Thursday, October 11, 2012

Signatures



SIGH.  I am starting with a sigh.  An all caps sigh.  I work in academia.  Say “academia” while lifting your chin and looking down your nose.  (Actually, looking down my nose is something I do frequently if I forget to change glasses when I play the piano, and I can only make out the notes on the page if I hold my head exactly so and look through a tiny sweet spot on the lower third of my graduated lenses.  TMI, I know.)
In this economy I am grateful to have a job that puts milk, honey and bread on the table and keeps four warm walls and a roof around those I love and am responsible for.  I sigh because some days I can hardly bear the snobbery of higher education.  Today is one of those days.  I got an email from a colleague who does basically the same job that I do at this institution, semester after semester, year after year.  I know the person, and this person whom I will call Colleague Q for convenience is very upbeat.  Although I do not work closely with Q, I have observed that Q is kind and thoughtful and competent.
So why am I sighing?  Q’s email invited me and everyone else on Q’s list to a training event.  The email was clearly, correctly and not overly worded.  The problem was the signature.  First of all, the signature was in a different color.  Okay, maybe black is boring.  I can live with green or purple or blue, although red usually indicates some bureaucratic order that if disobeyed will result in dire consequences.   While any person of normal logic already complies with the ethical principles behind said order without red lettering.  Unfortunately this email came with a red notice also, but that’s not what made me sigh.
Back to the signature.  I am sighing over letters.  Fourteen letters and all caps that follow Q’s name in, I suppose, every email Q sends.  Q, MPA, JSP, CWDP, GCDF. 
I know what MPA stands for.  I even considered this degree once upon a time for a few minutes.  But I haven’t a clue as to what JSP, CWDP, and GCDF stand for.  I know I am posting my ignorance for all to see and ridicule.   Why did Q put all those letters behind Q’s signature?  Am I hopelessly last century because I don’t know and don’t care what all those letters mean? They mean something to Q.  What advantage does Q get from signing fourteen letters?  Does Q hope to intimidate me because I can only put two academic letters behind my signature if I wanted to, and I never do, want to, that is.
Last week I got a personal email from the president of the institution I work for.  He didn’t sign his full name preceded by title and followed by a plethora of letters.  He signed it with his abbreviated first name.  The name I would guess his family and friends use. Maybe that is part of the reason he is the president.