This is my first column for The State Press and I feel as though I need to clear the air right up front; for, you see, I have a dirty little secret.
Actually I have two secrets but they are opposing sides of the same coin. My first confession is that I am a chemical engineering major. Therefore I crack the obligatory jokes at the expense of those on the west side of the Palm Walk. You know who you are; the history majors, the art students, English majors and pretty much anyone who will make less money than me when I graduate. On the first day of class last semester, one of my professors kicked-off class with a poignant overhead- it was a list of average starting salaries upon graduation.
Can you guess who was at the bottom of the list? Psychology majors of course.
How about the top of the list? …you're exactly right; chemical engineers led the pack. We had a collective chuckle as a class.
But, you see, I am not your typical engineering student. My second little secret is that I love to write. This is something that I hide in shame from my peers; trust me, they would not understand. I have let it slip upon occasion, much to my ridicule.
My first experience with this stigma was during a meeting with my advisor. I love literature classes and have taken several in the past, so when he asked if I was interested in picking up a minor I make the mistake of expressing interest in a literature minor. He looked at me for a long second, then he laughed, "That's a good one!" I calmly met his gaze and replied, "No, I'm serious." Much to his credit, he quickly recovered and confessed he was not aware if one even existed.
On a separate occasion, I was deep within the bowels of a chemical engineering stronghold, SCOB160. A fellow student pulled up beside me at an adjacent computer and asked what I was doing. Two paths lay before me: should I lie or tell the truth? I choose the wrong path and told him I was working on a novel I was writing. Predictably, he laughed out loud. I should have known better. After all, he's been accepted to graduate school… it's too late for him.
If you were to walk into my apartment, you would probably be a bit confused. Inside the front door the first thing you would notice is a litany of oil paintings canvassing the walls. That neighbors by the floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with works of literature. And no, I'm not talking about Dan Brown.
Upon closer inspection you would find one shelf among the many that is bulging with science and engineering texts. I feel the need to segregate them- I honestly believe if my heat and mass transfer textbook rubbed covers with Tolstoy or Hugo they would burst into flames. I wouldn't shed a tear at the loss of a science text but the others are a very different story.
The bottom line is that when I have the choice, I choose a Hemmingway over thermodynamics every time; this is probably why I'm a mediocre engineering student at best. Science is a very useful tool, but that's all it is, simply a tool. I learn nothing about myself or others from my science books; for some reason, this knowledge is not coveted by engineers.
I will admit that it is the lure of a decent paycheck that holds me east of the Palm Walk, but I long for the days when I can pole vault the imaginary razor wire that divides our campus in half. I wish I was as strong as all of you on the west side where creativity is still cherished and hopefully encouraged. Over here, it's pretty much dead and it's a tragedy that no one even notices.
If you wish to help this ostrich pull his head from the sand, you can reach him at jamey.sackett@asu.edu.
