What Would You Do?

So imagine this:

You’re in college.

You’re prof is hot or you’re hot for prof.

So once fine day: You Google him.

Upon doing so-you discover something jaw dropping…

Let me tell you my story (kinda like this next blog I’m gonna drop).

TRUE STORY:

Ok. I had this philosophy course right?

I was late scheduling it so I had to get to an add slip (which is a little ticket the prof has to sign to let in you his/her class-even if you have to sit on the floor). It’s pretty much up to the professor who/how many people they’ll write-in (I’m guessing fire code is the maximum because I’ve been in countless studio-like classes that looked like we were in a movie theatre-aisles and steps populated. I’ve seen and been in them all.

That being said, getting written in is annoying…especially if you missed the first day of the class session (like I did). And sometimes, if you just show up, some profs will adhere to their chair limit and send you hauling a$$ out of his room-disturbing his session with your begging strip of paper.

So (to avoid any of that) I called this professor (who, teaching philosophy-you think is your norm: Some old balding guy with a slight pot belly, who looks as if he can’t wait til’ class is over so he can head to his old 1980s Volvo, unsnap his red suspenders, grab that old fashioned wooden fogy, grab that newspaper and hang out in his rocker-recliner to grab that old wooden pipe). Noooo. This guy was nothing like that. Listen on.

So I called this old fogy smoking prof during his office hours to ask if he would be willing to allow me to join the next class session.

“Yes” he said. “No problem-no problem at all.”

D-day came.

(D-day = ‘DAT DAY DAMMIT!)

Oh God. Be still my heart.

So here I come (late) busting into the class, add slip in mouth, bag on shoulders, drink in other hand and I did a bit of a spin to grab the door to shut it behind me…when I turned around to look at the professor ……………. I SWEARRRRRR I heard theme music.

My mouth dropped.

My eyes got big.

My heart started pumping.

My SKIN was pulsating.

I was like: “I KNOW this couldn’t be the philosophy professor!”

So I walked toward him with my slip in hand and whispered: “Are you the professor (such-and such)?”

“Yes. That’s me,” he replied.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was the one that called… (I jiggled my add-slip).

“That’s fine. Just come see me during break okay,” he smiled.

I took a deep breath and turned around to look at the class-it was a nice, intimate setting: no floor seats.

On route to find a chair I completely turned my face from Professor Good-Looking and made a fright face: stretching my bottom jowl as if to say “is this the professor!” (Trust me–if my fist was free I would have stuck it in my mouth).

People laughed. Some girl yelled: I know, right?

With that literally being said, I had to make it my business to find a spot in the back of the room so that I could watch this action (and these reactions-female AND male)-because he wasn’t your “average” good-looking guy. But it was weird because this is what he WASN’T:

metrosexual (all moussed up shiny hair, arched brows etc)
that rugged nicely shaved good-looking type
that blonde hair/blue eyes good looking type
that dark hair/dark eyes good looking type
that bald and smooth good looking type
that curly hair good looking type
that perfect barbers haircut good looking
that strong chiseled face good looking type
nor was he that: good-looking type that because his vanity details were impeccable and he dressed + so smelled good

…none of that.

He basically had a nicely chiseled face (but it was subtle).

Everything about his face was subtly good looking—but extraordinarily so-like you’ve never seen before.

Now trust me, I’ve seen good-looking men a thousand times in my life as have you-reading this. But his brand of good-looking was feeling and a verb: instantaneously.

I thought he was the Anti-Christ. I swear. Nobody has that effect on me—in 15 seconds at that. Ever.

I mean-the best looking of the best has to reach me mentally (which takes a little time) or in knowing them-there has to have some kind of quirk or oddity to evoke that kind of thing “feeling” of attractiveness being a “verb” (for me).

Something about Professor Good-Looking’s good looks was weird yet, he was none of those kinds of good-lookings (as abovelisted).

About the main that that stood out as “typical” attractive about him was the fact that he had broad round shoulders, you could tell through his t-shirts he had a nice chest, he had pretty legs and calves and veiny hands and arms. That’s it. He wasn’t a snazzy dresser-he just wore worn (rather than crisp, new) t-shirts and Bermuda shorts and sneakers with no socks. That’s it.

Anywho, I found a spot to sit and low and behold-next to me was a girl that worked at the grocery store customer service counter in my neighborhood. She waved (out of familiarity). Finger waved her in return.

From my peripheral, she kept looking to get my attention but I saw Professor Good-Looking’s eyes travel back at me one-time too many so I didn’t want to turn my attention to her, because I could tell that the moment she got my attention it was going to be obvious (and mind you-my slip was showing: unsigned, still).

(Warning: Since this is a blog and not a/ or one of my books, I’m going to “long story short” my way through this so as to basically point out the happenings around how good looking he was and what happened around that-as it relates to what inspired this blog about a good looking teacher—keep that in mind).

