I’m far from home at my annual conference. Dr. Bane is here, and worse than ever before. While he didn’t crash the board meetings, he has serially violated the graduate students: he forces them to listen to his grand delusions about his role in the creation of the universe for hours at a time. The more senior members of the society have begun a watch, and when we see a student with him for more than a few minutes, we invent some important errand that the student must go on right away.
Today, near the end of a talk, Dr. Bane walked into the lecture hall and tried to squeeze into a crowded front row. He knocked one of our Academy members off his chair. He stepped on a student’s bag. He knocked over the table behind him, spilling water on everyone there.
Then. His. Pants. Fell. Off.
All the way down to the ankles. Biggest damn pair of tighty-whiteys I’ve ever seen. It took me at least an hour and a half to compose myself. Several people saw me running from the lecture hall in tears, and thought there’d been a death in my family.
You probably think I’m making this up. But I’m not.
So writes the Angry Professor.