"I am a mathematician" - this is what I always answered when asked about what I do. Lately, I started wondering what it really means. So when a poster with the phrase "where discoveries begin" landed in my mailbox it caught my attention. Bold letters G, S and A standing for the Government Science Agency only increased my curiosity. Is this really where discoveries begin, I wondered absent-mindedly scrolling through their gibberish laden website.
Fast forward six months. I am packing my suitcase, emptying my office at the Math Department of the Euphoric State, and moving across the country to become a rotator in the Mathematics Unit of the Government Science Agency.
Rotator? Is this an engine part? Ha, ha, very funny. A rotator is a temporary employee of the Mathematics Unit who usually comes for two to three years. So for the next two years I will be scouting for the discoveries, and nurturing the germs of innovation. I cannot wait for this to begin!
Fast forward six months. I am packing my suitcase, emptying my office at the Math Department of the Euphoric State, and moving across the country to become a rotator in the Mathematics Unit of the Government Science Agency.
Rotator? Is this an engine part? Ha, ha, very funny. A rotator is a temporary employee of the Mathematics Unit who usually comes for two to three years. So for the next two years I will be scouting for the discoveries, and nurturing the germs of innovation. I cannot wait for this to begin!
Your name is not right
On my first day at the GSA I march to collect my badge. The Government Science Agency is a serious organization and armed guards patrol the floors checking for real and imaginary threats.
Security is a top priority and to access a computer, use a restroom or move around the building one must have a badge with an embedded micro-chip.
Equipped with three different forms of identification I enter a windowless lair where the new badges are minted. Two burly guards man the station. I present my docs and it is immediately clear that we have a problem.
"Your name is way to long," the first guard says slowly while glaring at me with suspicion, "we need to chop off a part of it."
"Perhaps we can use a smaller font?" the other guard tries to help.
"No such thing as a smaller font on the government id," Mr Chop It says firmly and Mr Small Font shrugs with resignation.
"But if you chop off a part of my name it will not match my other ids," I pipe in.
"Yeah, right," Mr Small Font concurs, "you’ve got to use a smaller font."
Mr Chop It gets red in the face and slowly unholsters his Glock, "Which part of "no small font" do you not understand," he stares down at Mr Small Font menacingly.
But Mr Small Font mans up and yanks out his Luger, "are you threatening me?" he says coldly.
The situation is getting sticky and does not look good. "Please put down your weapons!" I plead with them, "I am sure we can fix this problem peacefully."
Suddenly both guards turn towards me and I am staring into the barrels of a Glock and a Luger. Cold sweat runs down my spine.
"Perhaps you are the problem?" Mr Chop It says slowly, "I have sworn to protect this agency from all enemies, foreign and domestic." He spells out "foreign" letter by letter, savoring the implications.
"I am domestic, I am domestic," I assure them nervously, "my name is just long."
"A domestic enemy?" Mr Small Font is suddenly very alert.
"No, no, just a domestic person," I feel like drowning, but suddenly the tension is gone as quickly as it built up.
"Alright, alright," Mr Chop It declares, "we will kick it up the command chain. No need for panic. Just doing our jobs."
Security is a top priority and to access a computer, use a restroom or move around the building one must have a badge with an embedded micro-chip.
Equipped with three different forms of identification I enter a windowless lair where the new badges are minted. Two burly guards man the station. I present my docs and it is immediately clear that we have a problem.
"Your name is way to long," the first guard says slowly while glaring at me with suspicion, "we need to chop off a part of it."
"Perhaps we can use a smaller font?" the other guard tries to help.
"No such thing as a smaller font on the government id," Mr Chop It says firmly and Mr Small Font shrugs with resignation.
"But if you chop off a part of my name it will not match my other ids," I pipe in.
"Yeah, right," Mr Small Font concurs, "you’ve got to use a smaller font."
Mr Chop It gets red in the face and slowly unholsters his Glock, "Which part of "no small font" do you not understand," he stares down at Mr Small Font menacingly.
But Mr Small Font mans up and yanks out his Luger, "are you threatening me?" he says coldly.
The situation is getting sticky and does not look good. "Please put down your weapons!" I plead with them, "I am sure we can fix this problem peacefully."
