True story, really.
Nov. 11th, 2008 02:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhThere is a professor at my university who is mildly insane. Let's call him Professor B.
I did not actually know Professor B was a professor until I'd been here for nearly a year. Oh, sure, I saw him around now and then- in a wrinkly, faded hawaiian shirt and straw hat, or sometimes with a bizarrely 50-esqe dark green velvet suit. His hair was always done in the Einstein style: white and flaring around his head as though he'd just woken up. I most often saw him in the office on the first floor, having strange, rambling conversations with the secretaries, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. I figured, hey, clearly he was some homeless person who had wandered into the building because we, unlike most of the buildings in the neighborhood, don't have guards on the doors, but people seem to know him and he seems harmless, so no big deal. I was not alone in my impression, since a friend of mine spent several months thinking he was the senile spouse of someone or other, who came in when he was lonely.
But Professor B is, in fact, a professor. This realization provides my friends with a great deal of amusement (the reviews on ratemyprofessor.com are a particular joy). But I have one particular story about Professor B to share now: a few days ago, a friend and I were on the elevator when Professor B stepped on. We immediately glanced at each other and tried to hide grins, as most stories about Professor B start with being trapped on an elevator with him.
Also, he was singing Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah. Loudly.
He stopped as the doors closed, but then noticed that my friend was holding a muffin, since we were on our way back from the coffee shop. Professor B leaned over to look at the muffin, which had chocolate chips on top of it. But when I say leaned over, I mean he tilted to the point where his face was less than 5 inches from the muffin itself, which my friend was holding- as you do- slightly below waist level. In other words, Professor B basically shoved his face into this guy's groin.
"What is that?" Professor B asked in tones of great disgust.
"Chocolate chips," my friend said.
"BLAH!" Professor B exclaimed, making a face that involved eyes scrunched, mouth wide open, and tongue sprawling. Then the elevator stopped at his floor, and he quite calmly departed. I held my breath until the doors had closed again, and then we burst out laughing.
I did not actually know Professor B was a professor until I'd been here for nearly a year. Oh, sure, I saw him around now and then- in a wrinkly, faded hawaiian shirt and straw hat, or sometimes with a bizarrely 50-esqe dark green velvet suit. His hair was always done in the Einstein style: white and flaring around his head as though he'd just woken up. I most often saw him in the office on the first floor, having strange, rambling conversations with the secretaries, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. I figured, hey, clearly he was some homeless person who had wandered into the building because we, unlike most of the buildings in the neighborhood, don't have guards on the doors, but people seem to know him and he seems harmless, so no big deal. I was not alone in my impression, since a friend of mine spent several months thinking he was the senile spouse of someone or other, who came in when he was lonely.
But Professor B is, in fact, a professor. This realization provides my friends with a great deal of amusement (the reviews on ratemyprofessor.com are a particular joy). But I have one particular story about Professor B to share now: a few days ago, a friend and I were on the elevator when Professor B stepped on. We immediately glanced at each other and tried to hide grins, as most stories about Professor B start with being trapped on an elevator with him.
Also, he was singing Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah. Loudly.
He stopped as the doors closed, but then noticed that my friend was holding a muffin, since we were on our way back from the coffee shop. Professor B leaned over to look at the muffin, which had chocolate chips on top of it. But when I say leaned over, I mean he tilted to the point where his face was less than 5 inches from the muffin itself, which my friend was holding- as you do- slightly below waist level. In other words, Professor B basically shoved his face into this guy's groin.
"What is that?" Professor B asked in tones of great disgust.
"Chocolate chips," my friend said.
"BLAH!" Professor B exclaimed, making a face that involved eyes scrunched, mouth wide open, and tongue sprawling. Then the elevator stopped at his floor, and he quite calmly departed. I held my breath until the doors had closed again, and then we burst out laughing.
