It's all about the ego.

I sit in an uncomfortable chair in the corner of a conference room, listening to MDs converse about various cases. Mostly attentive, I only sometimes admire the floppy bow that adorns an otherwise plain top at the edge of my collar. I pick at the scratch I’ve already inflicted on my iPod, catching a glance from someone in psychiatry so I quickly put it away.

“Joe feels strongly that I mishandled this case.” Expectant pause while everyone looks wide-eyed from the speaker at the head of the table, our Leader, to Joe.

“I think the evidence clearly points to other options.” Joe then turns, scooting his chair back from the table to face our leader directly. A sign of aggression, I think, remembering how men turn their whole bodies to face opponents. It’s like watching Wild Kingdom!

“I think I did well. While there were various rationales for pursuing alternate courses of action, the family preferred this one and there was no reason not to allow it.”

“Sure, except for it not being the best thing.”

Nostrils flare, both retaining the polite, collegial demeanor so popular here, but hanging on by a thread while I sit in my corner, fascinated, watching the exchange. Clearly this is residual tension from a previous exchange, and I find myself wishing I’d witnessed the whole spectacle instead of this after-the-fact finale. Leader laughs, brushing off Joe's attempt to look superior.

Someone steps in, diffuses the tension, and I glare at him – the taker of my entertainment. We move on to another topic and begin racing to complete the agenda as we're running out of time.

Leader starts to discuss something, and Joe leans forward to argue. I watch as he stops himself, looks down, and shakes his head. He gets up and leaves the room, out of my sight so I’m not sure if he just took a break or had somewhere to go. He returns in less than a minute, sits and looks more relaxed.

I’m glad for him, I think. He found a way to handle his frustration in this place where offending people just isn’t done. Have ideas, yes, but have them carefully, present them humbly and don’t, for goodness sake, piss people off.

I’m so above that, I think haughtily, putting my bag on my shoulder and moving through the maze of hallways to my next meeting. I get lost briefly, turn in a circle looking for signs. A man stops, smiles and offers assistance. Finally, pointed in the right direction, I find the next office, sit and wait. I must have evolved past the point of always needing to be right, being bothered by people offering help or differing in opinion.

Checking my watch during my congratulatory internal monologue, I notice we’re running late. Another colleague arrives, notes that things aren’t starting as scheduled, and joins me in staring past the secretary to an office door.

I should have brought something to read, I think, my hatred of wasting time overcoming my musings on why I’m so confident in my abilities, not needing others to validate my professional existence. I could have at least had my headphones so I could listen to what’s up with Elphaba in college. Glinda sounds like the real witch, and my sympathies lie for now with her green roommate. Thinking about my book on iPod distracts me and soon we file into the office and begin our discussion.

“What exactly is your career path?” New Leader asks the woman seated to my left, nearing the end of this next meeting. I glance over, having already seen “assistant professor” marking her nametag. All highly educated, MD or PhD, we now must seek alternate ways of establishing our ranking.

I’m at the bottom, no question. As Assistant-Professor lists her qualifications and abilities, I decide once again that this is all foolish. The prancing around, wanting people to notice me – gasp at my funding, marvel at my ability – it’s just a waste of time. Internally I shake my head and roll my eyes at the second minor drama of the day. The back and forth between a young scientist seeking to establish her previous accomplishments and New Leader continues. He evidently determined that it would be in her best interest to work on this project for him.

“It’s important for you to write grants. You can be as involved as you like with this one.” He states, with a gracious, condescending bow of his head.

Her eyes narrow, and I bite back a grin. “I’ve written grants.” She says curtly.

New Leader begins to speak again, and she cuts him off – he’s gotten to her. “I don’t have any funded on which I’m the PI, but there’s one under review! And I’m collaborating on several exciting projects! I have grant experience!”

He’s going to win, I think. He’s too good not to – you don’t get to be leader for no reason.

I’m right. “But to become an associate professor, it would be beneficial to have more funded applications, correct?” One eyebrow arches as he pauses briefly. “I would think that increasing the number of collaborations would only work to your benefit.” Reminding her she has far to go yet, inflicting his prestige upon her, reminding everyone of the disparity between their positions in the hierarchy.

They stare for a moment – not completely without hostility. She looks down first. “Of course.”