Suddenly both guards turn towards me and I am staring into the barrels of a Glock and a Luger. Cold sweat runs down my spine.
"Perhaps you are the problem?" Mr Chop It says slowly, "I have sworn to protect this agency from all enemies, foreign and domestic." He spells out "foreign" letter by letter, savoring the implications.
"I am domestic, I am domestic," I assure them nervously, "my name is just long."
"A domestic enemy?" Mr Small Font is suddenly very alert.
"No, no, just a domestic person," I feel like drowning, but suddenly the tension is gone as quickly as it built up.
"Alright, alright," Mr Chop It declares, "we will kick it up the command chain. No need for panic. Just doing our jobs."
Security clearance
Badly shaken after the badge incident I saunter to the Human Resources to check on the progress of my Security Clearance. This is certainly a very different environment and much friendlier for that matter. A big room is partitioned into several rows of cubicles occupied by middle-aged and unarmed women. It is clear that digital age has bypassed this locale as the paper piles are visible everywhere.
I spell out my name and within minutes a sympathetic clerk unearths a large folder from an imposing pile of documents.
"With a name like this you will never get lost," she announces cheerfully and plops the folder on the desk. I breathe a sigh of relief but then disaster strikes again. A shoestring holding the folder together breaks and a waterfall of documents comes down onto the floor. My whole life flashes in front of my eyes - my bank statements, birth certificate, vaccination records for my pets, some of them long deceased, high school pictures and myriad of other documents.
"My, my," I murmur, "you have gathered a lot of stuff."
"This is where discoveries begin," she says with a smile," but we also care about in whose hands they will end up."
"Right, right," I wonder out loud, "but is everything fine with my clearance?"
"Not anymore," she glances at the documents scattered on the floor, "we will need several weeks to get your file in order and check for the missing pages."
"You have already lost my paperwork twice," I reply with a hint of irritation.
"You see with your own eyes how easy it is for this to happen," she says firmly indicating that the meeting is over and waves me away.
I spell out my name and within minutes a sympathetic clerk unearths a large folder from an imposing pile of documents.
"With a name like this you will never get lost," she announces cheerfully and plops the folder on the desk. I breathe a sigh of relief but then disaster strikes again. A shoestring holding the folder together breaks and a waterfall of documents comes down onto the floor. My whole life flashes in front of my eyes - my bank statements, birth certificate, vaccination records for my pets, some of them long deceased, high school pictures and myriad of other documents.
"My, my," I murmur, "you have gathered a lot of stuff."
"This is where discoveries begin," she says with a smile," but we also care about in whose hands they will end up."
"Right, right," I wonder out loud, "but is everything fine with my clearance?"
"Not anymore," she glances at the documents scattered on the floor, "we will need several weeks to get your file in order and check for the missing pages."
"You have already lost my paperwork twice," I reply with a hint of irritation.
"You see with your own eyes how easy it is for this to happen," she says firmly indicating that the meeting is over and waves me away.
Funky software
Several weeks pass and the first round of scientific proposals arrives. It is a glorious day and I am trembling with excitement. My mentor, a senior colleague named Bjorn, is helping me with acclimatizing in the Mathematics Unit. On this day he hums Nordic tunes and guides me in loading submissions into the Straight-jacket. Straight-jacket? Yes, you heard it right. Straight-jacket is an ingenious piece of software that checks the files against myriads of formatting requirements and most likely does a lot of other things.
"Click here and you will be in the Straight-jacket," my mentor says with a mischievous smile. Indeed, in a flash my work area is limited to a small window comparable in size to an iPhone screen and the mouse pointer is locked in it.
"How do I get out?" I ask him nervously.
"You don’t!" Bjorn answers triumphantly, "because this window closes automatically after 60 seconds of inactivity."
"It feels like being on a galley," I murmur to myself.
"Watch your language," Bjorn says patting my back, "it is a secure environment with enhanced productivity features."
"Click here and you will be in the Straight-jacket," my mentor says with a mischievous smile. Indeed, in a flash my work area is limited to a small window comparable in size to an iPhone screen and the mouse pointer is locked in it.
