It was my first Convention of the Modern Language Association, held in Washington DC in late December of 2005.  I was not presenting, I was not interviewing, I was just there to get acclimated, thinking I would be on the job market the following year.

Setting aside how incredibly wrong I was about my market-readiness (and my marketability), shall we appreciate for one fine moment the bravery required of a freshly-minted ABD to simply attend the academic meat market that is the MLA.

*moment over*

I was dressed in my only suit, wandering semi-aimlessly around one of the MASSIVE hotels in/around Dupont Circle (if memory serves me correctly), thumbing my program listlessly and looking for panels of interest.  I was also trying very hard to keep my shoes on my feet.  They were clunky sons of bitches, big chunky things with a 2" heel and a half-size too large. They were really quite ugly, now that I think about it, and they only barely paired well with the suit I had on.  I'll put that on my personal list of fashion travesties along with the impulse-buy Uggs-but-with-heels boots that I bought, well I'll be damned, just a few months later.  2005-2006 must have been a year of bad judgment for me, and not just fashion-wise, but professionally as well.

I'll explain.

I wandered into a panel at the MLA that was in line with my reasearch interests at the time.  I sat down, about three seats in from the aisle, so as to leave room for the late-comer who needed a quick seat without disturbing audience or panelists.  Much to my surprise, just as the panel was about to commence, a small, slight woman hurried in and sat down next to me.  She had clearly rushed in from somewhere, and was smoothing down her hair and arranging her things when I realized that I knew this woman.

It was a professor for whom I had been a research assistant when I was doing my Master's Degree.  I hadn't seen her in over four years.  I felt ecstatic to see someone I knew there, not realizing, of course, as I would over the course of the next few conventions that running into people you know is practically the reason for existence of the MLA.  (Well, that and the nauseatingly blatant self-promotion and networking that are also a part of running into people you know...)

I timidly (because I was still timid at that point) leaned forward to get a better look at her face and confirmed that it was Professor X.  I spoke to her: "Prof. X?"  

She startled and looked at me with a blend of confusion and annoyance.  She didn't recognize me.  I felt crestfallen.

"It's Ambi.  AmbiAcademic.  I went to Random U?  Graduated in 2001?  I was your research assistant?"

Her face then was flush with recognition-- I was her old R.A. who screwed up her lesson plan by not turning in a timeline of the 20th century history of Chile on time.  Despite that, she smiled at me and said a surprised "Ohhhh!"

And that's when it happened.  I don't know who initiated the awkwardness, but I'm inclined to think that I was the culprit.  If I remember correctly, she put out her hand to shake mine, and I went to give her a great big hug.  The hug overwhelmed the handshake, and she very gingerly embraced me, as it slowly dawned on me that never once, even when I was at Random U, had I ever hugged this woman-- that she was a prickly, high-strung businesswoman with zero capacity for affection.  And I had hugged her.  In the Mecca of Academic Professionalism that is the MLA.

I shrunk back into my seat and proceeded to tell her, haltingly, of my then-embryonic dissertation.  She told me to send her an email with the title-- a title I wouldn't even have for another 2 years at that point-- and that she would pass it on to the department's newsletter.  We sat for another moment in silence, and then, blessed be Microsoft, someone dimmed the lights for (yet another) PowerPoint presentation.  (Is it just me, or were the early '00s the height of PowerPoint ubiquity?)

Suffice it to say, I knew that when I hugged her it was the absolute wrong thing to do.  If she had been my KINDERGARTEN TEACHER then... maybe.  But this was someone whom I hoped would be my eventual colleague, and my hasty embrace was one of the greatest faux pas of my entire existence.

When I saw her again in the elevator at the MLA in Chicago in 2007, I actually took a protected step back from her, straightened my spine and declared, "Prof. X." and stuck out my hand in the most professional greeting I could muster.

"Ambi," she said, releasing my hand.  

We stood a good four feet apart from each other as I told her, finally, the title of my dissertation.

 I have yet to email it to her.