August 19, 2007 § 14 Comments
Standing in line for the bathroom at La Banquise, drunk off my ass and enjoying A’s birthday immensely. Softly, the woman behind me says hello, forgetting my name but remembering the course I taught five years ago. I ask her how she is and, without hesitation, she tells me: she hated our university and left for another, where she is now finishing a Master’s degree in art therapy. Smiling, I congratulate her and wish her well, and as the bathroom door opens she looks up at me and says:
“You were such a good teacher.”
I have just enough grace to thank her before I take my turn, leaning against the door as I lock it behind me. Turning, I see my face in the mirror and am reminded of what it is all for: teaching, which is, for me, if not for the university, the scholarly work that matters most, and which comes to me as easily as pissing after a night full of beer. As I unbutton my jeans, I promise myself that I will remember this, even after tomorrow’s hangover fades.