My Left Hook
Classes ended on Tuesday. Woohoo! I have papers and finals to grade and academic futures to decimate with quick scribbles of my pen but I can do that in front of the TV in my jammies with Love Actually blaring from the screen and a hot cup of amaretto tea making me very merry indeed. However, this afternoon as Hugh Grant and I were stammering through our declaration of love — he because he thinks stammering is cute and disarming, me because my amaretto with a splash of tea was making my tongue feel heavy light like dancing funny — I remembered that I had to fill out some end-of-semester forms in the English Department. The deadline was today. At 5 o’clock. And because I’m nothing if not punctual, I decided to wait until 4:30 before chugging my amaretto/tea, putting a pair of jeans on over my jammies, and dashing off to school.
As usual, when I’m not expecting to run into anyone, I run into everyone. In this case, I ran into someone: my former Literary Criticism professor. This professor is a great guy. He’s funny, kind, and incredibly intelligent. Almost too intelligent. If you don’t know what I mean when I say “too intelligent” then you are just stoopid. Ha, ha, Innernetz. I’m just kidding. I know you are all Mensa members. But for those of you who think belonging to Mensa means that you ride the red flow once a month, you really are stoopid, move along.
Anyway, Prof. Mensa is a brilliant professor and he’s intimidating, to say the least. But you know that I can never say the least about anything so let me tell you about the last time I encountered Prof. Mensa in a slightly inebriated state. My slightly inebriated state, that is, not his. Let’s roll back the clock to Literary Criticism 2008, shall we? I had a few hours between my first class and Lit Crit so I listened to the evil whispers of fellow classmates and joined them for a liquid lunch at a local pub.
Lit Crit was difficult for me. I was usually silent in class because I had no idea what was going on. My fellow asshats classmates were philosophy students or studying critical theory. While they were throwing around names like Lacan and Spivak, and discussing binary opposition and Saussurean Linguistics in relation to John Keats’s poem To Autumn, I’m thinking, “Oooh! This poem is pretty. It has TREES!”
I hated getting to class early because while I wanted to talk about Grey’s Anatomy or important issues like whether plaid could ever live in harmony with stripes (Answer: No!), they wanted to discuss philosophy and other things that made my brain curl into the fetal position at the back of my skull. The worst part is that they thought they were funny. Eddie Izzard is funny. Watching a woman walk down the street with her skirt tucked into the back of her pantyhose is funny. My classmates were not funny. I was treated to hilarious gems like: “Of course you know what Derrida would say about that. Hahahahahah!” And then they would double over with laughter, wiping tears from their eyes. Ahh yes, those witty, witty classmates of mine. A laugh riot, I tellz ya. Sometimes the pre-class topics would turn serious. “Oh, I would love to have dinner with Foucault and discuss this.” Yes, I would as well. “Waiter, I’ll have a Plato the Hegels and Lockes.” Hah! How’s that for a philosophical reference, you pompous pricks? Innernetz, if you are lost with all these references to philosophers and theories, I am too. I still have no idea what the fuck what was going on in that class, and it ended months ago.
Knowing I had to stay sharp, I decided to have only one pint of Smithwick’s at lunch. Four pints later I dashed off to class vowing to sit at the back of the class and maintain my usual code of silence. It was not to be. By the time I got to class all the seats around the table were taken. All except for the seat at the front. By Prof. Mensa. But the four pints of Smithwick’s worked wonders. Not only did I understand the theories and concepts that evening, but class was fun! I was laughing along with my classmates and contributing what I’m sure were valuable insights into the articles we were discussing. My classmates were actually listening to me. They were laughing at my jokes and agreeing with my observations. I was on fire! I was, dare I say it? Pop-u-lar!
Toward the middle of class, Prof. Mensa said something I found unbelievably amusing and just plain unbelievable. In my loosey-goosey state, I hauled off and punched him in the arm while slurring, “Shut up!” Elaine Benes style. Yes, I know Elaine’s trademark was “Get Out!” but I couldn’t very well tell Prof. Mensa to get out of his own classroom, could I? Telling him to shut up was much more appropriate. I’m classy like that. So yes, I punched my professor in the arm. And told him to shut up. In the middle of class.
