I. "YOU TELL HER! YOU TELL HER, that SHE MUST NEVER EVER make this happen AGAIN. YOU TELL HER, that MY CLASS RUNS until THREE PEE EM." The student is a foot taller than the professor, his face blank as he absorbs blow after verbal blow.
I've made him angry myself, in the past. Sure, you can scream at your colleagues (the tenured ones, at least). But like this? At a student? Who doesn't even seem to be the direct target of the wrath?
II. Piled neatly on a side table: a lightly blue-penciled (yet apparently complete) draft of a job application cover letter.
Dear Ivy League Alma Mater,
Please hire me. I've been out here in the sticks for years, and even though the students are smart and even kinda hot, well, I just can't take it any more.
Look at my book! Look, I'm writing another one! And, yes, I'd give up tenure for even a tiny chance at returning to you, sweets.
Unhappy Associate Professor
I considered e-mailing the author, whom I don't know at all well, who doesn't even work in this building, to let her know I've rescued it. But the date is over two months ago. Not worth it.
III. Over by the window at the far end, a faculty member squints at her calendar and whispers hoarsely to her cellphone:
"Thanks for calling back... yes, I was wondering how long I should expect to be on Lupron before Day 1 happens?... well, last time it was 10 days. I'm an out-of-town patient and I'm trying to plan travel... well, I'm trying to make a plan where it will be the least likely that I'll have to cancel things, but there's a business trip that needs to happen either before or after the cycle... yes, nurse, the cycle will be my first priority... So, seven to twelve days is a not-unreasonable estimate?... Thank you, thank you."