So……. “long story short”, break came and it was time to sign the slip. Considering how good looking he was–standing there knocking back his bottle of water…waiting…eyes squinted-I didn’t want to look so obvious that I thought he was gorgeous: A masterpiece even. (He was. Trust me, Do. Not. Ever. Take. One. Word. I. Say. About. How. Good. Looking. He. Was. As. Exaggeration: He just WAS. I promise you this).

Standing there, with this piercing stare he had, it was sooooo hard listening to him run through what I missed the first day-and being that close to his features and stature (which, by the way was not “tall” but far from short-just average tall. It was his aura + good looks + round shoulders that took care of the “tall and towering” [unneeded to compliment Professor Good-Looking].

As the “whomp-whomp” hollow sound of him talking was going through my head sounding like talking underwater, I was praying to God to help me baptize my composure and facial expression while standing there-because I knew all too well how used to these moments he must had been.

Smiled.

Signed.

Delivered.

Hallelujah.

I’m in.

So fast forward.

Later that day I met with the girl from the grocery store because she had said she was going to drop the class. We didn’t really discuss it too much while at school but when I went up to her job (the grocery store) to grab her notes she printed from her computer from the 1^st day that I missed-she was like:

“I’m out. I can’t do it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because,” she replied, simply.

“Because why, though?” I inquired.

She just kept shaking her head “no”-with this coy look on her face.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“Noooooo. But I know he’s fU(k|ng gorgeous! YOU know it! You saw it! I’m about to make myself look stupid in that philosophy class!” she said.

“Is that the reason you’re dropping, though?” I squealed.

“Yes! Did you see his syllabus? And you missed the first day’s lecture! I’m not making myself look stupid in front of that guy. It’s an elective-not my major anyways,” she justified.

“I mean he is cute but that’s a funny reason,” I giggled.

“No. To be honest…there’s NO way I can sit in that class twice a week for 3 hours a day and look at that guy. He is a dream!” she emphasized.

“Yeah. Like somebody drew him, thumped the paper and said: ‘Bring him to life!’ ” I laughed.

“I could have sworn we’d have a former hippie or some old slow-talking, balding guy with an old brown Volvo parked outside waiting on him after class!” I joked.

We laughed.

“You’re not the first girl that got caught off guard with him sitting there-like when you walked in. Almost every girl had that reaction. It was hilarious! But a few girls left. I was shocked. But it’s like-who wants to look like an idiot in a philosophy class AND he’s smart as hell. You can tell he’s not going for any bullshit, though. I’m not doing it,” she stressed.

Fast forward.

“Long story short”…(remember?).

Professor Good Looking was so good looking that it really was hard to sit there for so many weeks and watch him lecture without watching him knock back squigs of his water and wondering if (because he was so perfect) did backwash even roll back into the bottle or no.

Was the Subway sandwich he was eating made by sandwich artist named “Jesus” or did Mary make it?

How are you going to digest that?

Do you belch?

Do you even poop?

Everything he did, and every movement he made seemed like it went into a pot of perfection exclusive to and for him and his entire makeup and person.

It was pure entertainment for me-sitting back watching the mannerisms of other girls (with curiosities just like mine) trying to concentrate on the lesson without staring at this blessing in front of us.

The few guys that were in the class were [rolling their eyes in their head] type of annoyed with the obviousness-it was hilarious! Everybody’s thoughts were written all over their faces and in their mannerisms and body language. No one was exempt.

Fast forward…

Remember, we had a pretty intimate group of people…so the class before the last class session, he got the notion that perhaps after the last class, we could all meet at the pub nearby and hang out for drinks-on him.

Oh sh|t. What’d he do that for?

“And every head turned with the eyes that dreamed of being the one” had nothing on this moonwalk of a magic moment.

Needless to say, I wouldn’t make eye contact with him and although I raised my hand in consideration (when he questioned who all was on board or no) I didn’t confirm or deny that I was going day of.

I eased out at class end after mingling with some people and left my going to meet up with everybody or no-open thought or ended.

Class was over (so I thought).

Fast forward.

The next class subject was taught by him as well.

When I looked and saw the six-digit course number and scanned to right and saw his name, I panicked. I was a major-so I had no choice-I was elected. No elective for me.

Fast forward.

Me at the back table.

Feet propped up on chair next to me-knees in chest.

Bookbag in chair.

Legs stretched on bookbag.

Head on wall behind me.

Few of the same people from last class.

Same scenario: Girls. Shockedness.

Scan the room

Repeat.

Fast forward.

First Name: Professor Good-Looking.

Last Name: Taking No Bullsh|t Indeed.

This time however, thing were a lil’ different. The subject and discussion and arguments required more intense analyzing to determine (based on the scenario / facts in front you) just why you concluded what you concluded.

Couple of my exams he emailed back to me were bleeding red all over.

Fast forward.

Pause.

Final grade: C+

End quarter.

Sober up: You can either accept your mediocrity and haul ass with that C+ or you (like a few others) can get penciled in for an extra credit exam time and raise it to a B+/full letter grade at max—choice is yours….

At this point, the closest you can get to #1 is with this #2. What’s it gonna be?