Now, I don’t think I usually pack a wallop but his left butt cheek rose into the air a bit. And so did his chair. His whole chair. The only thing that prevented him from falling over completely was my classmate to the other side of Prof. Mensa. She was so far up his ass all semester that I think the weight of her infatuation and inflated self-importance provided a counterbalance that kept him from tipping over and crashing to the floor. He gave a little chuckle and looked at me like I had lost my mind but he didn’t skip a beat in whatever tale he was telling. However, for the rest of the class whenever I’d raise my hand to answer a question, he’d flinch.
So, there we were today in the close quarters of the English Department office. Me, with Mr. Darcy Colin Firth running through my head (really, add Love Actually to your Netflix queue), amaretto running through my veins, and Prof. Mensa looking for an escape route. We made small talk while I signed the necessary forms and tried not to breathe on him. Why was he even there? Every other professor left campus yesterday and no one will see them until the Spring thaw. Anyway, as I’m leaving I ask him about his plans for the holidays and wish him well. Have you ever tried to talk without exhaling? It can be done.
As I’m thinking that I have finally managed to successfully conduct an intelligent conversation with Prof. Mensa, I wish him happy holidays and head for the door. He wishes me well in return and then says, “Hey, remember that time in class when you beat the living crap out of me?”
Posted on Thursday, December 18, 2008 at 04:58 AM.
Tags: La Vida Loca, Little Red Schoolhouse, Smoking, Drinking, and other Vices
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Comments & Trackbacks
I remember going to a class once after having consumed a bottle of wine with a friend and classmate. It was a large class of more than 80 people though, so we were able to hide in the back row - we had so much fun that night and the topic was American history… go figure! 
Happy holidays!
So that was the secret to successful maneuvering through a difficult college course. One day you may have a similar tale about one of your academi-ettes.
Merry Happy Christmahanukwanzaka
Sadly, I have a degree in philosophy and religion and have no idea what you’re talking about either. My one redemption is that I DO know what Mensa is. And it only took me four minutes to figure out the Hawiiaan Punch guy’s relation to the story. (I didn’t say I was a MEMBER of Mensa, now did I?)
Ha ha ha! Great story. I have nothing else to say! Sorry for my brevity.
Okay, so you lost me at the philosopher spot…
But the rest of the time, I was sitting here with a stupid grin on my face.
Prof. Mensa is a bitch. You should have kneed him in the groin.
Just joking.
But I’m totally going to bust out “Of course you know what Derrida would say about that. Hahahahahah!” at my next office Christmas party. After some amaretto tea, of course.
That is freaking hilarious!!!!
That is exactly what happens to me. I try to be cute or something and someone gets hurt.
And Love Actually is one of my very most favorites!!!
dingo, will you marry me? you can answer with a punch to my arm if you prefer.
Marjolein — You might want to try a bottle of wine while writing your thesis. I bet you will get done much faster and the work product will be excellent!
Tara R. — I only did that once. I did not want to have to live up to that level of brilliance all the time.
Shania — I am telling the truth when I say I still don’t understand the theories we discussed. And so far, Mensa has not come calling.
jane — Hi Jane! I will forgive your brevity if you send me a case of Smithwick’s.
saratogajean Girl! You are going to be the life of the party!
Crissy — I can’t seem to find my copy of Love Actually. I bet Mr. Dingo has hidden it somewhere. That’s okay, though. I know all the lines by heart.
blakspring — You had me at “you can answer with a punch to my arm if you prefer.”
I so wish we’d been in class together!
“Hey, remember that time in class when you beat the living crap out of me?” *Please do it again. Please please please.*
You know he was thinking it.
That story is priceless! I love that you hit him!
I’m glad his reaction wasn’t to punch you back!
I’m very jealous of your jammie-wearing, amaretto-drinking, Love Actually-watching work days. I just watched Love Actually last week and got all teary over it. Such a great movie. I highly recommend The Family Stone, too, if you haven’t seen that one.
In your next post, could you please not use so many philosopher names and big words? Your well-versedness made me feel very stoopid.
April — Better yet, let’s go to the pub together!
Lyvvie — I would have obliged, too, if only I’d had my whip and gimp bit with me.
stealthnerd — It was all good until about a half hour before class was over and my buzz started wearing off. Then, I was horrified.
Mel Heth — Just because you work in an office doesn’t mean you can’t wear your jammies and drink amaretto tea. You should try it some time. Let me know how that works out for you.
That is hysterical. Also - amaretto tea? Do tell more, please!
