But there was a frustration in me that culminated at the end of the symposium—a frustration that had been mounting inside me for several years.
It's with the way people ask questions.
This is a totally personal opinion, I know. But I admire people who ask smart, clear, and concise questions. Hence I'm not a fan of people who ask loooong, rambling questions. Or people who give self-serving comments disguised as questions. Or people who ask questions just to show how smart they are, or which books they've read, or which theorists they can cite. (I even got a little weirded out by people who read off what they'd typed out when asking their question—and I was pretty sure it wasn't a language issue.)
I never saw this problem among my undergrads (though that might be because they were afraid I would smack them if inane dribble kept coming out of their mouths). But I've seen it so often among grad students, whether in seminars, workshops, or conferences. And I've seen it among professors, too.
What's going on?! Is it because, when we enter a grad program, we constantly face the pressure to display how brilliant we are? Oh come on, people. I don't know about you, but I'm a fan of displaying brilliance in other ways (not that I can do it, but).
It takes practice, this "asking smart, clear, and concise questions" thing. But I think we'd be better served if we did practice. And I think teachers should actually train their students to do so, too.
Because you know what? One day when I get to serve on a search committee, I'm gonna remember if you asked a good question—and if you didn't. And when I come across your job application or come face to face with you in an interview, I'm going to have no mercy. And just because of your rambling question at some random conference years ago, you will be tested. And if you fail again, I am not giving you that job.
Ask your question, people, and then get the hell off the floor.
[Oooh, I sound particularly vicious in this post! Fun!]
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