I crossed paths with several nutty professors during my undergrad years.
There was the French teacher who always called me Clarence even though my name is most definitely not Clarence and I’m most definitely not a dude. He was also a big fan of the Captain Morgan pose, hiking his tight-pantsed leg up on the desk right in front of the student closest to him so that they’d get a good view of his ample junk. (Intentional? We all swore it was.) He wore a lot of black, including a leather jacket I believe he never removed even in the heat of Texas summers. Even in the college classroom setting he found a way to exude the stereotypical Frenchman’s preoccupation with sex, so I’m gonna say he was passionate about lovemaking and calling people by the wrong names even though I never actually witnessed the former.
Then there was the Environmental Psychology professor who invited our class on a tour of his house to perform an efficiency inspection and critique him on what he was doing wrong in terms of energy conservation. His home had a labyrinth of plastic vinyl pathways spread throughout it so that he’d never have to waste electricity or water cleaning the carpets. He recycled his shower water. And he didn’t realize that before inviting a large group of goofy college undergrads into one’s home one should probably hide one’s high school yearbook. We’d often spot him on weekends, out on a street corner protesting in favor of some Save The Earth initiative or another. He was definitely passionate about the Earth and about the bad influence greed has on our lives.
The most notable of my nutty professors was my Wisdom Traditions (African religion) professor who was passionate about everything! He had an energy about him that was limitless, no matter that sometimes through his thick accent we had difficulty understanding what he was being energetic about. He kicked off our first or second class by bringing out a CD player and blasting the Phil Collins song “In The Air Tonight,” then he told us our assignment for that class was to write an essay in response to the song. That was it.
Husband: (singing) Oh little buttercup, my buttercup, she makes messes!
Wife: Are you singing about me? ‘Cause I’m not really buttercup material.
Husband: Yeah, you’re right.
…so now he’s singing about milk thistle instead.
Husband, sorting the mail and reading it to me:
“OMG. DSW wants you to know they have news. Big, exciting, stop-everything-you’re-doing kind of news. You’ve gone premiere, b*tch! Total. Freakin’. Gratification. Faster rewards certs, triple points days, free next-day shipping, and private passion parties.”
I think he ad libbed just a bit.
C: I think I’d like to change clothes before we head out to meet them this afternoon.
B: Sweetie, you don’t need to try to look nice. You’re already like Penny from The Big Bang Theory here; it’s just the nerdy guys and you.
C: Actually, I only wanted to change my clothes because these pants hang off me like a potato sack and I’m having trouble not showing my underwear.
B: Ooooh. Gotcha.
C: But I’m not REALLY like Penny because she’s an airhead. RIGHT?
Tonight one of the guys at the front desk of my gym DETAINED me because I lost my temporary access card.
Guy: I’ll look you up. Last name?
Me: (spells name)
Guy: Is your first name Roxanne? (grinning)
Me: Are you just making that up?
Me: Do I LOOK like a Roxanne? (in a slightly meaner tone than I intended; oops)
Guy: Uh, yeah. I think it’s your eyes.
All I can think of is the song about the hooker.