stung nonetheless.
“Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Dr. Stickler.”
When I left his office, Carol had a smug look on her face. To make matters worse, Dr. Stickler’s office door had remained open during his tirade. To judge from the gaping stares of my colleagues as I walked back to my desk, much of his ranting had been heard far and wide.
As if that wasn’t enough, Dr. Stickler’s shouting had caught the attention of our IM group. Jada was first to text, “Who was Stickler yelling at?”
Carol wasn’t in our chat group, nor was anyone close enough to Stickler’s office to know the answer to Jada’s question. Except perhaps Michelle.
Amber responded, “I don’t know. He sure was mad.”
I kept my silence, preferring to pretend I hadn’t seen the messages at all. As for Michelle, either she’d been away from her desk or she simply chose not to volunteer any details.
Half an hour later, Jada called me to the reception area. A large package had arrived by UPS from Wyoming, addressed to me care of the DIPPeR. I took the package back to my desk before opening it. It contained a short note from Hilary’s father and her Nikon camera, complete with all its attachments. Thomas Sterling wrote that he knew that Hilary and I had shared a love of photography, and that he hoped I would make good use of the camera. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.
Her father’s phone number appeared on the packing slip so I called to thank him. We spoke briefly about Hilary, her talents and her love of photography. I turned the camera over in my hands and fought back the tears. I stored the package in a cloth tote bag in a nearby cupboard for safekeeping.
Around an hour later, Matt stopped by my desk and invited me to lunch. This was unusual for Matt – lunch invitations were reserved for my birthday and Secretary’s Day. Neither of which were this week or even this month.
Clearly, Matt wanted to talk to me about something. On the way to an Italian restaurant a couple blocks away, he commented, “I guess I don’t have to ask whether you told the detective about that guy you spoke with yesterday. I hear you got an earful from Stickler.”
“I think half of the third floor staff heard him yelling at me. As if I needed another reason for people to gossip about me.”
“If it’s any consolation, Stickler isn’t pleased with me either. After he finished with you, he called me on the phone to complain. I think he almost blew a gasket when I told him I was the one who suggested you call the detective.”
“I don’t understand why it upset him so much. I didn’t give the detective data from the study, I only told him about Glen and his theories. Surely, there was nothing improper about that.”
“Of course not. The study is not classified or top secret. Listen, I’m sorry I that I volunteered you to help out with the project.”
My pain must have been reflected in my eyes. Matt quickly added, “Not because you aren’t capable – because you’re having to deal with all this unpleasantness.”
The Italian restaurant wasn’t busy and we were able to place our orders right way. While we waited, it occurred to me that I had never given any thought to who pays for think tanks to do their work.
“Matt, I was wondering, who funds the research studies at the DIPPeR?”
“Good question. It varies by department and project. There can be multiple sources of funding, including grants and endowments from various academic, political, and government bodies.”
“I realize the money has to come from somewhere but wouldn’t there be potential for bias in findings based on who provides the funding?”
“Of course, the potential is always there. Dr. Grayson does his best to avoid situations where undue influence is exercised. Most of the researchers at the DIPPeR, and I’d like to believe most think tanks, value their reputations too much to risk playing games with their data.”
“So who funded the Land Use
“Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Dr. Stickler.”
When I left his office, Carol had a smug look on her face. To make matters worse, Dr. Stickler’s office door had remained open during his tirade. To judge from the gaping stares of my colleagues as I walked back to my desk, much of his ranting had been heard far and wide.
As if that wasn’t enough, Dr. Stickler’s shouting had caught the attention of our IM group. Jada was first to text, “Who was Stickler yelling at?”
Carol wasn’t in our chat group, nor was anyone close enough to Stickler’s office to know the answer to Jada’s question. Except perhaps Michelle.
Amber responded, “I don’t know. He sure was mad.”
I kept my silence, preferring to pretend I hadn’t seen the messages at all. As for Michelle, either she’d been away from her desk or she simply chose not to volunteer any details.
Half an hour later, Jada called me to the reception area. A large package had arrived by UPS from Wyoming, addressed to me care of the DIPPeR. I took the package back to my desk before opening it. It contained a short note from Hilary’s father and her Nikon camera, complete with all its attachments. Thomas Sterling wrote that he knew that Hilary and I had shared a love of photography, and that he hoped I would make good use of the camera. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.
Her father’s phone number appeared on the packing slip so I called to thank him. We spoke briefly about Hilary, her talents and her love of photography. I turned the camera over in my hands and fought back the tears. I stored the package in a cloth tote bag in a nearby cupboard for safekeeping.
Around an hour later, Matt stopped by my desk and invited me to lunch. This was unusual for Matt – lunch invitations were reserved for my birthday and Secretary’s Day. Neither of which were this week or even this month.
Clearly, Matt wanted to talk to me about something. On the way to an Italian restaurant a couple blocks away, he commented, “I guess I don’t have to ask whether you told the detective about that guy you spoke with yesterday. I hear you got an earful from Stickler.”
“I think half of the third floor staff heard him yelling at me. As if I needed another reason for people to gossip about me.”
“If it’s any consolation, Stickler isn’t pleased with me either. After he finished with you, he called me on the phone to complain. I think he almost blew a gasket when I told him I was the one who suggested you call the detective.”
“I don’t understand why it upset him so much. I didn’t give the detective data from the study, I only told him about Glen and his theories. Surely, there was nothing improper about that.”
“Of course not. The study is not classified or top secret. Listen, I’m sorry I that I volunteered you to help out with the project.”
My pain must have been reflected in my eyes. Matt quickly added, “Not because you aren’t capable – because you’re having to deal with all this unpleasantness.”
The Italian restaurant wasn’t busy and we were able to place our orders right way. While we waited, it occurred to me that I had never given any thought to who pays for think tanks to do their work.
“Matt, I was wondering, who funds the research studies at the DIPPeR?”
“Good question. It varies by department and project. There can be multiple sources of funding, including grants and endowments from various academic, political, and government bodies.”
“I realize the money has to come from somewhere but wouldn’t there be potential for bias in findings based on who provides the funding?”
“Of course, the potential is always there. Dr. Grayson does his best to avoid situations where undue influence is exercised. Most of the researchers at the DIPPeR, and I’d like to believe most think tanks, value their reputations too much to risk playing games with their data.”
“So who funded the Land Use
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