LAST WEEK, I found myself aimlessly strolling through the Square, thinking about how nice it would be to actually have a job for the summer. I was contemplating doing something physical, attracted by the concept of straining my muscles and sweating in the hot sun to earn my wage.

It was just as I was pondering that idea that I passed Herrell's--and made an amazing discovery.

It was then, standing in front of a bulletin board on Dunster St., that I realized that none of that painful labor would be necessary. Posted on a sheet of light blue paper was the answer to my summer job woes.

"EARN UP TO $1,000 IN 2 WEEKS" read the sign. I stopped in my tracks, nearly insane with the joyous anticipation that all of my problems would be solved.

My heartbeat quickened as I focused more directly on that beckoning blue poster and read on: "Healthy males (ages 18-30) needed for a study of the effects of light on hormonal patterns." I'm a healthy male, I thought excitedly to myself. And, as far as I can tell, I have hormonal patterns. I read further.

"The study is being conducted by the Center for Circadian Medicine at the Brigham and Women's Hospital. Participation involves a week of home monitoring, then living in our lab, free from time cues, for up to 15 days (and nights). We monitor your temperature, EEG and hormone patterns. Those completing the study will earn $700 to $1,000. If interested call Amy at 732-4311."

Could I really use this experiment to rake in a bundle of dough this summer? And without working? I was beginning to think so.

AT LAST, here was that elusive something that rarely comes along--a break.

Ecstatic, I tore down the poster so as to limit my competition for this once-in-a-lifetime shot. Surely scores of other healthy males in the Harvard Square area were, at this very moment, burning the Cambridge telephone lines with calls to this Amy person.

So I turned around, jogged to The Crimson, and called to get my name in the pile of responses which I imagined to be growing at that very instant.

Unfortunately, I only reached an answering machine. But that wasn't about to stop me. I was getting ready to catch a ride down to the hospital to get right in on the action. As I put down the receiver, my mind began to race with thoughts of other experiments and other $1000 paychecks.

They had me, hook, line, and sinker.

But something in the back of my mind was nagging me. Sure, this was "scientific" research--but the subject of it would be none other than myself. If anything, I thought I should at least check it out with my parents.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" screamed my mother into the phone. "Philip, you had better not do this."

After endless rounds of, "I won't mom, I won't," I decided to try my father. But he too put his foot down in that authoritative way that only parents can.