"How do I get out?" I ask him nervously.
"You don’t!" Bjorn answers triumphantly, "because this window closes automatically after 60 seconds of inactivity."
"It feels like being on a galley," I murmur to myself.
"Watch your language," Bjorn says patting my back, "it is a secure environment with enhanced productivity features."
Life lessons
I strain my eyes and start poking around in the Straight-jacket. The interface has a modern look and a pleasing color palette, but what can I say - it is a straight-jacket. Also, it works in mysterious ways. When I try to alphabetize the submissions, it simply does not seem to work. Furthermore, I have an eerie feeling that some items disappear from the list and are being replaced by completely random ones.
Resigned I trot to Bjorn’s office and explain my problems.
"What is your top value?" he asks.
"Personal hygiene," I blurt out without much thinking. He gives me a strange look, "I mean as a Rotator."
"I dunno," I mutter with embarrassment.
"Well, here are my top three: good memory, cheerful disposition and scientific curiosity," he says quite seriously, "and Straight-jacket helps you to develop all three."
"What are you saying?!" I am beyond myself.
Bjorn smiles briefly and explains. "First of all, as you noticed, Straight-jacket can remove and add things to your portfolio all by itself," he begins, "so constant watching what it is doing really helps your memory to develop."
"In fact it is better than Lumosity," he says with finality.
"Second, using the Straight-jacket can be very frustrating. Becoming more mellow and forgiving goes a long way towards lowering the risk of going postal," he continues and then decides to move on, "but tell me what do you have a problem with?"
"I cannot alphabetize the submissions," I explain helplessly, "when I try it does something but I do not understand what."
Bjorn sighs, "It cannot be hard, where is your scientific curiosity?"
I stare at the screen for the n-th time and at last I finally get it, "By golly, it is so simple! The names are alphabetized when you read them backwards!"
"This is where discoveries begin," Bjorn says softly and I bask in the warm glow of his approval.
"But it does not make any sense to do it this way," I exclaim after a while.
"This is probably just an honest mistake by one of our contractors," Bjorn says resignedly, "these guys have no idea what this stuff is for."
Resigned I trot to Bjorn’s office and explain my problems.
"What is your top value?" he asks.
"Personal hygiene," I blurt out without much thinking. He gives me a strange look, "I mean as a Rotator."
"I dunno," I mutter with embarrassment.
"Well, here are my top three: good memory, cheerful disposition and scientific curiosity," he says quite seriously, "and Straight-jacket helps you to develop all three."
"What are you saying?!" I am beyond myself.
Bjorn smiles briefly and explains. "First of all, as you noticed, Straight-jacket can remove and add things to your portfolio all by itself," he begins, "so constant watching what it is doing really helps your memory to develop."
"In fact it is better than Lumosity," he says with finality.
"Second, using the Straight-jacket can be very frustrating. Becoming more mellow and forgiving goes a long way towards lowering the risk of going postal," he continues and then decides to move on, "but tell me what do you have a problem with?"
"I cannot alphabetize the submissions," I explain helplessly, "when I try it does something but I do not understand what."
Bjorn sighs, "It cannot be hard, where is your scientific curiosity?"
I stare at the screen for the n-th time and at last I finally get it, "By golly, it is so simple! The names are alphabetized when you read them backwards!"
"This is where discoveries begin," Bjorn says softly and I bask in the warm glow of his approval.
"But it does not make any sense to do it this way," I exclaim after a while.
"This is probably just an honest mistake by one of our contractors," Bjorn says resignedly, "these guys have no idea what this stuff is for."
Trial by fire
The panel season is fast approaching and I camp out in Bjorn’s office to sponge his wisdom. Panel? That is right. GSA panel is not a piece of furniture but a gathering of a group of experts that evaluate scientific proposals. Mathematics Unit runs dozens of panels each year.
I am looking forward to my first panel and when the day approaches Bjorn sits me down in his office and explains, "One of the virtues of a Rotator is being able to divide attention between many different tasks, while" he makes a pregnant pause, "giving all these tasks an undivided attention."
"This sounds like a contradiction, is that even possible?" I whisper to myself but Bjorn does not listen.
