Another Faculty Meeting
[Note: Any resemblance to persons living or dead may be a coincidence].
There’s no escaping them. These damned faculty meetings are joyless. We had the first one of the year before classes even resumed. There’s not much new to talk about when you’ve worked at this degree mill longer than the janitor has. Relief usually comes in the form of the introduction of a new graduate faculty member from another university or (better) the words of a parting senior faculty member. Neither has happened for a few years, so there’s usually nothing new to discuss unless somebody has a gripe. Even then, it’s almost always the same thing: our allotment of copy paper isn’t adequate, someone has been parking in someone else’s parking space, or the audio-visual equipment hasn’t worked for weeks. Diddly stuff.
I didn’t take much away from the last faculty meeting except that we were to observe a themed day of our choice. Past prescribed themes have been real doozies: Women’s Month and Women’s Awareness Month. I didn’t understand the difference between those two, and, in all truth, I forgot about them as soon as I walked out of that meeting. Of course, I was reminded of those special months during the next meeting. I was asked what I did to observe them. Without hesitation, I calmly replied that I washed my wife’s stockings. I wanted to impart a personal and intimate touch to my observance.
Christ on a bike! They all screamed that nobody wears stockings anymore.
How am I expected to know these things? I didn’t get the memo. There are some things that men don’t know about women and probably shouldn’t know about them. Women’s undergarments are at the top of the list, and a close contender is how the hell can a woman spend a whole day shopping?
I did pay attention during the last faculty meeting (for awhile anyway). We were instructed to observe a special day of our choice, regardless of the month, then report back during the next faculty meeting. I chose Talk Like a Pirate Day. I didn't have to do much research. I know pirates. I know Robert Louis Stevenson, and I know Treasure Island. I was steeped in piracy from childhood— the good kind.
And I know all about Long John Silver. I couldn’t wait.
During the faculty meeting I sat through a bunch of numpties’ recounting how they observed their Special Day.
One spoke about National Neurodiversity Day. When she finished her presentation, I raised my hand to comment that every faculty meeting is an observance of neurodiversity, but Dr. Blipps , a very skinny woman with unnaturally dark and straight hair turned to me and opened her eyes really wide and initiated a round of applause before I could say anything. She does everything she can to silence me at every meeting. She has acted like that since she became department chair.
Another one told us how she observed International Mother Language Day. I was impressed. She is an ESL teacher that we got through our cluster hire program. She also teaches Children’s Literature, so she attends our faculty meetings. She spoke in her mother language and then in English. From what I gather, she taught her classes in both English and whatever her mother language is. I couldn’t identify it. It didn’t sound like any language spoken by a creature from the live-bearing world.
I was the last to speak. I stood up, closed one eye, and addressed the group in a gruff voice.
“Ahoy there, me hearties! Where’s me eye? Har! Har! Har! ”
Dr. Blipps’ eyes rolled to the back of her head.
“Shiver me timbers! Yer a handsome bunch of wenches. It’s time to celebrate Talk Like a Pirate Day!”
I struck a nerve with someone who laughed. I struck more nerves with several who groaned. Those women have always had something against me. I don’t know what or why. I just wish they would tell me. I don’t like adversarial relationships, though I seem to have an unparalleled talent for creating them.
Someone left a push broom in the corner of the conference room. I grabbed it and turned it upside down and put in my armpit as if it were a crutch.
“What do I see, ye ask?” (Nobody asked, but I said it anyway). “I see a bunch o’ mateys who are as smart as paint. Indeed, I do.”
“I think we’ve seen—“ Dr. Blipps opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“And I see a sea of puzzled faces, I do. Maybe yer wonderin’ what Long John Silver has to do with education. I’ll tell ye. I’ve sailed the seven seas, and I’ve seen it all. That’s how I learned to navigate the world. I learnt that a clever scheme be our best weapon. Aye! I’m not just a cook servin’ up vittles and swill below deck.”
Dr. Blipps cocked her head and squinted as if she imagined me as Long John himself. At least, that’s what I hoped was going through her mind. More probably, she was imagining me being taken away by campus police in handcuffs.
“For those who prefer book larnin’, I want ye to know that my creator, Robert Louis Stevenson, was an author of unparalleled metaliterary brilliance. Read his work, and I wager that you’ll find yer expectations manipulated beyond yer belief. Indeed I do!”
I turned to my right and spoke to a nonexistent parrot on my shoulder. “Ain’t that right, Captain Flint? Ain’t that right?”
I stooped and lowered my face to the department chair’s face. “Aaarrrggghhh! You’ve scared me parrot speechless, ye have! If he could talk he’d say ‘Pieces of eight!’ and ‘Stand by to go about!’”
Dr. Blipps' face turned scarlet. “I’ve had enough of your mockery. Get the hell out of here!” she bellowed.
The poetry guy and the Queer Theory professor put their heads on the conference table to suppress their laughter. I don’t think any of us had ever seen her so angry.
“Aha! A salty wench! I had me one in Tortuga and another in Antigua, I did! But don’t ye tell me negress back at the Spy Glass Tavern in Bristol. She’ll have me keel hauled for sure!”
“I said get out!” Dr. Blipps stood and pointed to the door.
I took the hint. I opened the door of the conference room and faced the angry mob.
“I’ll be shovin’ off now. Batten down the hatches for there’s a storm brewin’. And one more thing—”
“Leave. Now!” she demanded again.
“Ye best be watchin’ yer backs!” I said, tracing a line across everyone’s face with my finger and squinting my open eye.
I turned and closed the door behind me. I’m sure my last line resonated with them. Sometimes a little paranoia is a good thing to keep people in order. It's common knowledge that I am friends with the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, so they probably think I have knowledge of what’s going on behind the scenes— which is almost nothing. Occasionally, my Anonymous Wife and his wife get together. Last week after dinner while the wives talked, the dean and I went to my basement to shoot pool. We drank a little single malt scotch and talked about football and the effect that Taylor Swift has had on the NFL. If I remember correctly, the subject drifted to how racism, gender, and colonialism complicate the classroom dynamic. That last one quickly evolved into a discussion about what Tom Brady saw in Gisele Bundchen. A little alcohol helps one to focus upon the important things in life.
I put my ear to the door. I could hear the female faculty tittering. It sounded like they were conspiring to make me submit to a tenure review. I’ll put an end to it by giving a presentation of photos from Dr. Blipps’ facebook page that memorialized her wild Jamaican holiday.
Aye. That’ll be a pirate’s holiday for sure.