Way too funny… my issue in college was that I’d sit in front for my favorite French Conversation class and then fall asleep because it was at 8:00 a.m. and I was usually working theater things til past midnight. To make it worse, my French prof. was also my boss - I had a job as the Foreign Language office secretary that year. Yup… I was brilliant and impressive.
I took a trip to England with a class when I was in college. Our professor came with us and one of the nights we went to a pub and got completely wasted. Professor included. So he’s walking us back to our hotel and proceeds to ask every local we pass if they know where Shakespeare hangs out. Oh did I mention we were in Stratford? It was ridiculous and he got called a fucking moron more times than I can remember. I’ll never forget my very British professor, wasted, talking to strangers about Shakespeare. Classic. I have pictures of this moment as well.
So that’s the bottom line. Don’t let your students get any pictures and you’re fine. 
You know, I think your reaction to poetry is more what Keats was going for.
I think we just found the story for your “American Gladiator” audition tape.
BTW- Love Actually? Now I officially have a bloggy-crush on you!!
Lara — Well, you could always make some hot tea and add a splash of amaretto OR if you are a high falutin’ lush like I am, you could just swish a tea back around in a cup of amaretto.
Jen of a2eatwrite — Brilliant and impressive is one thing...but did you hit him? Now that’s brillant and impressive!
MsCatalysta — I’m assuming that since you have pictures of that night you got an A+ in the class.
Memarie Lane — That’s what I thought as well!
thecoconutdiaries — I so wanted to be on American Gladiators back in the 80s/90s. I just knew I could kick butt and all that spandex was sooo sexy. Love Actually *sigh*.
Hahahahahhahaha! I could come up with something more intelligent in reaction to this right now, but I think haahhahahahahaha is okay.
I took a graduate English class once. Once. I was majoring in Higher Education/Student Affairs and needed an elective. I thought, “Hey. I have a BA in English. I could do a graduate level class.” Little did I know that these people would be SO SERIOUS about the placement of a flippin’ COMMA?!?!? I’m surprised I made it out of there without being criminally trespassed from the English building.
Here’s some irony for ya. I’ve been contemplating alcohol a little more seriously today. Why? Because I’ve started grading those effin senior themes!!! I’ve graded 10. And I already want to poke out an eye. Dios mio!
Way to go—you’ve lived a dream of mine. Congrats on the punch and on classes ending. Celebrate tonight.
justrun — If you had just added, “Of course you know what Derrida would say about that,” it would have been a highly intelligent comment. At least that’s what I’ve been lead to believe.
Ms. H — You should be glad you didn’t go to law school then where the entire focus of your legal education was focused on the importance of correct comma placement. Not. Kidding. Cases have been won and lost on the placement of commas.
Errant Gosling — Seize the Day, I always say. It doesn’t hurt to have an IV of Irish beer in your vein either.
Did I actually hear a “bad-dum-bum, ching!” when I hit the punchline at the end of the post.
Of course, I also note that you rather neglected to include details as to the precise shade of red your face turned immediately after he said that…
Okay, using the phrase “beat the crap out of me” makes him not so Mensa-ish and much more human being-ish if you get my drift. High falutin’ people don’t use such phrases. He must have really liked your down to earth style.
Either that or he wanted to go have a drink with you.
I love the mental image of him flinching; poor, poor guy.....
GeekHiker — Ha, ha...you said “punchline.”
k8 — I think he’s in awe of my down to earth style but hearing those words come from his mouth made me flinch. Soooo not his style.
Kori — Even though I see him around campus, this is the first time he’s ever brought it up. Maybe he thought I was drunk buzzed again. What gave it away?
I’d leverage that if I were you…
Student gets a little uppity in class “Hey, dude… I have no problem laying the smack down on someone in class… Just ask Professor Mensa!”
MsDarkstar — Unfortunately, I think most of my students would take this as a challenge instead of a threat.
Didn’t you know? All those philosophers were total drunks. That’s the only way any of it seems even remotely interesting! I’m glad you’ve discovered the secret key to getting an advanced degree: BEER.
Proves that even mensa men are just ordinary men.
npw — I wish I’d known of beer’s miraculous properties much earlier in my academic career!
Laura — Thanks for visiting. I think, though, that you probably meant “girly men.” The way he came outta his chair at my oh-so-ladylike-punch definitely makes him a girly man.