An ant sailing towards that distant horizon

I walk out of his office. I am an ant, no--smaller than that--a flea, a tiny thing that no one would notice they’d squished inadvertently.

It starts. He interrupts the lunch I’m eating in front of my computer screen. “Flea (I’m not using my real name here, of course), I need to talk to you,” he says in a fear-inspiring voice that only be mimicked by a man who has scolded his own children after breaking mom’s crystal vase.
I gave him my draft of the paper we’re going to submit. Though that was a week ago, so perhaps this means that he’s finally read the thing. I am #4 in the line for papers being published. I guess he’s pretty tired of editing at this point.
I sit down in his office, trying to stop my heart from exploding out of my chest and my hands from trembling. It can’t be that bad, I think.
“I just don’t understand why it is that you can’t write?”
Me: “Excuse me?”
“I expect this from others who I’ve written papers with whose second language is English, but I expect better from you”.
I retreat into my safety zone in my head. I have had 4 job offers that involve scientific writing, and published an article online last year. It’s ok, I say to myself—you know better than that. Just ignore him.
“What is the problem? You’re always rolling your eyes at me! What have I done to offend you?” He takes off his glasses.
I stop the mental image of me smashing his head into the computer screen. I look at him. Perhaps he’s serious. Maybe he’s ready to listen, I’ve only been telling him for a year now, but yes—this could be the moment.
Me: “Well, I’ve been miserable for over a year now, and you only pay attention to 2 postdoc in the lab, and I’m working all alone on this project.” (Not to mention that I’ve only presented my data 3 times after 3 years of working here)
“Why do you say that I only pay attention to 2 postdocs?”
This favoritism is so obvious, in fact, that I openly joke about it with everyone in the lab, including THE Favorite. I’m not the only one who jokes about it, either.
I tell him why, and then he goes on the attack. First with the excuses. Then it gets personal.

“You know, I’ve done everything for you…. blah blah. And it’s not true that I play favorites… blah blah. That super famous researcher that you wanted to meet with—she’s a shark. And well, she only had time to speak with me and (“Favorite #2”). I already apologized for that.
An aside-- I spoke with Super famous researcher twice, after 2 different seminars she gave in Paris, and she was very interested in speaking with me. The last time we spoke, she offered me the mutant mice that they’ve bred onto a special GFP background for watching movement of stuff in real-time. The lab is already collaborating with her, through Favorite #2, so I don’t know what her being a shark has to do with the argument, except that I guess I’m supposed to be grateful to him for protecting me from her.

I can’t argue with him any more, I won’t win. I can’t win. I never win. Why does it even matter? I’m going to a new job and I don’t have to deal with this any more. I relax, my face muscles go loose and I assume the role of the passive employee.

He waxes prosaic. “You know, when I started in science -“Dr. A.” (a famous researcher back in NY) asked me if they still required students to take English class at Berkley, because my grant proposals were so badly written. And Dr. A helped me out…. I really have tried to find other people to work on this project, you believe me don’t you? I have suffered too, there have been a lot more adjustments and problems and difficulties setting up this department than I anticipated…. I need you to realize that I am working for you too. I support you. We can’t work together like this.”

At this point, my conditioning kicks in (it’s been about a year to a year and a half that I’ve experienced these recurrent episodes in his office) and I say something like, “Well, I’m here in your office trying to write this paper with you aren’t I? After 4 years this story (my research project) deserves to be told.”
He interrupts—“and it WILL be told. Don’t forget that there are other people out there who are following this story. THEY want to know what happens. Even if I were to be hit by a bus tomorrow, the story would continue. It’s bigger than me, even.

You know what you can do? You can read the sentences out aloud to see if they sound good….”

I go back to my happy place, but it’s on a sailboat now, sheets of paper with my figure legends on them are floating by, edited in bold red pen strokes, but I don’t stop to pick them up. I keep on sailing into the sunset.