The only job I ever wanted was to be a professor. I can do lots of things, but like my dad and uncle used to tell me, just make sure you’re really good at whatever you do.

I followed this girl to Australia, because she got a job at a uni that was much better for her.

Kansas State let me work remotely for about a year, since all my teaching and research were on-line, and then decided I had bad attendance at faculty meetings and didn’t hold their hands during tea, and fired me.

When I received confirmation of the firing in April, I was in Kansas and thought a few bottles of bourbon would help me through. When I tried to clean up the next day, I had withdrawal issues and ended up in hospital followed by two weeks at the rehab resort.

It was rough on Amy, her being in Australia.

I worked in the kitchen, mainly cleaning dishes, but the woman who ran the kitchen had microbial food safety down; I couldn’t stump her and she had her thermometer on her uniform.

On the day I left, I told the 100 or so drunks, pill, meth, coke and glue addicts I would rather talk with them than any colleague I knew at my university (other than Dean Ralph).

Full professor, I got nothing. I didn’t even get paid for the last three weeks I worked, because no one had bothered to tell me when I was fired. I chaired a MS student’s defense, and I wasn’t even employed.

Excellence in education.

I floated around for a few months, then got a gracious offer to join a private firm, but after three months, I resigned. It wasn’t me. I’m not a vice-president of anything.

When Kansas State president Kirk Shultz writes, as he did yesterday in response to a restrictive Kansas policy on social media use, “Disagreements are part of almost any family, but at the end of the day we always find ways to resolve our differences,” I just sigh, and don’t care anymore. People can believe what they like.

I’m back to my focus on food safety. The stuff that makes people barf. Happy surfing Santa.