The Professor's Bean Soup and Other Stories

The Professor served me delicious bean soup for lunch--spicy and thick. The Professor is always worried that her food is not very good, and yet, when she opens up the crock pot, it's always something fabulous. She has a real gift for layering flavors. She also showed me her cute ankle corsets, which she uses to keep her ankles braced and herself upright. Now, I'm ready for a nap. It's a beautiful Friday and I should be enjoying it, but I have to work tomorrow, so it's more like Thursday and a half for me today. Not that I'm complaining. Thursdays are nice in their own ways as well. I did have a question for you engineer-y types, though, regarding the last post about Mrs. Wigglebottom. The "mmmmmrraawrrllmmmm" sound of the trucks. What's that called? Is that the Doppler effect? I looked on wikipedia, but I'm sad to say that I still can't quite tell if it's the same thing or not. I passed Physics by copying off of the Man from GM. What can I say? Speaking of him, I talked to him the other night and he was asking about y'all. He said, "So there's a large number of people who know me as the Man from GM? You don't tell them embarrassing stories about me, do you?" I had no idea the Man from GM could be embarrassed. But, since I have nothing else to write about and I have to end this post some way, I will tell you this story about the Man from GM. He was in my calculus class in high school. I loathed that class. There were nine of us in there--six boys and three girls. The three girls were required to sit in the front row, since "girls can't learn math as well as boys, your brains just don't work that way," but really it was so that the teacher could be a big letch. Fucker. Once we figured out that he had no interest in teaching us math and that he was really just waiting for a chance to sit at his desk and stare down our shirts, we'd often just announce, "Well, if all you're going to do is stare at our tits, we're leaving" and we'd wander down to the cafeteria and steal chocolate milk. Obviously, he didn't have a lot of control over the classroom. And, he sucked at math. So, he'd write out these long equations that covered all six blackboards in the room and just when he'd get to the end, the Man from GM would get up, grab another piece of chalk and start correcting the errors of the teacher. Man, that dude hated the Man from GM. He wasn't the only one. Our English teacher once duct taped the Man from GM into his desk and taped his desk to the floor and then taped his mouth shut. After class, she just left him there. I don't know who cut him loose eventually; he says it was me but I doubt it. I wasn't always very nice to him. But anyway, here's how the Man from GM got his job at GM. He was a freshman in college when GM was working on the big overhaul of the Corvette and GM had invited all these baby engineers up to Michigan to start wooing them. So, all these kids are touring the facilities and the guy giving the tour asks if they want to see the new Corvette and they all say "Sure" and he takes them and shows it to them. And, bless his heart, the Man from GM gets down under the car and starts shouting out potential problems. Then, he springs up and pops the hood and starts rifling around in the engine and asking more questions. Can you imagine? And the guy giving the tour is just standing there dumbfounded. "What?" The Man from GM asks in his smart-ass annoying manner. "You're touching the car." One of the other students says. "How else am I supposed to see how it works?" The guy giving the tour says, "I've shown this car to every group of students who's come through here this semester and you're the first kid to get under the car to take a look. When you graduate, you come work for me." And so he did.