I blew off Helene’s advice and called Molly Larken on her cell phone. She didn’t sound too happy to hear from me but said she’d talk to me. We agreed to meet at Starbucks at one that afternoon. I showered and changed, then moved my truck to faculty parking behind my building, pulling into a nice wide slot under a large, leafy live oak tree. Two for two. I threw my shoulder against the door of my pickup and forced it open against its will, wincing at the familiar donkey honk of the hinges. Time for another can of WD-40. As I stepped onto the asphalt, I was struck once again by what a great place SMU is to work. Beautiful campus, supportive faculty, reasonably intelligent (if somewhat apathetic) student body. And—wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles—generous and proximate faculty parking. I felt a little alarmed at the possibility of bombing my review. I knew I’d never find another job like this one, especially with my legendarily rotten luck. Now that I understood the way the universe worked, I couldn’t believe I’d landed here in the first place.
