Sex Type Thing
"This snow is, like, totally outrageous, dude!"
"Outrageous? How so?"
"What? Dude! Look at the snow, wouldya? It's coming down so hard, it's like so totally bogus, ya know?!"
"Bogus. Ah. So, what was your question?"
"That thing in your last lecture? You called it the romantic impulse. I just don't get it."
"Ah, I see, what has you confused?"
"Well, the whole romanticism thing? The whole concept has me, like, bummed out, man."
"Indeed. You said you were a History major, did you not? And you're a junior?"
"Yeah man, that's right."
"And Romanticism? That has you stumped?"
"Yeah man."
"I see. Well then, can you give me an example of romanticism in literature, any literature you like?"
"Wow, man, like maybe Jackie Collins? She writes a bunch of that romanticism stuff, right?"
"Ah, well, I think I see where you're coming from, uh, man. Interesting. Don't quite know what to say right now, so let me think this over, and I'll talk to you after class next Monday."
"Cool, Professor Lake. Yeah man, see you then..."
'Professor' Justin Lake looked up at the clock on his office wall and shook his head. Twenty minutes more – then office hours were over, and he was not sure he could take another student like that last one. Tony Bianchi, wasn't that his name? Some kind of honors student. A big jock from a boarding school near Cape Cod, he seemed to recall. Lacrosse scholarship, he remembered, a rough kid. Kind of mean, he'd heard.
Two weeks into the winter term and he was stumped, genuinely confused. He thought he'd been engaged to teach at what he'd always assumed was a fairly prestigious little college, but now he wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into. The kids who'd dropped by for office hours so far weren't quite morons, he told himself, yet those he'd talked to this afternoon seemed like, at best, barely engaged middle school students. Their general academic knowledge was pitiful, yet even their basic understanding of the world was stunted, too, just like any ten year old he'd ever run into. 'Jackie Collins?' he asked himself. 'A romantic? That's news to me!'
There was another knock on his door and he looked at the clock again. "Open!" he called out. "Come in!"
The door opened and a girl he'd thought rather bright came in, and he looked up expectantly. "Yes? Ms Myers, isn't it?"
"Yessir," Jennifer Myers replied.
"What can I help you with this afternoon?"
"I know you said we didn't need to have our thesis proposals turned in before next Friday, but I wondered if you would look mine over now and see if it's any good?"
"Sure. Let me have a look."
The girl handed a page over and he sat back and began reading. "Structures of Time in the Romantic Imagination: Goethe and Wagner and the Revolutions of 1842," was the working title and he groaned, then he looked up at her, tried to take a quick visual inventory. Yes, she had that look. Studious. Too studious. A little overweight, glasses, blue jeans, thick fleece jacket – everything unconsciously designed to obscure, to hide. Dishonest body language. Evasive eyes. Borderline cute, but very insecure.
"Interesting. Give me a run down on what you hope to prove."
"Well, looking at Faust Part Two as the primary source material, I want to look at early Christian and Greek imagery in the story and how Wagner appropriated these and incorporated them as signature leitmotifs in Lohengrin, and how these musical phrases were incorporated into revolutionary music, in France, in 1842."
"Okay. Not bad. Now, assuming you've read chapter three, and the, er, poetry, where do these revolutionary impulses lead?"
"The Revolution of 1848?"
"Yup, that's right. Now, what is one of the key outcomes, in terms of political philosophy, of the '48 revolution?"
"Uh..." She was stumped, completely flustered.
"You've taken History 103 and 104, I assume?"
"Yessir."
"So? What might your conclusion be?"
She looked down, clearly fidgeting now.
"Ms Myers? I suggest you try again, however, next time with your own ideas. While I know it may seem appropriate to purchase term papers to some students, and there are probably a few professors who don't check, please keep in mind, for future reference, that I do, and oh! I check each footnote too. And I've seen this particular "research paper" several times, by the way. I even know how much it costs." He handed the page back to the girl and she fled the room in tears, leaving his door open as she ran.
He heard Elizabeth Gordon's Birkenstocks shuffling down the wood floor in the hallway outside his office, and he looked at her as she came and stood outside his door. Six feet tall, maybe three hundred pounds, regarded as brilliant once upon a time, she taught the European survey course as well as courses about the medieval church.
"Can I come in?"
"You may."
She took the seat Ms Myers had just left. "What were these last two about?"
"Excuse me? Are you listening to my conversations?"
"Walls are pretty thin, Justin, and those two are my advisees. I like to keep up with them."
"Ah, well, then I guess that makes it okay. So, let me see. Mr Bianchi is of the opinion that Jackie Collins is an English Romantic; beyond that, he seems to have very little awareness, if any, of nineteenth century romanticism. Little things, like what it is, why it's important. You know? The basics."
Gordon frowned. "Go on."
"Miss Myers wanted to turn in her thesis proposal a week early."
"Oh, that's good to hear. She's always been a favorite of mine. How was it?"
"Plagiarized. From a Term-papers-R-Us site I'm familiar with."
Gordon frowned again. "I see. And what did you tell her?"
"Better luck next time. Nice Birkenstocks, by the way. Love the color."
"Oh?" she said, blushing. "You like them?"
"Yes, they're quite...charming."
"What's your plan, for Tony, I mean?"
"Oh, I think I need to step back and make a little informal assessment of the general state of knowledge I'm dealing with. I've made some unwarranted assumptions, I think."
"Oh? Such as?"
"That our underclassmen have at least a basic understanding of history after completing their survey coursework. These are 300 level students, Ms Gordon, yet their grasp of basic concepts seems to me rather basic, and they're used to cheating. Not a good sign, I think."
"Well," Gordon said, standing, "good luck with that."
"Oh, thank you. I'm sure I'll need it." he turned back to his desk, shook his head, thinking there was little need to unpack many more boxes before he was summarily dismissed.
"You will," the woman said menacingly.
He shook his head, started to clear off his desk and wondered if he should go talk with the department chair.
"Gosh, you sure like making enemies, don't you?"
He didn't know her name, and that was a pity, he thought. "Gosh, these walls really are thin, aren't they?"
"You got no idea."
"Oops. Me bad."
"You just started here, didn't you?" the woman said.
"Yeah. Got the call in November."
"Right. That would have been just after Tischmann passed away. That makes sense. I was wondering if they'd wait 'til summer to replace him."
"Well, now you know." He smiled.
She smiled. "Oh, my name's Laura. Laura Grier. I'm in the English department. Are you teaching 302?"
"Yup. And I'm finding basic concepts difficult to assess."
She held up a single finger to her lips, pantomimed a little s-s-h-h and cast a sidelong glance down the hall. "Maybe some evening you'd be free for dinner?"
"I am tonight. And tomorrow night, and the night after..."
"Yeah. Nothing like winter in Vermont to drive home the feeling of celibacy."
He laughed. "You free? I still don't have a handle on the restaurants around here."
"I might be free. Let me ask my social secretary..."
"Well, I'm headed out now if you want to come along." He stood and made for the door, and she followed him down the hall and out to the lot.
She watched him as he walked, watched as he opened the car door for her, taking in the Stanford Cardinals license plate frame and the red and white UCSB parking permit on the windscreen. The interior of the car was spotless, just like his office.
"You better take Overlea to 7A. Miss some traffic that way. What kind of food you like?"
