Alvin Wang--There's A Monkey On My Back

The origin of this quirky phrase is contested. Nowadays, to have a ‘monkey on one’s back’ means that you are experiencing a vexing, difficult problem. In the 1930s, the phrase referred specifically to having a bad habit like drug addiction or chain smoking. Back in the 1860s, ‘having a roof on one’s back’ referred to a house mortgage. The notion of having something ‘on the back’ soon meant anything that was burdensome — like a drug addiction. To kick an addiction or smoking habit meant that you got the monkey off your back.

Other etymologists point out that monkeys figure prominently in medieval manuscripts where they are depicted as cunning, deceitful creatures. Indeed, depictions of monkeys on the backs of other animals are quite common in the medieval bestiary. Accordingly, this suggests that ‘having a monkey on one’s back’ might derive from these early comical images.

However, it’s possible that a real monkey may end up on your back. I’m not referring to metaphorical monkeys expressed by art or words. Rather, I’m talking about having a raging, wrathful monkey clawing at your back. Do you know what that’s like? I do.

As an undergraduate, I declared psychology as my major. I did well in my coursework and learned a great deal about the science of psychology. But I realized that I still didn’t know what psychologists did for a living. How did they going about conducting studies and producing the data that ended up in the textbooks that were assigned readings? How did the science of psychology broaden its knowledge base? My solution was to sign-up as an undergraduate research assistant for one of my professors. In this way, I could start to act like experimental psychologists rather than just read about them.

My class “Animal Behavior” was taught by a primatologist Dr. Wexler. His class was interesting and I was flattered when he invited me to serve as an assistant in his primate lab. Dr. Wexler’s study involved a colony of 15 rhesus monkeys (Macaca mulatta).

You think you know monkeys, but you don’t. When thinking about monkeys, images of cute little chimps scampering around someone’s arms and shoulders usually come to mind. They’re probably dressed in human clothes and almost certainly diapers. Sometimes, the baby chimp will be seen ‘smiling’ with a wide grin on its face. So cute! So human-like! But not so. What the baby chimp is really showing is either fear or anxiety and the facial expression is not a smile, but a grimace. Keep in mind that the chimps seen in circus acts involve juveniles and not adults. What happens when chimps grow up? They get big. A fully-grown adult male can weigh 150 lbs. They’re built like linebackers (ever see a chubby chimp with a potbelly?) and they’re super aggressive. That’s because most primate species organize their social structures around dominance hierarchies that are maintained through threat displays and actual violence. If an adult chimp doesn’t want to participate in a circus act, no human can dissuade him otherwise. If you force him to act, the chimp may just beat you up. There is even evidence that chimps will murder each other.

Male Rhesus monkeys can weight up to 17 lbs. and like their chimp cousins are built like linebackers. They have wickedly sharp canine teeth that can reach 3 inches in length. They are considered to be one of the most dangerous primate species around due to their high levels of aggression. There are credible news reports of rhesus monkeys killing humans. I volunteered to study these creatures.

During my first day as a research assistant, I was given a tour of the primate lab. The main facility consisted of a double-walled enclosure made of sturdy cyclone fencing. Think of a large cage the size of a small room with floor, ceiling, and walls constructed of steel fencing. There were also double locked doors for access into the enclosure. The double locks were security features needed in all primate labs; not just to keep unauthorized humans from entering, but also to prevent monkeys from escaping (lab monkeys have a lot of time on their hands to tinker with door locks).

Did I mention the smell? If you visited the monkey house at a zoo, you know what I mean. Despite the best attempts at maintaining lab safety and hygiene, there is always that smell. With 15 monkeys running around in the enclosure, there’s bound to be some poopy on the floor at all times.

