They haven't fired me yet

Last spring, shortly after I was voted in as the next president of Penn, my phone rang in the middle of the night in my cozy Princeton gated community.

It was a collect call. "Please press 1 for Judy Rodin," the voice said. I pressed and waited. It was the longest 12 seconds of my life.

"What is that noise, Judy?" I said when she answered. It sounded like she was standing in the middle of a cockfight.

"Oh nothing," she rasped, "Excuse me, Amy. Johnnie, put me down for number three. Amy, I'm sorry, I just want to wish you good luck. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

I didn't know, but I thought nothing of it, naturally, since I have a Ph.D. and teach at Princeton. We may not be known for our common sense, but we sure can sound pretentious. I mean really, how hard can it be to run some state school in Philadelphia where the provost makes all the decisions anyway?

After we awoke the next morning, Michael and I were discussing Latin American poets of the 19th century -- our favorite pastime, aside from Twister -- and then it occurred to me -- I was the president, right up there with the likes of Gaylord Probasco Harnwell.

Judy's words would keep reverberating in my head for some time. The first 100 days, I call them.

On day two, I panicked. Having to swipe my PennCard with the Spectaguard outside my home was frightening. The number of grad students wanting health insurance scared the shit out of me. And the sushi from Houston Hall made me downright sick.

"What should I do, Michael?" I said, after having a lengthy conversation about Borges. "What should I do?"

"Call Larry," he said. "He'll know."

I pulled out my red phone, the one I only use for emergencies, and dialed Harvard. Larry Summers answered on the third ring.

"Larry," I said. "It's me, Amy. I'm having a really hard time with this whole Ivy League president thing. Is there anything you can suggest?"

"Well," he said. "You are a woman. So no, not really."

"But what will help me deal with the locals?" I asked. "And the Engineering School's declining rankings?"

"Don't let women into your engineering programs, Amy." he said. "You know, there are innate differences."

"I know, Larry," I said. "But what should I do about this entire Penn Compact thing? I mean, I seriously just pulled this thing out of my ass, and really, I don't know where to go from here."

"As long as your faculty doesn't give you a vote of no confidence, you're good," he said. "I have faith in you."

I hung up, feeling refreshed. "Michael," I said, "Larry has faith in me."

That night, Michael took me out to Chili's to celebrate. After my fifth margarita, I was feeling spectacular.

"I'm so glad I don't have to do anything at this new school," I told him. "I just say the words excellence and eminence and everyone thinks I know what the hell I'm talking about."

This being president thing is hard, though. How am I supposed to make small talk with alumni and ask them for money at the same time when I can't string together sentences? I've recently started taking public speaking lessons from some nice Chinese students who are TAs in the Math Department.

This whole endowment thing has really got me down, too. I'm not used to this "raising money." This school is so poor compared to Princeton. I can't believe I have pay my own rent -- coincidentally, is anyone looking for a spacious sublet at 38th and Walnut this summer?

But I've learned to deal with it. I've even got a new plan that will save Penn millions.

To start, we will be outsourcing the English Department to India. That seems to be all the rage these days. And it will save us from having to ever finish the Bennett Hall project.

At Princeton, we never had to deal with any of this medical stuff. To make up for the Health System's financial crisis, Student Health will be folded into the Veterinary School.

And to cut back on the electric bill, rolling blackouts will be instituted for all campus residences. You, Penn student, will probably not notice the change.

And after all, if I can get through these first few years of my administration without fucking anything up, I'll be happy. I'm just going to lay low here until Larry Summers gets the boot so I can move up to a real job.

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