ChemBark

I’ve never thought of myself as a germaphobe, but a recent conversation has made me reconsider. While I have no problems touching doorknobs, shaking hands, or using public restrooms, there has always been one thing that has grossed me out: the trays of free food commonly found at social events in grad school.

I have never understood the excitement sparked in chemistry departments by free food. I had friends in grad school who would walk halfway across campus because they heard a rumor that there might be two-hour-old Chinese food up for grabs. I saw labmates in college abscond from parties with entire pizza pies when they could easily have bought a slice for $1.50 at the pizzeria across the street. Yeah, grad students and postdocs aren’t typically paid that well, but my stipend never seemed so small as to merit dropping everything for a plate of cold pad thai only minutes away from being tossed in the garbage. I wish I could feel the same sense of accomplishment as the people who seem to live for free food.

The fact that the food is free is not what turns me off, it’s the presentation. See for yourself. Here is a video from one of the Christmas parties I attended in grad school:

Yes, I exaggerate, but is slopping pigs that far off from what takes place at departmental buffets? In both cases: (i) food is dispensed in massive aluminum troughs, (ii) you can never identify the food in the troughs with certainty, and (iii) people are packed so tightly around the troughs that it is impossible for the food not to become contaminated. It’s also fun when the party is held outdoors and a swarm of insects runs for cover whenever someone picks up the spoon for the baba ghanoush. Yuck.

What brought all of this up? At a recent party, I was criticized by some lab mates for my failure to partake of the free food, and I responded by sharing my thoughts above. I also reminded them of an event at a recent group meeting, where a lab mate of ours (i) ate a handful of Cheetos, (ii) proceeded to clean his hands by sucking the orange gunk off of each finger, then (iii) inserted his hands back in the communal bag for a second helping. As I watched this atrocity unfold over the course of five minutes, I wanted to scream out in horror. I settled for sharing looks of abject disgust with three other people who also had a front-row seat to this sideshow. So, allow me to apologize in advance for being antisocial in not feeding from loosely patrolled communal sources of food. Instead, I will gladly pay $5 to be disappointed by a foot-long B.M.T. from Subway, in peace.

In the wake of this anti-trough debate, I tried to think of other examples that might lend credence to the argument that I am an OCD germaphobe. I came up with one thing that I don’t think is too bad, but is worth sharing since it involves chemistry. When cleaning my bathroom, I insist on using a cleaning product with bleach. I really don’t think that surfactants alone can get the job done—you need a hardcore oxidant to get in the game and annihilate germs. With that said, in the past, I have paid the price for this cleaning preference by ruining a fair number of clothes when they’ve brushed against a surface with residual bleach.

My eventual solution was simple. Everyone knows that you’re not supposed to mix cleaning products that contain bleach with those that contain ammonia because you will produce chlorinated amine gases that are toxic. Taking advantage of these reactions, after wiping down a surface with bleach, I’ll make sure to wipe it down with Windex to quench any residual hypochlorite. Is this routine obsessive? Possibly, but it’s been a long time since I’ve ruined a shirt from my fantastically expensive wardrobe. And the importance of these savings cannot be underestimated. If I’m not going to take advantage of free food, I’ve got to find ways to save money elsewhere.

In the discussion that followed the arsenic-for-lunch post, commenter CR and I got into a spirited debate about the rules of etiquette for scientific presentations.  It was my contention that it is considered socially unacceptable to ask long strings of questions during seminars, while CR insisted that there’s nothing wrong with it.  I think there are many unwritten rules that pertain to seminars, and I promised to get back to the subject in due course.  Earlier this week, a post by The Unlikely Grad Student (TUGS) titled “Notes to Seminar Speakers” reminded me to finish what I started.

I’m going to focus on social norms and questions of etiquette rather than how to prepare and deliver a scientific talk.  This guide on how to give a research presentation is a good start, and I particularly like UIUC chemist Ken Suslick’s seminar on seminars.  Moving on…

There are at least four types of stakeholders in attendance at your typical chemistry seminar: the speaker, the host, the professors in the audience, and the rest of the audience.  Each set of stakeholders has its own responsibilities and expectations.