"I have arranged an opportunity for you to develop this skill," he says with a smile, "you will be helping with two panels running simultaneously."
I am momentarily short of breath and I must be looking like a deer in the headlights because this cannot end well.
"Don’t you worry," Bjorn says with a friendly smile, "both panels are in the same building."
This turns out to be true, and the panels are in fact not too far apart except that the distance is vertical. The fastest route is via the staircase. I decide to bounce back and forth for 5-minute shifts and I fantasize that I will cover the seven floors separating the rooms like a gazelle. The only slowdown is that I need to type the password on the keypad each time I enter or leave the staircase. Bummer! But it is only a 24-digit number that I can commit to my Straight-jacket enhanced memory!
I am looking forward to my first panel and when the day approaches Bjorn sits me down in his office and explains, "One of the virtues of a Rotator is being able to divide attention between many different tasks, while" he makes a pregnant pause, "giving all these tasks an undivided attention."
"This sounds like a contradiction, is that even possible?" I whisper to myself but Bjorn does not listen.
"I have arranged an opportunity for you to develop this skill," he says with a smile, "you will be helping with two panels running simultaneously."
I am momentarily short of breath and I must be looking like a deer in the headlights because this cannot end well.
"Don’t you worry," Bjorn says with a friendly smile, "both panels are in the same building."
This turns out to be true, and the panels are in fact not too far apart except that the distance is vertical. The fastest route is via the staircase. I decide to bounce back and forth for 5-minute shifts and I fantasize that I will cover the seven floors separating the rooms like a gazelle. The only slowdown is that I need to type the password on the keypad each time I enter or leave the staircase. Bummer! But it is only a 24-digit number that I can commit to my Straight-jacket enhanced memory!
Implicit bias
I sit next to Bjorn as the first panel is about to begin and I am happy as a clam. "This is it! This is it!" rings in my head messing up my concentration.
The first order of the day is a conflict of interest and confidentiality briefing. It goes smoothly and Bjorn allows himself to digress on an issue that became a hot topic in the Government Science Agency.
"Implicit bias," he begins quoting from Wiki, "is a positive or negative mental attitude towards a person, a thing, or a group, that a person holds at a subconscious level."
"How do I know what I hold on a subconscious level?" someone asks immediately.
"You don’t," Bjorn barks out, "so I will be watching you."
There is a bit of confusion and Bjorn decides to give an example.
"Do you know that when they started blind auditions for the orchestras many more women made the cut," he quotes results of his favorite Swedish study that has been circulating in GSA for years.
"You audition from behind the curtain and they put down a carpet so the panel cannot infer your gender from the sound of your shoes," he throws in a curious tidbit.
"What is wrong with the shoes?" someone asks.
"Nothing," Bjorn replies, "but you should be listening to the music rather than checking out the shoes."
There is a prolonged silence and finally one panelist asks, "Are we going to be punished?"
The first order of the day is a conflict of interest and confidentiality briefing. It goes smoothly and Bjorn allows himself to digress on an issue that became a hot topic in the Government Science Agency.
"Implicit bias," he begins quoting from Wiki, "is a positive or negative mental attitude towards a person, a thing, or a group, that a person holds at a subconscious level."
"How do I know what I hold on a subconscious level?" someone asks immediately.
"You don’t," Bjorn barks out, "so I will be watching you."
There is a bit of confusion and Bjorn decides to give an example.
"Do you know that when they started blind auditions for the orchestras many more women made the cut," he quotes results of his favorite Swedish study that has been circulating in GSA for years.
"You audition from behind the curtain and they put down a carpet so the panel cannot infer your gender from the sound of your shoes," he throws in a curious tidbit.
"What is wrong with the shoes?" someone asks.
"Nothing," Bjorn replies, "but you should be listening to the music rather than checking out the shoes."
There is a prolonged silence and finally one panelist asks, "Are we going to be punished?"
Giant shoes
I stagger back into the panel room completely exhausted from galloping seven floors up and fumbling with the passwords on the staircase.
"I am not a gazelle anymore," I whisper to Bjorn fishing for sympathy.
"Stop wheezing!" he reprimands me sternly, "and focus on the discussion."
