more. Never, ever be afraid to stand up for yourself."

I just listened in awe. Right on every count. My sister, meanwhile, was silent, but taking it all in on the other end.

A few hours later, she sent me this text message:

"They said no to higher pay. So I won't be babysitting after these sessions. Ridiculous. Maybe they'll reconsider. Thank you and Eau. It felt great to stand up for myself!"

I was so happy -- so so happy -- she acted. Immediately. No fear. I'm proud of you, little sis!!!

Gained: respect -- and just around the corner, I am positive, a much better paying job -- for my Sorella.

(Another bit of good news:

For months I've been working on this chapter. Last Friday I drove to UCLA to hand it to my prof, but the pages had printed out funny. For her, that was a nuisance. For me, it was salvation.

Because it bought me a few more days.

So since Friday until today, I worked madly the finish the damn thing. Really finish it. I edited it three more times. Print outs. Paper jams. Between hanging out, cooking a chicken, playing a board game and occasional sleep...

Finally...

tonight... at 11:50 p.m...

I hit send.

Done. Bye bye, chapter two!! Four down, one to go!!)

My new crush, and thanks to the mechanics on Cotner Avenue

May 1. Day 305.

Somewhere on the I-405 between Culver City and Sepulveda Blvd, something amazing happened to me.

I became a Ryan Seacrest Fan!!!

Ry-an! Ry-an!

Before today, I'd see his air-brushed face on billboards advertising his talk show and think "Belch." I mean, Ryan Seacrest? He represents everything I loathe: mass produced, lowest common denominator, manufactured to please products with no meaning but the meaning they lack.

Then I heard him talk.

It was a segment on his show called "the rose." (Or something like that. Come on, admit it -- you know exactly what I'm talking about. And you love it, too.) Basically, a listener who thinks his or her significant other is being unfaithful calls the show. Ryan's co-host pretends to be a flower shop employee, calls the suspected cheater and offers a bouquet of roses. Who will the suspected cheater send them to?

So a woman called, saying her boyfriend had cheated on her seven times. They have a toddler, and now he promises fidelity and financial support. She wanted to take him back -- still loves him -- but she wanted to give him one last test, "to see if he's changed."

I wanted a call-in number so bad. "Who cares if he's changed! YOU haven't changed! Dating the same dipshit when you're a mama now. Get with the program, girl! You owe it to your baby!" I would have said. But I had no such number. And I was driving a manual car in LA traffic. Better stay off the phone.

The show called her baby-daddy.

"Hello? This is Fabulous Flowers, and we'd like to give you a free dozen roses, which you can send to whoever you want. Just give us the name and a message, and we'll take care of the rest. No payment, no billing info necessary. Congratulations!"

"Come on guys," I thought. "Unrealistic. You didn't even ask for the recipient's address. No one would fall for that--"

"Really?" He already sounded like a punk. "Free?"

"Yes! You won our drawing!"

"Ok. Then, make it out to Lisa."

"And the note?"

"Say, 'Love you, Chula.' "

"Is that C-h-u-l-a?"

"Yeah."

The other woman, the caller, erupted onto the line.

"Lisa!??? CHULA!!??? I can't believe you!!!!"

"What? Who is this?"

"You're calling her Chula!" (Chula means hotstuff in Spanish.)

"Baby. What are you doing on the phone? She's just a friend. You're my love."

Ryan stepped in.

"A friend, huh? I don't tell my friends that."

"Whatever, man."

"This is Ryan Seacrest, and you're on the radio, man."

"I'm on the-- what? You don't get it. We're getting married."

Then Ryan started reaming him.

"Married my BLEEP. You're irresponsible. You're not fit to be a father. Cheating seven times--"

"That didn't mean anything," the guy replied. "I love her."

"My BLEEP!" Ryan started yelling. "How dare you! You're just not cool, man. From bro to bro, you need to change your ways."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"You're a disgusting cheater. I get it. You're a womanizer. You want to have fun. But don't go saying you want to be a father to this child. Don't pretend you want to be a husband. Stay away from this woman. You're a failure as a father and a partner. I wouldn't let you anywhere near my kid."

"BLEEP BLEEP."

"You BLEEPing man whore!! MAN WHORE!"

"BLEEEEEEEP!"

Ryan!!! And here I had thought you were the man whore! I was so wrong!

Which has nothing to do with asking.