Rules for…

…the Speaker 

Give the host a title for your presentation so that people can judge whether they want to attend.  This courtesy is especially important if your research program is littered across many disciplines.  While “TBA” is acceptable if the talk is several months away, you should update the host when you’ve decided what it is you want to talk about.

Actually talk about the subject billed on your seminar flyer.  Don’t change your mind and surprise everyone.

Dress well.  Don’t wear jeans and a t-shirt.  It’s a matter of respect, and people do judge books by their covers.

If you notice a build up of people standing after your seminar starts, consider halting your talk to invite the latecomers to fill vacant seats.

TUGS brings up an excellent point that you should learn the name of your host—particularly if it is a difficult one to pronounce—so you don’t look like an idiot when you thank the person who has kindly spent her day shepherding you around the department.

Find out how long seminars are supposed to last and plan accordingly.  If everyone likes to get out within an hour, that does not mean your talk should last an hour.  You should stop 10 minutes early so that there will be time for questions.  Remember, people have seldom complained that a seminar was too short.

If you say you’ve got one more slide, make sure you have only one more slide.  Don’t go on for five more slides.  Putting up a slide that is titled “Future Directions” or “Conclusions” is the equivalent of saying that the talk is almost over. 

….the Host

Don’t get carried away with your introduction.  People are there to hear the seminar, not you.  Your intro should not take more than 3 minutes.  If you’re reading lines off of the speaker’s CV, you’re doing it wrong.  If you have a funny story to tell, make sure it is actually funny.

Ideally, the host will moderate the question session.  After the audience applauds, you should get up, stand to the side, and formally open the floor to questions.  You should select questioners and identify them by name.

It is the moderator’s job to make sure that question time does not carry on.  Be merciful.  Don’t let question time drag on forever.  Know when to apply the coup de grâce.  The classic line to use is “we can finish this discussion later on, let’s all thank Professor X once again…” 

In uncomfortable situations, such as language barriers between the speaker and questioners, it is your job to attempt to rephrase or translate the question.

If a questioner becomes too aggressive, it is your job to try to diffuse the situation and move past it.  The speaker is a guest of the department and should not be badgered.

…the Audience (in General)

If you enter the lecture hall more than five minutes or so past the start of the talk, find an empty seat towards the back or stand.  Don’t disrupt the talk by climbing through the audience to reach an empty seat, unless the speaker invites you to do so.

If people look at you when you’re talking to the person next to you, you’re speaking too loudly.  Shut up and pass notes instead.

If your boss invited the speaker, you should probably show up to the seminar…even if you’re going to be miserable.

It is perfectly acceptable to read a paper or check your e-mail if the talk stinks, but not in the very front of the lecture hall.  If you plan on multitasking, sit in the wings or at the back of the room.

Don’t ask questions that you know the answers to.  If you believe the speaker is unaware of a particular fact, state the fact outright and immediately follow it with your point.  Seminars are not quiz shows, and you are not Alex Trebek.  (This rule does not apply to professors when grad students are giving talks in their own department)

Don’t ask more than two questions in a row.  Give other people a chance.  Remember, you can always approach the speaker after the meeting has adjourned.

If you are not a professor yet you ask a question at every single seminar, people will think you are a tool.  Yes, this is irrational, but that’s just the way it is.

…the Professors in the Audience

In the event that there is a lull during question time, the responsibility of asking questions falls to the professors present.  That’s just the way it is.  If you are a professor, you need to have a couple of rounds in the chamber by the end of the talk.  A pause of anything more than five seconds is uncomfortable and rude.

Pitiful attendance at a seminar is embarrassing to the speaker and to the department.  If attendence is typically a problem at your seminars, the faculty needs to explore ways to put butts in the seats.

If the lecture hall is routinely less than one-third full for weekly seminars, the seminars should be held in a smaller room.

Try to encourage students to ask questions by not necessarily jumping at the speaker from the very start of question time.  A more timid member of the audience (i.e., everyone) won’t want to be third man in.

While you won’t get punished for breaking any of these rules, you won’t be doing yourself any favors, either.