We finally got around to that awkward “introductions” thing in my poetry class. The professor reasoned that the first week of school is just rife with people dropping the class or getting switched into the class, so he’d wait until things settled down. Today he pulled the ultimate dick move by saying, “Let’s go around and say your name, where you’re from, and one fun fact about yourself.”
I mean, I like the guy. He’s cool as hell. But you can’t just drop the “one fun fact about yourself” bomb, then stand back and watch the damage unfold. You might as well say, “You’re going to have to make an impression that people will hold against you for the rest of the semester. And I’m giving you ten seconds to do it. Ready? Go.” I didn’t even get a chance to wrangle up an actual fun fact, because I was the second person he called on. So I wound up saying, lamely, that I hate cherries, “with a fiery passion.”
What I wasn’t expecting was the jaw-dropping reaction I got, and my professor said, “Really?” as if I’d mentioned casually that I drop-kick babies for fun sometimes.
“Well, yeah,” I said uneasily.
A boy sitting nearby started laughing, and he shook his head at the professor and said, “She said cherries.”
“Oh!” said the professor. “Oh! Oh my God, I thought you said charities.”
So for about ten seconds there, a solid 2/3 of the class and my professor thought I harbored a deep-seated, passionate hatred for things like Habitat for Humanity and the Red Cross.