Oh no, I’m an accountant!

I got up this morning and started punching new numbers into a spreadsheet. I go to work and pull up a couple more spreadsheets and start collating columns. I’m going to meet with students this afternoon and get more data that I can enter into more tables of numbers. Tomorrow, more numbers flow into my computer and I have to organize them, and then I have to to enter a bunch of formulas to normalize scores and adjust totals and double-check that nothing is missing, all so later this weekend I can punch a couple of keys and letter grades come tumbling out that I’ll then have to move into the crude, primitive tables that students can access to see if they’re likely to get into medical school or not.

This is the usual end-of-term rut: I have to stop thinking about science and genetics and pretend to put on the stupid green visor* and calculate numerical assessments. While I respect the profession, I am not an accountant and do not want to be one. I get to stop cosplaying an accountant on Monday, I think. Please end it soon.

*OK, maybe it’s not stupid, according to multiple sources.

The green visor, also known as the green eyeshade or the dealer’s visor, dates back to the late 19th century and the early 20th century. It was worn by accountants, telegraphers, copy editors, and other professionals who had to work with a lot of paperwork and numbers under harsh lighting conditions.

I’m sitting in a small room with bright fluorescent lights, looking at tables of numbers. Maybe I should get myself a green visor.