. . . or, Why I Will Likely Be Passed Over Again for Teacher-of-the-Year.
A student came to my office yesterday.
STUDENT: Excuse me, could I ask you something?
STU: Well, I'm in your class tonight.
SOL: English 142?
STU: And I wanted to make sure of the time.
SOL: Seven o'clock.
STU: OK. . . And what room?
STU: Oh. . . Uh, where's that?
SOL: The Biological Sciences building. [EDITORIAL NOTE: No, I don't teach biology; space is just at a premium on campus. Classes are held wherever.]
STU: Oh. Where's THAT?
SOL: Top of the hill. Just go up those stairs outside, all the way to the top, and the building'll be right in front of you.
STU: OK. Seven o'clock?
STU: So. . . . Do I meet you here?
SOL: Here. . . ? In my office? (STUDENT nods.) No. . . No, you just go to the classroom, and I'll meet the class there.
STU: Oh. OK. And it's. . . the Biology building?
STU: What color is it?
SOL: What. . . Uh, wait. What color is the BUILDING?
[EDITORIAL NOTE: I do not teach in Whoville. All the buildings are a uniform shade of unremarkable brick.]
SOL: Uh. . . Building-colored?