Like a trip down memory lane…

The University of Chicago is in many respects a very strange place. I’ve discussed at length the extremes of weirdness and lack of personal hygiene that may be found here, but I don’t think I’ve appropriately addressed the bizarreness of the non-student population. There are bums, aging revolutionaries who troll the quad in search of recruits, freeze-dried hippies who beat up trucks that usurp their right-of-way, and most prominently, creepy old men who think they’re still students at the university.

The occasional mythical 60-year-old hanger-on who religiously attends undergrad lectures is probably a staple of any academic environment. He’s like an unanticipated side effect of a life of the mind, the terse afterthought at the end of the drug commercial that warns that, despite the drug’s overwhelming efficacy, in a minuscule number of cases, it caused subjects to grow genitalia of the opposite sex. And I could be ok with such freak occurrences, if there were only one a generation. But this year, I’ve already encountered at least five unnamed old men lurking in my classes.

The most prominent–and prominently annoyin–is the Snapple Man.

From nobody sasses a girl in glasses– read the whole thing.