Thoughts, Ideas, and Observations

"The Math Professor"

An excersize in observation while under the influence of a double espresso latte at the campus coffee-house.

         He sits with his newspapers: warn and scattered across his tabletop. Working a crossword puzzle, he sips at his coffee and tries to fit in. His dull black hair in need of a trim and his thick-framed, out-dated glasses suit well this eccentric, nervous, bookworm. His profession is his life: he lives and breathes numbers. Fellow professors and students alike who drift unaware into his vacinity are ensnared into conversations about his mathematical prowess. He cannot contain the need to speak of his passion.
         A couple of male students, sitting across the room, are engaged in a conversation about a particularly difficult calculus problem. The professor fidgets; he glances at the two; he wants to comment, but he realizes this would be rude. His eyes dart their way, his heal taps the floor beneath the table. His concentration is shot. He pretends to examine the paper, but his frustration is building...
         Surely they will see he--a resorvoir of mathematical knowledge--is sitting there ready and willing to help. After all, he had made certain everyone in the cafe heard his previous conversation with a young female student, in which he detailed his expertise on the subject and spoke at length of his current web-related math project. Come to think of it, the young lady had seemed rudely disinterested. Perhaps she had a class to get to, or more likely a party or a boyfriend! At any rate, she was only a girl--not the mathematical geniuses!
         The two young men soon changed the subject. Disappointed, the Professor tried to return his attention to the cross-word. Sitting alone at a table in the middle of the room, he began to feel uncomfortable. His pink button down shirt and khaki pants--his attempt to fit in with the younger crowd--suddenly seemed to make him stand out, as he realized how rediculous he must look.
         It seemed strange how all his years of learning and accomplishment, the prestige he felt within his profession, the superiority he felt within his classroom could all be stripped away by two unappreciative young punks. His facade of confidenced crumbling around him, he was again the dorky kid who tripped over his own feet--only noticed when he was being laughed at, otherwise invisible: a nobody.
         The Professor nervously gathers up his papers, embarrassment showing on his face. His eyes dart about the room, as he awkwardly gets up from the table--almost knocking over his chair in the process. He walks from the cafe stiffly, looking straight ahead, attempting to ignore any who may be secretly laughting at him.
         He forces his mind to focus on the classroom: the smells of textbooks and chalk, the looks of confusion and awe upon the faces of his students. The classroom is his domain and there he is God. There he not only bequeaths knowledge to his students, but he also deals out reward and punishment. No-one who looks down on him in the classroom walks away unscathed. As he finally reaches the door of the cafe, a thought occurs to him: perhaps these two disrespectful young men would be among his students someday...he smiles as the door closes behind him.