"The Professor"

I am currently a graduate student at USC, and in order to pay for college, I had to accept and assistantship. The guidelines of said assistantship state that I have to work for one of my professors for 10 hours every week.

Well, as I’m a new student, I didn’t really know any of the professors. So with high hopes and an optimistic outlook, I went to meet the man I’d be working under for the remainder of my time as a graduate student.

After knocking on his office door, I entered his office. Immediately the world seemed to darken. Starting at the base of my spine and then slowly spreading throughout my body, crushing any optimistic feelings I had previously built up, was a feeling of dread and trepidation.

Why you ask was fear slowly creeping into my system? Well, I’ll tell you.

Sitting behind the desk in the office was the creepiest guy I’ve ever met. He exuded a presence of what I would like to call “Hello boys and girls.  I’m a cannibalistic, child molesting rapist.”

If you still don’t quite understand… When the Boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he makes his mommy check the closet for this guy. Yes, he’s that scary.

On this first encounter with “The Professor,” he was busy with paperwork and couldn’t meet with me, so I narrowly avoided certain death; however, I had to reschedule my meeting with him for the next week.

Days went by that were filled with puppy dogs, smiley faces, and rainbows, but always at the back of my mind was the nagging fear of “The Professor.” For the day loomed ever closer when I would belong to the monster.

On the Tuesday we had scheduled to meet, I could barely concentrate. But the time had come to face my fears.

Sharpening his claws and licking his chomps, “The Professor” was waiting in his lair. As I entered—a stroke of luck—he was on the phone. I wouldn’t have to talk to him immediately. He swiped his claws at me and growled to go downstairs to see my advisor.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. Any excuse to avoid my demise seemed like a good idea to me. I ran down the stairs to meet with my advisor—my lifeline as it turned out. For scheduling purposes, my advisor informed me that I would be reassigned to work with a different professor.

I didn’t really listen to anything she said after that as my world had returned to puppy dogs, smiley faces, and rainbows.

Now that classes are in full swing, I’m so glad that I didn’t fall prey to “The Professor;” however, his memory lingers on—even now—a month later. Whenever I am forced to pass his office for classes, I still scurry by and avert my eyes with a constant reminder of the fear and oppression that could have been mine.