"Who’s up?" I ask and Bjorn murmurs, "MFM."
Government Science Agency is full of acronyms but this one belongs to the Mathematics Unit and it stands for the Most Famous Mathematician.
Indeed, the proposal under review comes from a giant in the field, richly decorated for his numerous accomplishments, and an inventor of the new fields and methods. All reviews are quite enthusiastic albeit rather short and after a very brief discussion the MFM's proposal lands at the top position.
I decide to peruse MFM's project hoping that some of this wisdom will rub off on me. Alas, it is not meant to be. The project is mighty short and so is MFM's recent output. I am confused and then in a flash I internalize the concept of implicit bias.
"Giant shoes and no music," I whisper to Bjorn pointing at the MFM leading the pack, "but who is going to get punished?"
"I hope that it is not you," Bjorn says ominously.
"I am not a gazelle anymore," I whisper to Bjorn fishing for sympathy.
"Stop wheezing!" he reprimands me sternly, "and focus on the discussion."
"Who’s up?" I ask and Bjorn murmurs, "MFM."
Government Science Agency is full of acronyms but this one belongs to the Mathematics Unit and it stands for the Most Famous Mathematician.
Indeed, the proposal under review comes from a giant in the field, richly decorated for his numerous accomplishments, and an inventor of the new fields and methods. All reviews are quite enthusiastic albeit rather short and after a very brief discussion the MFM's proposal lands at the top position.
I decide to peruse MFM's project hoping that some of this wisdom will rub off on me. Alas, it is not meant to be. The project is mighty short and so is MFM's recent output. I am confused and then in a flash I internalize the concept of implicit bias.
"Giant shoes and no music," I whisper to Bjorn pointing at the MFM leading the pack, "but who is going to get punished?"
"I hope that it is not you," Bjorn says ominously.
Are we being robbed?
Several months have passed and all my proposals have been reviewed.
It is time to look at the budgets. I recall that Euphoric State was pretty euphoric in trying to increase their revenue stream but now I see that this attitude seems epidemic.
I run to Bjorn's office and find him quite content and drumming Peer Gynt on his desk.
"Do you know what these universities charge for overhead, fringe benefits, tuition and whatever else they want?" I exclaim breathlessly.
"A lot," answers Bjorn completely unmoved.
"They all want one administrator for each faculty member," he explains after a moment," and we are a major helper in making it happen."
"But why??" I wail feeling tears welling in my eyes, "it is such a waste."
Bjorn perks up. "Not necessarily," he says, "education is an elusive product and when you charge the top dollar for it you need a professional to convince the customer that a transaction actually took place."
"Isn’t that what faculty is for? There are grades, exams, midterms and graduations?" I am beyond myself.
"Definitely not," Bjorn maintains his glacial calm, "faculty are exactly the people that make sure that students feel like they learned nothing."
It is time to look at the budgets. I recall that Euphoric State was pretty euphoric in trying to increase their revenue stream but now I see that this attitude seems epidemic.
I run to Bjorn's office and find him quite content and drumming Peer Gynt on his desk.
"Do you know what these universities charge for overhead, fringe benefits, tuition and whatever else they want?" I exclaim breathlessly.
"A lot," answers Bjorn completely unmoved.
"They all want one administrator for each faculty member," he explains after a moment," and we are a major helper in making it happen."
"But why??" I wail feeling tears welling in my eyes, "it is such a waste."
Bjorn perks up. "Not necessarily," he says, "education is an elusive product and when you charge the top dollar for it you need a professional to convince the customer that a transaction actually took place."
"Isn’t that what faculty is for? There are grades, exams, midterms and graduations?" I am beyond myself.
"Definitely not," Bjorn maintains his glacial calm, "faculty are exactly the people that make sure that students feel like they learned nothing."
Just like mathematics
I leave Bjorn’s office depressed and miserable. This cannot be right, yet it explains a lot. I need to get my bearings.
In my overflowing mailbox there is an ad for a Caribbean cruise. It promises that the cruise will be very inexpensive yet full of excitement and opening up new horizons.
"Just like mathematics," I whisper to myself defiantly, and order the whole package. If this is not a new beginning then what is?
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continues here