But this does:

While I was parked in LA, where I'd driven to turn in my dissertation chapter to my advisor and meet with her (she flew in from the East Cost for a conference), someone left a message on the car: "ADD COOLANT. Your radiator is leaking a lot of water."

Great. (This wasn't my car, but Mr. A's -- which I took up for the long drive. Two radiators kaput in a week? Just great.)

I drove around looking for an auto supply store, to pick up some coolant. On the way, I spotted an open mechanic garage. Maybe they would sell me coolant, and even check out the car before the long drive?

I pulled into the driveway.

"Hi, someone left this note on my car, and I'm wondering if it's safe to drive back to San Diego."

Two guys came up.

"San Diego? Well, you need to be safe for the drive back. Let's take a look."

They both checked it out, and one came back with some coolant. Filled it up.

"You're good to go."

"The radiator is fine?"

"Yeah, I can't see anything. I'm not sure why they left that note. No leaks or anything."

"Oh, that's great news, thank you! How much do I owe you?" I had a $5 ready and a $10 ready, and my credit card, depending on how much he'd ask. I wasn't about to bargain, since they were already doing me a favor by checking it out on the spot.

"Please."

"No, come on. Your time is valuable."

"Please. I am happy to know you'll drive back safely." He looked like he meant it.

"Well, thank you very much then. You're very kind."

Gained: Technically, $25 or so (skipped the gallon of coolant I was about to buy), even though I didn't ask for it. Thank you, gentlemen.

Edit my chapter?

April 4. Day 278.

I've gotten to the point in this chapter where I've started at the sentences for so long I don't recognize them anymore. I am lodged so deeply inside every word that I can't even follow the syntax. I said that? Really?? Why?? Do I really need that "that" there? What does "because of" versus "due to" do for my argument? What does "mean" mean?

Some might call it paralysis by analysis. I just all it exhaustion.

I was actually quite excited about this chapter when I started working on it. It gives an overview about how balconies were used in literature before the 19th century, as background for the rest of the dissertation. Think the Decameron, Romeo and Juliet, Moliere's L'Ecole des Femmes, and a few more works. I have cogent arguments for every section, but it's been hard to bring everything together so that every smaller argument works in the service of a larger original one.

And I'm tired. I've been working on it since February. I've even been dreaming about it.

Well... Basta.

I need some distance. Clarity. A break.

That's when an editor comes in. Since starting grad school, I've asked a few friends to look over my writing. These generous human beings have dotted my i's and given feedback on fine tuning as well as the big picture.

This is what I requested today, from Mr. A. It wasn't a hard thing to ask for, but it was extremely valuable. Since he's written a dissertation, he knows what kind of rigor is required. And since he's not in my field (quite the opposite), his questions help me write much more clearly.

"Read it quickly, for the big picture, and tell me if it makes sense and if it's interesting. If the arguments hold together. Don't worry about the footnotes, formatting, all that. I'll do all that later. Just, if I'm moving too fast in any sections, if I'm lagging or repeating myself, tell me. And if it's disorganized or an argument is a stretch, tell me... Basically, does the skeleton hold together? Thank you!!!"

Hours later, he had comments, comments and more comments -- which I used to make a major breakthrough on one of my sections.

Gained: A crucial first edit. One step closer to turning it in!!

Career Day? Career Help?

March 18. Day 261.

I'm speaking at my high school's career day.

Let me repeat that.

I. Am speaking at my high school's career day.

Yes. That chick in her nth year of grad school, who does do occasional freelance work but is essentially careerless (let's call it "careerfree," shall we?)... is going to talk at career day.

You see, the alumni coordinator called me today and said they were looking for someone to round out the panel. An Exhibit X. Basically, someone who could describe "what happens when you let grad school happen to you." I perked up. Interesting... She continued: "Many students are actually quite intrigued by the profile of the conflicted young academic who is defined by uncertainty at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Faced with either too few or too many options upon finishing the degree. You know the type. Seeing that you're about to become a full-time blogger on food stamps once you graduate, I thought you'd have many valuable lessons for our students," she suggested.

No silly, that's not what happened.

I emailed her. I told her I'm a grad student and writer/blogger, and asked if I could speak. I imagine that while a lot of kids will want to hear the doctors, lawyers and athletes, maybe there's still someone out there who likes words? books? writing? reading? dreaming? Fingers crossed...

Gained I: A chance to pay it forward. Have you ever spoken at career day? What was it like?

Speaking of careers...

I asked for something else today, more self-focused, also career oriented. Coincidence?

