College Life: Meet the Professors

The following is a biweekly (That means twice a week, right? It doesn’t? Once every two weeks? Seriously? What’s the word for two times a week? Oh it is biweekly? Cool.) column in which I cover a number of different aspects pertaining to freshman year. Hopefully, this will be a good idea and will be interesting. Some of these recaps will make you laugh, some will make you cry, but they will always be mostly true. Of course, some names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent.

I awoke on a sunny August morning and prepared myself for my first day of college class. I was almost completely recovered from the embarassing episode from the previous week. The taste of vomit was almost completely gone from my mouth.  I was a little bit nervous about the day. After all, I had just spent most of my senior year of how high school was soon to end. That college was so diffierent. Basically, I was constantly being reminded of how I was about to entire the Real World. (This always bummed me out because Real World was always hit-or-miss. I much preferred Road Rules.) I carefully picked out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Then I grabbed my Cubs’ hat and stood in front of the mirror, trying to position in precisely so as to let everyone know that I was in college. I was a college guy. I thought about swinging by the local high school and letting the senior girls know too.

I walked into a modestly size auditorium and glanced around. I was significantly overdressed. My neatly pressed shorts and ironed t-shirts separated me from my new peers who were primarily wearing sweatpants and Greek shirts. I tried to fake a yawn as I tried to subtly untuck my shirt and wrinkle my shorts slightly. I think it worked.

Suddenly, through a set of double doors to the left of the stage, my professor entered. He was a middle aged man with slicked back hair and a goatee. He wore jeans and a long sleeve tee and a brown blazer with tan patches on the elbows. This made me feel a little uneasy. It would have been difficult for him to look any more like a college professor. He obviously was dressing this way because he took himself too seriously, or because he is a lighthearted prankster who meant his outfit to be ironic. I had an inkling that it was the former.

My fears were confirmed when he slapped down a large manila folder onto the desk and addressed the class.

“Well,” he said with an accent that sounded part British and part fake. “I suppose you all would like to know a little more about me before we spend a semester learning from one another.”

Learning from one another? I was an eighteen year old kid who spent my entire life growing up in an upper class suburb. What the hell could he possibly learn from me?**

“There is only one thing you need to know about me,” the professor continued. “I’m an anarchist.” He stopped and let his words hang in the air. He waited as if he expected one of us to gasp or scream. When no such exclamation came, he spoke again. “I believe all governments should be overthrown. Everywhere. We should return to our basic, simple hunter-gatherer societies. Any questions?”

A blond girl in the front row raised her hand. “In the syllabus we received over the summer you wrote that-”

My professor cut her off. “I meant about me. Does anyone have any questions about me? I am an anarchist after all.”

His question was met with silence before a senior in front of me spoke up. “What did you do before you became a professor?”

“I was a senior vice president for IBM.”


“Yeah, I became very rich at a very young age. So I retired at thirty and spent the next few years vacationing.”

More silence.

“Yep. I was super rich.”

Another student, this time a sophomore girl asked a question. “What do you during the summer? What do you do for fun?”

“I go to a lot of Grateful Dead concerts. I like to do the same stuff as all the other Dead Head’s if you know what I mean,” he chuckled at his own little joke.

A third student asked another one. “What’s your favorite television show?

“You know that’s a tough one for me to answer. I don’t own a t.v.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s pretty impressive,” the student replied.

“Yeah. I have to watch most of my stuff on Hulu. So, I’d have to say Arrested Development. Oh! Actually, Two and a Half Men.”

And so began my first college class.

Somehow I had managed to find myself sitting in a class being taught by a millionaire/Dead Head/anarchist. I was only two weeks in to my college education and I already had made a fool of myself in front of a girl and now found myself being taught by the world’s largest walking paradox.

Welcome to the real world.

**Aside from where the nearest Starbucks is located, of course.


2 Responses to “College Life: Meet the Professors”

  1. 1 Daniel June 24, 2009 at 4:40 pm

    While I know that this is at least partly fictional…there is so such thing as a person who likes both Arrested Development and Two and a Half Men. They are mutually exclusive.

  2. 2 Jay June 29, 2009 at 8:37 pm

    nice d-rock

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