I’m up next, but it’s not nearly so interesting. “You should be working on at least 3 projects. The rule is 1 in grad school, 3 as a post-doc and more than 4 as a junior faculty member.”

“I have many more than four!” pipes Assistant-Professor to my left. I smile this time – not able to restrain this one as her exclamation was unexpected. I worked on far more than 4 projects in grad school myself, though my concurrent limit was 3. It’s bothersome to be talked down to. I don’t like it, but I decide to let the process amuse more than irritate.

So I nod, accepting his advice though I’ve heard it before (from him, I think), and not making further comment on my own past experience.

“So this is a good opportunity to become involved with something different.” He continues when I offer no verbal response.

“I agree.”

“You’re on board then?”

“Of course.” I smile, waiting for my turn to be over. It is – he’s moved on to an MD and the research staff are forgotten in a flurry of medical jargon. I contribute, asking questions and subtly inserting my own ideas and problems – always humble, completely polite and lovely.

We finish, and I stand, ready to leave. I decide to wish Assistant-Professor luck on the grant she submitted. The outlook isn’t great right now – fighting a war screws with funding research from your tax dollars, inhibiting progress not only on a large scale, but pushing back the possibility of promotion for many people attempting to climb this academic ladder. I feel for her – I’m sure she’s bright, certainly she’s worked hard.

We talk for a moment, and I make a move to leave. “I can teach you the technique.” She offers as I’ve half turned away.

“Pardon?” I frown, turning back. What technique? What was she trying to do?

“The technique we were talking about - I can teach you.” My eyebrows rise. Gutsy, I think. It was clear from the meeting that I knew what I was talking about when it came to the method of which she was speaking.

“I know it already, but thank you.” I wait, sure we’re not done yet. Somehow she got me – I wasn’t expecting to be put in my place at this stage, and I’m not going with the flow to appease her ego. She knows she outranks me, but as far as I’m concerned, suddenly battle ready, it’s only because she’s been here longer. I’ll match my skills and experience to yours, I think, narrowing my eyes and feeling my nostrils flare the tiniest bit. I may not win, but I think it’ll be close.

“Well, I can get you up to speed.” She says. “I have so much going on right now so if there’s a way to…” She looks around, searching for words or beginning to worry about my increasingly aggressive expressions, I’m not sure.

“Delegate?” I offer, biting out the word so she can be sure of my displeasure.

She nods.

I smile. “I can handle it.” Knowing full well I’ll see her in hell before I admit to needing help. I’m done – this is over, and I feel I held my own. But my ego demands more – was it not quiet as we sat in the corner this morning? Offering no opinions, just taking information? Did it not roll over without a whimper in the confrontation with New Leader? Give me something! It shouted, increasingly craving attention.

“I know the preparation,” I started, adding the software programs with which I had familiarity and watching her nod. “I’ve acquired vast amounts of data on both healthy and diseased populations…” I continue, again listing specific manufacturers, equipment and training I’ve received. “And my specialty is in processing data.” Again, I list algorithms, papers, collaborations. I’m not screwing with her – she picked the wrong topic to use for her attack. I know this stuff.

“Is there something I’m missing?” I ask briskly, ready to quit, but allowing her one last chance to take a shot.

“No. I do work with different patient groups though.” She finishes, not looking smug at all.

I suddenly feel badly. Ego quieted, I realize I could have let her have this battle, since she had fought more than I this morning. It would have been easy to back off, to accept the offer of help quietly and to make my way back to my desk. But I didn’t – too conditioned to fighting for admiration and credit – so I tried to make her feel badly. I didn't start it, but I didn't handle it well either. When I saw that I might have succeeded in bothering her, I realized I wasn’t any better than the folks I shook my head over this morning.

We’re all picking our battles, engaging in our craving for dominance. Sometimes we lose, only to unleash our ego on someone we believe to be inferior. The problem with us inferiors? We’re trained in this environment too – watching the barbs delivered with sly smiles and looks around at the pack. Drawing back from screaming matches when neither party will withdraw. Pushing through the crowds of people to get to the front will sometimes get you hurt, and I’m often content to be swept away in the middle, following along, but retaining my place more than trying to overtake those ahead.

But morally superior? Amused rather than enraged by these little jabs? Not so much. It’s all about ego for me too.