I emailed a couple of friends with a very specific strategy question -- because they're much more experienced than I am after working in the real world the the years I've been in grad school. Things like performance reviews, networking, leveraging opportunities, making yourself indispensable, buying low and selling high, the pros and cons of learning to play your boss's sport, the inns and outs of MBAs are all abstractions to me. Academia has its share of politics, but I've kept away. These friends, however, are living this stuff. Not only do they know how to work a room -- their jobs depend on it. So, having someone to turn to when I have a question like this is immensely valuable.

They replied immediately, with different angles and approaches -- I'm so grateful. Thanks!!! I'll let you now how it turns out!!

xo,
Rox

Gained II: Amazing career advice -- better than any book or website could ever teach me. Their wisdom will give me tools to avoid certain mistakes and make my way through the professional labyrinth, as soon as I start hunting for the cheese...

Free lunch? And... ETA on PHD?

February 24. Day 239.

I ran into a doc and found out that a one-time sleep stroll is nothing to worry about. It happens when you're really tired or have a lot on your mind. Like a dissertation.

Speaking of... I wrote a long-overdue email today to my advisor.

In this message, I gave her a status update (working on the last three chapters, all going well) and then I asked her two key questions. First, is it at all realistic for me to graduate in the spring if I buckle down and work 24/7, or should I shoot for the fall? And second, what are her thoughts about my career options in academia?

Gained: Hopefully, the advice of someone whose opinion I really trust, and an ETA on my PhD.

Second, I went to Jack in the Box and asked for two free tacos. I didn't have the coupon printout for this national promotion, so I showed them the coupon on my my cell phone screen and the manager okayed it.

Gained: Free lunch!! (Value: $1.)

Diagnose me!!! And... asked for someone to get his act together

February 23. Day 238.

I just woke up, and Mr. A gave me this news before he rushed out the door to work:

I was sleepwalking.

Last night I got out of bed, walked to the computer in the dining room with my eyes open and said:

"No, I'll do the literary comparisons." With an heavy emphasis on the I. Not you, I, will.

Then, looking a bit confused, I turned around and went back to sleep. I mean bed.

WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????????????????????????????

I don't remember a thing.

I've never sleepwalked before (to my knowledge).

I had a dream last night about something totally different. Nothing literary. Nothing comparative. Nothing ambulatory.

I know, I know, this has nothing to do with asking. But I think we can interrupt the regular flow of posts to document the first step in my fall to delirium. I looked online, and I can rule out most causes (drugs and medications, alcohol, head injury, migraines, sleep deprivation and puberty). Which leaves: nervous system disorders, brain swelling, and seizures. Oh, and stress.

What does this mean? Any doctors reading this? Should I be worried? Is this normal? Am I secretly writing my dissertation in my sleep?

Actual asking coming up next... Until then... Happy Monday.

UPDATE:

I'm rarely in a position to ask people to do something for me because I've paid them to do it. Let's be frank. I'm rarely a client. I mean, at most I buy something in a cafe or store, receive my goods and then leave the counter. Finito.

In fact, when I'm waiting for paid services to be rendered, I tend to treat people like they're doing me a favor. I can't quite fathom that they're supposed to do that service. (A few years ago I hired a lawyer for something, and it was totally shocking that he called me back, was nice and reliable, sent me a holiday card. Eventually it sank in that at $300 an hour, he damn well better sound interested when I call with a question or concern. But it was an adjustment I had to make from being grateful for his time to feeling like I earned it.)

Well, I've been waiting for a few weeks for a contractor to come by the house and fix a few things (outlets don't work in two rooms, etc etc). We've played phone tag and I've always been oh-so sweet. He's busy. He's confused. He didn't communicate with his employees.

Time to snap out of it, Roxy. You've been waiting for this guy to fix your outlets for almost a month. You're paying rent. It's not a friendly favor. It's his job. Which he's sucking at.

So I called and left a message saying just that:

"It's La Roxy, from 4444 Exasperation Lane [I used my real address]. I'm calling because it's been several weeks since we've been in touch about the problems we went over, and after last week's missed appointments, I am getting tired of waiting around. I am not angry or annoyed. I understand you're busy. But I am simply exhausted by all this back and forth and I'd really like my house to be functional. Please be professional enough to return my call and tell me exactly when someone someone will show up -- and make sure someone shows up. Thank you."

Gained: Still waiting... We'll see if this approach works...