That Time I Tried to Pay Off My Professor

It went like this.

My junior year of college we had to train rats for a psychology class.  We were each assigned a rat to care for, and train, throughout the semester (I may have named mine...).  They remained on campus in the science building, in their cold little cages.  We were warned in advance:  At the end of this course, the rats will be donated to a local wildlife refuge to be used for food.  Do not get attached to your rat.  Do not attempt to remove your rat from the science wing, or from campus (AMY), as that is theft, and will not only result in having you removed from the college, but will also be reported to the police.  For some reason, my professor felt the need to make sure that I especially understood the repercussions of attempting a rat rescue.  The rats were school property, and test subjects only, not pets.

This was so devastating for me, an animal lover.  I know owls and snakes need to eat just like the rest of us, but did they have to eat MY rat?   And of course I got attached to my rat. Handing down that mandate was positively ridiculous. Would you tell a flower not to bloom?  Okay, then don't tell me to not get attached to an animal!  I was reprimanded for putting a soft blanket in my rat's cage, for visiting more than was necessary for his feeding and pellet training, and for handling (i.e., snuggling, talking to, singing to....) him. I may have also taken my studying and homework to the science building and plopped him in my lap while I worked, on more than one occasion.  When we did the water tank experiment, I used a few more towels to dry him, held him a little longer, and let him stay under the warmer just a tad longer than our professor allowed, just to make sure he didn't catch cold.

At the end of the semester, with a grade of a B, and a few snide remarks from my professor that I may not be cut out for experimental psychology, or experimental anything, for that matter, I cried, I begged and I pleaded with my professor.  Please don't send my beloved rat to the refuge.  Just let me have him.  I know you have to turn in the same amount of rats the school paid for, but you can just tell them one ran away when you were boxing them up.  He escaped!  It can be our secret!  I promise I won't tell!  He can live a happy little life all snuggly in my apartment!

My professor was impervious to my pleas. He reminded me of the warnings at the beginning of the semester, and shook his head.

So, I did what any (un)reasonable person would do.  I offered to pay my professor, cash, name his price, for the rat.  For some reason, that seemed more practical and less offensive than just stealing the rat--or, you know, just walking away, like a normal, reasonable person would.

I wish I could say it all worked out and I left with a happy little rat.  Instead, my professor asked me to leave his office, my rat became owl food, I was not reported to the school for attempted bribery, and we went on with our lives.

And now, my husband lovingly puts up with my endless donations to various rescues, and rescues of our own.

And, every now and then one of us will say, "Hey, remember that time I/you tried to pay off the professor" and one of our children will gasp in shock. "MOM?"

Yeah, I was a bad*** once after all.  Sort of.