The Finite

So apparently according to the college, I’m supposed to take advantage of the privacy settings on social media to maintain my semblance of professionalism. As if anything I’ve tweeted in any way brought question to my professionalism. *pauses, stares into space, bites lip nervously*

Really though, there is not much in the way of photographic evidence of my indiscretions. But there is some.

Oh, no, they’ll think. This guy has had a social life. Wouldn’t want him in our organization because he enjoyed a Galifinakis-esque evening of expensive drinks and facial hair in a culturally accepted expected, very common social activity.

However, I learned lately- that time I was on the dance floor with one of my preceptors, that time everybody was at the bar and our professors showed up, campfire wine box with some physicians- that professionalism is an act for the patient, but also a level of expectation for your colleagues. A basic at-minimum “Do your effin’ job.” It’s an obligation to both though. One you’ll take care of because they’re putting their well-being in your hands, the other because people are putting their well-being in your [collective] hands.

Your professional life is not your personal life and you don’t do anything that blurs the lines between the two. In other words, don’t do what Miley Cyrus did.

But the reason they warn us is those who may assume that we are not capable of separating those parts of our lives. I mean obviously you can’t make meth or anything. But it’s our right to assume that someone would be any less professional in the day time if at night they enjoy a drink or several? If they smoke? If they enjoy writing Harry Potter/Tom Clancy crossover fan fiction in their underwear?

A little bit presumptuous if you ask me. But of course that’s not something you let slip on the first date, is it?

The “professionalism” the school is requesting, it’s an illusion. An illusion we put on at the endorsement of the college, our peers, the industry. No one should be expected to be “professional” all the time. As long as we are when it counts and we do what is expected of us.

I’ve been told, in what I’ll have to assume is a purely metaphorical statement, “Don’t worry. The white coat covers all lower back tattoos and nipple piercings.”

Yeah, I (metaphorically) hope so.

Some of you may be wondering what was up with that sweet-ass getup I had on in that “really really green state” I was in. Well, they were a necessity, because I hate wearing a backpack while hiking a tropical rainforest because you get this sweat stain at the small of your back even if the rest of you is dry. And that kind of inconsistency can drive a person like me to insanity. And then if you need something it’s always at the bottom of the bag and there’s always that rat’s nest of stuff in there that you have to dig through as items may have become jostled during the bumpy-ass jeep ride. So I wear it all on my person, Delta Force-style and easily accessible. Those who have gone on excursions with me will know I’ve been doing this a while.

I try to be ready for things that might happen: multi-tool, camera, spare cards/batteries, phone, other phone, binocs, water, spare pens, writing pad, food, first aid kit keys (the actual kit was at home).

Here’s the parts (mostly) to that get-up, minus the Alan Grant-ish hat (seen jauntily worn on the back of the neck in the picture).

See why I stress so much about lanyards? And bag straps and belt loops in general? This is why, people.

I really hate sweat stains.