Chapter Two
A more focused thesis project is necessary, and soon, or we’ll have to reconsider your position in the sociology department.
Sarah let out a long sigh as she stared at the email on her computer screen. Lately, she’d dreaded going into the sociology department’s grad student office. It seemed like every time she did, there was some email or note that made her stomach churn.
“Problem?” asked John from his seat across from her. She liked the other graduate student. He was always helpful without seeming like he wanted anything for it. She couldn’t say the same thing for the others in the department.
Plus, at thirty, he was one of the few that was older than her in the office, which made her feel less out of place as a twenty-five-year-old grad student in a department filled with people barely hitting twenty-one or twenty-two.
The grad student office was small, just a handful of desks, communal computers, and their mail boxes. Considering how much time a lot of them spent there, being able to not get annoyed with the other grad students was a good survival trait.
Unfortunately, some of the guys in the department could just be skeevy. She got it. She knew she had nice boobs, and she hit the gym enough to maintain a nice body. But that didn’t mean she wanted every random guy who had a few drinks hitting on her, especially when she had to deal with them regularly in a professional capacity.
“Professor Harris is saying that the proposal I sent isn’t good enough,” Sarah said. “He said the survey methodology I outlined wouldn’t be useful for finding out anything new. He’s not going to approve it without a lot more work, and he’s even hinting that he wants to kick me out of the program.” She groaned. “This is so annoying.”
“Okay, okay,” John said. “No big deal. Don’t panic. Everybody gets blocked a bit.” He frowned slightly. “It’d help if Harris wasn’t such a dick about helping his students out. Geeze, it’s like the guy forgets the whole point of being someone’s thesis advisor.”
Sarah bobbed her head in agreement. She’d admired the sociologist for years, having read all his research and books on the sociology of criminal groups. It’d just never occurred to her that the brilliant man might be such an asshole as a thesis advisor.
Well, the one good thing she could say was that at least he’d never hit on her.
She’d thought about trying to get a new advisor, but from what she’d heard, Professor Harris made sure that sort of thing didn’t happen, and he was the department chair. It reflected poorly on him if someone fled from him to go on to succeed elsewhere.
No. She had to make this work. Harris might be a jerk, but she could impress him with good research. She just knew it.
That thought filled her with purpose for about five seconds until her stomach churned again.
Sarah tucked a few strands of her long black hair behind her ear and groaned. “I’m so screwed. I was supposed to have this figured out by April, and it’s already May.” She dropped her face onto her keyboard, turning her head to face John. “Why does this have to be so hard and stressful?”
“You’re not screwed. And it’s hard because you’re trying to add to our knowledge of how society works.” John leaned back in his chair, resting his head in his hands. “You just need to think of a better way to approach the situation.” He winked. “Be more flexible. You know the information you need to gather. So what’s the best way to get it?”
“It’s not exactly like I can just go to some outlaw biker gang and interview them,” Sarah said. “I have exactly zero street cred. No, I have negative street cred. Little old ladies are more badass than me.”
John laughed. “True, but it’s not exactly like Sudhir Venkatesh had a lot of street cred when he ended up embedding with a gang.”
I rubbed my temples and stared up at the long and wide fluorescent lights above us. “Why the hell did I pick this thesis? What was I thinking? I should have done something about Girl Scout cookie sales or something. Something more straight-laced and middle class.”
“Oh, come on,” John said with a smirk “Are you serious? We both know why you picked this topic.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at?”
John smirked. “You picked it because you’re far too obsessed with tall, dark, and dangerous men. No shame in admitting it. The trick is to make sure you can do something useful with your obsession.”
Sarah groaned and slumped further down in her chair, causing it to roll a few inches away from the desk.
The painful part was that John was right. She’d always been a comfortably middle-class girl living a law-abiding life, but something about rougher men not concerned with law or order fascinated her. If she were really being honest, it even kind of turned her on, not that she’d ever dated someone like that.
She’d been terrified of even talking to someone like that for her entire life, no matter what sort of fantasies she dreamed at night.
Still, the thought of a man in tight jeans, his muscular arms straining against his t-shirt, made her tingle. She could imagine what it’d be like to run her hands over the light stubble of his beard before he pulled her against the wall of muscles that was his chest and parted her lips with his tongue.
Sarah shook her head. The last thing she needed to be thinking about was some roughneck kissing her. She chalked that up to needing to have something inside her other than her own fingers.
Her cheeks burned. She hoped that nothing on her face gave away what she’d been thinking about.
“Do you have any suggestions?” Sarah said, averting her gaze. “I’m just kind of blocked from stress.” And maybe not getting laid, but she wasn’t going to say that.
“Think outside the box,” John said.
Sarah shot him a death glare. “I swear to God that I’m going to kill the next person who says that, even if it’s Professor Harris.”
John laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Seriously, it’s not like it’s 1950. Do something dramatic. Embed yourself with some useful contacts. Think about some of the people they talked about the other day in that seminar who embedded themselves in high-crime housing projects or hung around criminals. A little rough mixing in the name of science isn’t a bad thing.”
“Not like you’re doing something like that.”
“Hey, I’m not interested in learning more about criminals. That’s your jam.”
Sarah sighed. “Maybe I’m just not as brave as those guys, and what if I end up in some precarious situation?”
John waved a hand. “Look, you’re a small woman. Some bikers aren’t going to want you to help beat a guy up, but you can hang out around a few and take notes. Tough guys love bragging to women about their lives and how badass they are. If anything, you’ll have an easier time of it.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to become some biker babe. I want to make sure that I maintain a professional distance in all of this.”
John waggled his finger. “You’re thinking about this the wrong way. You don’t have to go to the bikers. You just need to go somewhere the bikers will come.” He shook his head. “Look, Sarah, you’re not going to be able to complete your thesis just reading things in the library. You’re going to need some field research. If you want to know about outlaws, and learn something new about them, then you’re going to have to take a few risks.”
She sat up, now more interested. “You’re right. I suppose I could start hanging out at biker bars.” Her cheeks heated. “Yes, I’ve never been to a biker bar even though I’m researching outlaw biker culture.”
“That’s a possibility,” John said. “But I got one better for you. A way to find some contacts but still feel safe.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a place opening up in June in Glendale.” John chuckled. “They’re calling it Devil’s Den. Word is online that it’s definitely going to be biker-friendly, but they are still renovating it. Since it’s a new place, it’ll be a good place to find informants or contacts, and no one’s going to freak out if someone’s new, or run you out right away because they think you don’t belong.”
“Devil’s Den? Not exactly subtle, huh?”
Sarah wondered why she hadn’t heard of it, considering that she did spend time on a lot of local forums discussing biker and motorcycle club culture. It probably had something to do with the fact she’d been buried in reading the last few weeks.
She’d even spent her recent twenty-fifth birthday reading research materials. Not exactly the most exciting birthday she’d ever celebrated.
Sarah sighed. When she’d quit her job at a local non-profit to go to graduate school, she’d always imagined it a lot more glamorous. Epic intellectual debates, stunning insights into the nature of society. A few glasses of wine followed by deep philosophical truth.
Sure, she knew there would be reading, but she hadn’t expected it’d be almost nothing but reading. And ramen. Lots of ramen.
John was right. She needed to get out in the field, and more than just in the few survey classes she’d taken. The only person who could make her graduate school experience worthwhile was herself.
Sarah offered John a smile. “So tell me a little bit more about this Devil’s Den.”