Page 13 of A Discovery: Love and Other Things

We all broke out into laughter.

Angela called out, “Okay, Ms. T. I need to go shower. You wouldn’t believe the crevices that sand can reach.”

Mom had never changed her last name from Taha after Baba passed away. Her excuse was that it made the logistics of school pick-ups and healthcare visits easier if she shared the same last name as me. But I knew it was more than that, like she wasn’t ready to let him go even though it had been decades.

“Okay, dear, you take care. Nice talking to you,” Mom called out to Angela.

“You, too. Bye!” And with that, Angela left with her shower caddy and towel.

“So, what are you going to do about the‘arrogant prick’?” Mom asked, redirecting the conversation.

“Ugh, I don’t know. It was so bad! He made me feel insignificant, and I just lost it.”

I had checked my email on the hostel computer nearly every hour today, dreading that I’d receive a termination message from the internship coordinator. But nothing had ever shown up.

“First off, I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself, but I have to admit that this is very unlike you. You’re usually so calm, and to a fault.” Mom had always advocated for me to stand up for myself more, but I was typically too afraid to deal with confrontation.

My shoulders sagged with the weight of the reality that I had royally pissed off my mentor, likely to the point of no return. “I know. There’s just something about Dr. Campbell that irks me.”

“Is it because he’s younger than you had probably imagined and in a position to boss you around?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He’s still over ten years older than me.” His age definitely wasn’t the issue. And neither were his looks, not that I’d noticed them or anything. He was just an ass.

“From my perspective, he’s a spring chicken,” Mom replied.

“You’re not old, Mom.” She was only fifty-five but could pass for someone in her early forties.Here’s hoping those genes work in my favor, too!

“I didn’t say I was. But I have eyes, and your jerk of a professor is ahottie.”

“Please stop.” Hearing my mom call my professor a “hottie” was too much to handle this late in the evening. Mom barely dated, so it always threw me off when she spoke about men. I wished she would find someone to settle down with.

“I just think that you don’t like the unexpected as much as you think you do, and maybe seeing someone like Dr. Campbell in a position of power threw you off your game. But I still don’t think you have anything to apologize for, no matter how caught off guard you were. Maybe you should talk to your professor and at least smooth things over. Hopefully, when he speaks to you, he’ll realize how levelheaded you are and that he really was being an arrogant prick.”

“I doubt that. He’s so full of himself. Thinks he’s God or something and that we’re all his bitches.”

“Most men in high positions are like that, regardless of their age. Imagine how many Dr. Campbells I’ve had to deal with during my career, especially when I first started. They expect women to be submissive and fall in line.”

Even today, tech was a “bro industry” filled with men. Sure, companies were making more of an effort to include women at the table, but the field was still overwhelmingly male. I could only imagine how tough it must have been for Mom to have fought her way up the ladder so many years ago.

Archaeology was sadly the same. The field was full of men, and the few women who were permitted to work on-site bore the brunt of glares and sexist remarks. Even the bathroom provisions catered to men who could stand and piss anywhere they pleased. Some sites had porta potties, but they were too disgusting for females to use because no one cleaned them and they lacked toilet paper. At our site, we had to take a car to a nearby market and use the facilities there. It was a hassle to have someone drive you to use the restroom, and it was embarrassing to announce that you had to leave to pee to everyone on the site. Most women ended up holding their urine for far too long and would suffer chronic UTIs precipitated by dehydration, full bladders, and hot climates.

And God forbid you got your period on-site. There was nowhere to hide in the desert to change your tampon or even dispose of it. Most women, this one included, ended up going on the pill to control their cycles so that they wouldn’t get their period while on excavation.

It was unfair, but I couldn’t see this kind of thing changing anytime soon as long as men were in charge.

My voice prickled with irritation. “Are you saying you want me to go to him with my tail tucked between my legs?”

“No, not at all. You did the right thing by defending yourself. He was out of line, but at the same time, your career is a game. And you have to play it smartly. As far as I see it, you have two options: drop out of this internship and try for another one, or talk this out with Dr. Campbell to see if you can come to an understanding.”

Dropping out wasn’t a possibility. It was too late into the season to find another internship to meet my field requirement for the summer. I would have to spend an extra year in school just to make up for this internship. And if I left, it would stain my record for all future internships I applied to.

I huffed out an exhausted sigh. “I guess I need to talk to him.”

“It’s a good sign that he hasn’t expelled you yet,” Mom replied, her voice softening. “So maybe he’s holding back on doing something extreme. Take advantage of that and go talk to him soon before he changes his mind.”

Tomorrow was Friday and everyone had the day off, but Dr. Campbell would be on-site. Maybe I could catch him when he was alone and straighten this all out. We didn’t need to get along, but maybe I could just tough it out for the next few weeks and then pack my shit up and go home.

My ego surrendered. “I’ll talk to him.”

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