Souvenir

It was another fine day in writing class, with another 20-minute research paper presentation from another student speaking in another segmented monotone voice. The presenter was sitting in the professor's chair, gesturing vaguely towards the powerpoint presentation projected on the wall above the circle of inattentive students. The professor, sitting among us, toyed with his pen and wiggled his leg. He had apparently written all the notes he needed to. I could see his clipboard from where I was sitting, and there was mostly blank white space and a few scrawled lines.

What was this one about again? I thought, dosing off a little. I was still exhausted from a bout of strep throat earlier in the week. Corporate-controlled media? No, that was the last guy. Potatoes? Ah, yes. Potatoes. They are quite tasty. I think the dining hall has potatoes. Irish potato famine?

I looked out the classroom door where there is a little window looking out on the library courtyard. It was pretty sunny outside, unusual for the often stormy Eugene. Frequently, on days like those, the local acorn harvesters are sprawled out in numbers across the lawn, plucking furiously through the grass for their little brown turd-prizes. I discovered, walking out the library one day, that Eugene has a small group of subsistence users whose primary food source is the acorns that fall from campus trees. I was told this by an old lady in an extra long, extra ratty denim skirt. "They're toxic, you know," she said, holding up one of the brown, elliptical spheres. "Unless you stew 'em up, no good. But very nutritious, you know. Not very well known, you know." I got the distinct sense that she wanted me to join in on her pickings. Instead I got coffee in the museum gift shop.

My attention turned back to the potato presentation. How long can someone talk about potatoes? I thought. Too bad there was no Irish Starfruit Famine. That might be more intresting.

I looked out the door again. Only this time, obstructing my little window to sanity was a guy in a dark blue coat and backwards-facing baseball cap. He was coming in the classroom, looking straight at me. Or at least I felt like he was, I can't really be sure. As he came across the doorway, he withdrew a strange-looking device, and pointed it at the class.

POP! POP! POP!

I covered my head. The gun was quite loud. That's what I thought it was at first. When the noise ceased, I looked down at myself. I had been hit with arsenal suction cup nerf darts. I looked up briefly, and saw a flash of white. My professor was up out of his chair, grabbing the intruder by the neck, and putting him in a headlock out in the hallway. Students in the class were wide-eyed. Nobody really understood what was transpiring. But I could see I wasn't the only one hit; the darts were scattered everywhere in the room. Apparently, this nerf gun was of the automatic variety.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" yelled the professor, maintaning a firm choke hold. "DON'T EVER FIRE A WEAPON INTO A CLASS! SOMEONE CALL DPS!" It was really frightening, but also reassuring to know our professor would defend us (those who were left, anyway) from a potential assailant. Before, he looked like your basic nerdy graduate student teaching a class; now, his height and athletecism were clear. Our professor was tough.

"But it was just a joke! It's just a toy! Why the hell are you choking me? Agggh!" squealed the attacker.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT WAS! NEVER BRING A WEAPON INTO A CLASSROOM!" Their struggle moved down the hall, out of sight and with less audible yelling.

This was all in the matter of fifteen seconds, so students were only beginning to register what exactly just happened. Some were smiling with raised eyebrows, and others were frowning. One student volunteered his cell phone to call campus police, as requested. And the student in the professor's chair seemed confused: should he continue his presentation? Or just call it a day?
He opted to resume. But no one was really listening at this point, because the student calling the campus police had made contact.

"So, uhh... a guy just came in classroom with a toy gun. No. Yeah. Yeah. Ummm... he's out in the hall right now, dealing with the guy. No. Everyone's fine... 184 PLC. Yeah, it was nerf... little yellow darts. All right, thanks."

Several minutes later, the professor returned. He walked in nanchalantly, though visibly red in the face and with short breathing. "Our intruder has left. DPS will take care of it from here. Sorry for the interruption." He took his seat again. "All right, let's discuss Sean's project."

As students refocused and raised their hands for comments, I picked up one of the darts near me and put it in my bag. This could have been a bullet, I thought.