A Sausage Sighting of a Straight Elitist Philosophy Professor

Plains, May 2016

8:45 am.  I go to a seminar on teaching writing, led by a philosophy professor named Taylor.  There's no space left at the conference table, so I have to sit all by myself in a little chair off to the side.

I'm already in a bad mood.

This Taylor guy is about my height, in his 30s, with rather long hair, combed back, and a beard.  He is wearing a pink button-down shirt, a sports jacket, jeans, and yellow shoes.

Who wears a sports jacket with jeans?  Who wears a pink shirt with yellow shoes?  How pretentious can you get?

When I approach the table, he is talking about Lisbon, "off the beaten path," so it's not so touristy as other European capitals.

Yeah, yeah, I've been places, too, but I don't go around place-dropping.  "Oh, Reykjavik is so off the beaten path, and have you been to Tegucigalpa?"

I hate elitists.

Then comes the proclamation of heterosexuality.  Straight men can't go more than a sentence without proclaiming their straightness, either by referencing their wives or by making a universalizing statement like "my son is at the age when boys begin to notice girls." Taylor does both.

I go to the break room for a banana and yogurt.  He appears and says "I can't resist the siren call to get another bagel."

Ulysses reference?  Ugh!

Then: "My wife loves..."

Proclamation of straightness again?  What is it about this guy?

9:00: Morning Session

Pretentious heterosexual lit.  Have we read The Unbearable Lightness of Being?  It's about a Czech intellectual who is a womanizer, but abandons his many affairs to find true happiness with his wife in Geneva.

Yeah, Geneva, off the beaten path.  Lovely this time of year.

This is going to be a long day.

Then Taylor scoots back in his chair and spreads his legs.

Enormous bulge, full outline of what has to be a semi-aroused Kielbasa+, hanging to the left!

Doesn't he notice?  Or does he not expect anyone to look beneath the belt?

How to introduce pretentious heterosexist lit into your classes.  Students like writing that addresses their interests, like how to get along with the opposite sex.

Ugh.

"When we were in Vienna last summer, my wife and I...."

Double Ugh.

At least there's a memorable bulge to look at, and I might even get a sausage sighting out of the deal.




11:00: Bathroom Break

Taylor heads for the bathroom.  I wait a moment, then follow, timing my entry to get there just as he has unzipped.

He's not at a urinal, he's in a stall!

30 free urinals, and he picks a stall.  Is he that worried about another guy seeing his Kielbasa+?

Back to the seminar.  We discuss technology and student writing, using Turnitin to catch plagiarism, how foreign students don't have the same understanding of plagiarism as we do in the U.S.

Taylor spreads his legs again, letting his heterosexual semi air.

12:00:  Lunch.

Instead of eating the turkey sandwiches, chips, and cookies provided, I hit the gym and lift weights.

 Pumped up, I am cruised a couple of times by callow undergrads on the way back to the seminar room.  A nice break from the heterosexual pretentiousness of my seminar.

1:00: Afternoon Session.

Grading student writing assignments.  Using rubrics.

Watching Taylor spread his legs.

Sample free-writing exercises:
What do you find most attractive about the opposite sex?

Describe your last date as if it was a story.  Begin with the boy calling the girl....

Ugh.

"I was visiting Robert Bly at his summer house in the south of France, and..."

Double ugh.

Taylor's hand falls against his bulge and gives it a brief squeeze.

Everyone pretends not to notice.

3:00: The seminar ends.

I go upstairs to the second floor stacks, anxious to immerse myself in gay lit after a day of heterosexual pretension.  But first I have to use the bathroom.  My favorite facility is secluded, down a hallway from IT Services, with a long row of urinals and three stalls.

The restroom is deserted.  I choose the farthest stall.

It doesn't occur to me that it might be occupied.  Really.The door isn't latched.  I push it open.

Taylor is sitting on the toilet, looking at something on his cell phone.  Aroused.

A Kielbasa+ sticking straight out from beneath his pink shirt!

"Oh, excuse me!" I exclaim, and hastily retreat.

It almost makes the day of heterosexist elitism worthwhile.

See also: My Sausage Sighting List; Teacher Hookups