Starstruck Soil Scientists

We didn’t need an excuse to go to Seattle. But we had a good one. Months ago George submitted an abstract to the Soil Science Society of America, describing his research and offering to present a paper at their convention. They bit, which meant he had to put together a power point presentation and a fifteen minute talk.

George was a little nervous about the presentation. The world of soil and worms has its celebrities just like every other subculture, and the thought of these science giants scrutinizing his research and statistics made his heart beat so hard you could see his pocket protector jump. (Okay, I made that up. He doesn’t wear a pocket protector. Not since I accidentally “lost” it.)

I attended the opening night of the conference with him. Since he was scheduled to present first thing the next morning, he sought out the practice room that night — just to go over his slides one more time.

We entered the designated room and found it divided into three sections: one row of computers set aside for e-mail, one for reviewing abstracts, and one for presenters to practice. George sat at the only available practice monitor and inserted his disc in the CD drive.

I meandered over to the e-mail computers and logged on. I didn’t accomplish much, though, because a young woman on my left kept speaking loudly to a young man on my right. He answered in equally loud tones. They didn’t seem a bit concerned about my hearing their conversation, probably because they were speaking Swedish or some Scandinavian-sounding language. (This was an international conference, so Swedish soil-types joined the fun.) After openly eavesdropping without the slightest twinge of guilt or comprehension, I moseyed back over to check on George.

About this time another gentleman entered the practice room. I’m not exaggerating when I say he could have been a model for Gary Larson. Round around the middle, a wispy comb-over, frumpy jacket hanging from slumpy shoulders, thick glasses, and a mouth that seemed frozen in a slightly open, numbed position. I kept expecting to see a stream of drool any moment.

Dr. Cartoon Scientist Man entered the practice section and paused behind George. He watched through several slides, then moved to the next person. He continued his progress down the line, finally parking at the last computer in the row, which had just been vacated.

Having nothing else to do, and being an observant (i.e., nosy) type, I took in the following scene.

First, Dr. Cartoon Scientist Man couldn’t figure out how to get his power point up and running. The man beside him — Scientist from India — kept getting out of his chair and going over to help. This commotion drew the attention of two young women who were seated in the adjoining section reviewing abstracts. They struck me as young grad students, probably 25-ish, and they obviously knew each other. One of them, a cute girl in jeans with a funky short hair-cut, glanced at Dr. Cartoon Scientist Man’s monitor. Then she gasped and covered her mouth.

She grabbed her friend’s arm and mouthed the words, “Do you know who that is?”

The friend didn’t.

Cute girl told her.

Friend gasped, too, and also covered her mouth. They both blushed and pointed and generally acted like a couple of teenagers who’d discovered Orlando Bloom sitting at the next table at McDonald’s.

As it turned out, Dr. Cartoon Scientist Man had authored a book. An important book. A book that young, female science people study, memorize, and go gaga over.

I know I had a huge grin on my face. They probably assumed I was as impressed with Dr. CSM as they. For his part, he never noticed them. He was still trying to figure out how to work the computer.

So, kids, what do we learn from this story? Hmmm. Maybe this. Next time you see a Far Side science cartoon, don’t be so quick to laugh at the nerdy lab guy. The cute girl sitting next to you may have a crush on him.

The End.