I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately. Our university’s faculty are part of a union. This year, we’re renegotiating our contract, and our major appeal is for more money.

Those who oppose this argument call the faculty greedy and self-serving, but really, we’re looking to be average. You see, we are the second lowest paid faculty of all the universities and colleges in the state. Our argument is that we’d like to be paid what the average faculty member makes in our particular university system.

I rather delight in the notion that we faculty want to be average, though I’m not sure if I’m eager to go on strike in a fight for average-ness. Just imagine: instead of the rallying cry, “The people united will never be defeated,” we’ll be chanting awkwardly, “The average people united will never be defeated.”

This issue of higher salaries has become even more important to me because of my recent promotion.

After two years of service at the university, I earned a promotion this spring from assistant to associate professor. (Promotion isn’t connected with tenure here, so to those of you who are aware of academic promotion procedures, don’t get too excited thinking I just finagled tenure in two years! I didn’t.)

I was so excited about this promotion until I saw exactly how much more money I’ll earn a year. Gulp. It’s a paltry, sad amount. I can’t believe I invested so much extra effort these past two years for so little payoff. This revelation makes me wonder: What exactly am I willing to do for money?

And the answer is, just about anything.

While I love the teaching and scholarship that comes with being a professor, I’m not a fan of the committee work that is required of good academic citizens.

Don’t get me wrong; I happily serve on several committees that meet regularly, discuss pertinent issues, and make decisions. I just wish committee membership didn’t require homework. I mean, it’s like I’m back in grad school, taking classes. Only this time, the classes are for ETERNITY. I’ll never graduate.

And the worst part is when I’m asked to help raise money for academic programs supported by said committees. I hate, loathe, and despise asking people for money.

I once quit a job as a telemarketer because I couldn’t make the weekly sales quota of 5 subscriptions per week.

In the fifth grade, my friend Patricia could saunter up to boy (any boy!) and ask for and receive a quarter, so she and I could play Ms. PacMan at the roller rink. Any boy I encountered looked away with disdain. Clearly, my sauntering skills were sorely lacking.

When I was a Girl Scout I was supposed to sell cookies door-to-door in our neighborhood, but I handed over the order sheet to my Dad who took it to work with him. He, not I, earned several hundred dollars for my troop.

What I didn’t know when I accepted the post of chief fundraiser for a university committee despite my pathetic track record of raising money is that Montana is home to some truly fascinating fundraising concepts. It’s amazing to me what people here will do for money.

Take for instance:

 1)            Cow Patty Bingo:

            Equipment—one chalk-lined, grassy field, one un-constipated

            cow

            Participants buy a number and wait for Bossy to do her

            business on the field.

2)              Live Auction Animal Husbandry:

            Equipment—auctioneer, several “straws” of bull semen

            Participants bid on “Grade A” (who’s doing the grading here?)

            bull spunk

3)              Kiss a Pig:

            Equipment—mason jars, candidates’ pictures, willing

            pig

            Participants donate money to mason jar of fave candidate.

            Winning candidate must smooch Wilbur.

4)              Pink Flamingo Stalking:

            Equipment—plastic pink flamingos

            Participants donate funds to have pink flamingos

            surreptitiously placed on someone’s front lawn for

            whole neighborhood to enjoy.

            Fun for the whole family.

For my committee fundraisers, I arranged dinners and silent auctions to a collective yawn. Had I known livestock could be involved, my fundraisers would have undoubtedly been more popular albeit a little smelly. I guess my ignorance of local fundraisers is just another sign that I haven’t fully integrated myself into Montana life yet.

And despite my wee raise for promotion this year, I wonder if I will continue to volunteer for university activities that are clearly beyond my capabilities. I bet I will. I don’t have tenure yet.