There is also the sound. As soon as anyone enters the enclosure, 15 monkeys (adults and juveniles) start screeching at the top of their lungs. The cacophony serves as a threat warning to others that a strange, big primate (e.g., a human) has trespassed their territory. If you were to walk into the enclosure, you would encounter the strangest experience imaginable. Upon entering, all of the enclosure’s inhabitants let out a collective shriek and start running along the walls of the enclosure. That’s right, the walls. It’s as if you’re standing in the middle of a velodrome where the cyclists are racing around you sideways in a blur — while screaming at you nonstop.

Before I began my duties as a research assistant, I was given two inviolate protocols regarding the primate lab:

1. Always lock the doors even if you are in the enclosure. This means that there are times when you need to double-lock yourself in a cage with 15 screaming maniacs.

2. Never turn your back on the alpha male. In all primate societies, there is a social hierarchy with alpha male sitting at the top. The alpha male is the most aggressive member of the colony, and will become protective if an intruder threatens a female or juvenile member of the colony. Usually, alpha male is the largest monkey in a colony.

Armed with these protocols, I was tasked with my responsibilities. On the face of it, my duties appeared quite simple. I was to enter the enclosure to extract a single monkey for the day’s experiments. So how do you go about catching a lone monkey from a colony of fifteen?

However, that wasn’t what I first asked. My first question was, “can I wear something like a football helmet?” I was scared. I was thinking about protecting myself from a gang of 15 crazed monkeys led by a bully alpha male.

Dr. Wexler laughed and said that I was being overly concerned. He noted that wearing something like a football helmet would scare the monkeys. Meanwhile, I’m thinking: You’re worried about scaring some monkeys, but what about me?

I couldn’t wear any head protection, but I could layer up on clothing. Therefore, for a typical lab session, I would wear three layers: undershirt, shirt, and denim jacket. I hoped it would be enough in the event of any difficulties that might arise in the enclosure. It wasn’t.

Only two pieces of equipment are needed to extract a single monkey from a colony. The first is a small metal box with a sliding door large enough to fit a monkey. The second piece of equipment is a stick about two feet in length. With these implements in hand, the goal is to get the monkey in the small metal box.

You enter the enclosure and brace for the onslaught of shrieking monkeys running sideways around you. Your first thought is: OMG! They’re like a pack of dogs except they’re running sideways. At this point, a little patience is required for the next step: for gravity to take over. Evidently, running full-tilt along walls is very tiring and within moments they start to drop like flies. After only seconds, the whole colony is panting and huddled on the floor of the enclosure.

Now is your chance as the research assistant to swoop in and extract the monkey needed for the day’s experiment. You approach the target with the box door open using the stick as a prompt (never hit or punish the subject). Amazingly, when tired monkeys will comply and enter the box with very little prompting.

I got pretty good at this. Extracting monkeys became fairly routine…until it didn’t. On one fateful occasion, I entered the enclosure and forgot about alpha male. I took my eye off him while I was extracting a juvenile for the day’s experiment. Bad move. My back was turned and alpha male was waiting.

In a flash, the bully jumped on my back and bit down. Hard. As I swung around, alpha male retreated into the corner of the enclosure. I think he was glaring at me. So what is a research assistant to do now?

Answer: I made alpha male go in the box. Many times. In effect, this was necessary so that with enough of these sessions, my expression of dominance would make me ascendant over the chimp alpha male. It worked and I never had to use the stick. I became the new alpha male. (Not exactly mano a mano, but you get the idea).

They say that college is a place where you learn not only about others, but about yourself as well. This was certainly one of the outcomes from my stint while working in a primate lab. I discovered that despite learning a great deal about research methodologies, I’d prefer to leave primate research for others. Nowadays, as an experimental psychologist I study humans by choice (not monkeys).

There was one very real consequence from my time in a primate lab. I got a two-inch scar on my back, just under my right shoulder blade. Alpha male, with his three-inch canines managed to draw blood. But I don’t view having a scar as a negative. Instead, I regard it as a badge of courage. After all, who else can claim that they valiantly fended off an attack by a vicious, fanged animal?