Don't see that every day...

Originally posted on Facebook on Wednesday, March 4, 2009.

I'm writing down what happened while I still remember the details. A homeless guy crashed my nonverbal class this morning, just to freak everyone out, I think. He came in about ten minutes into class and climbed the stairs to sit up in the back row. Obviously not a student - older, dirty, haggard. He sipped from a juice box that couldn't possibly have contained just juice. He lit up a cigarette, puffed on it, put it out, sprayed Febreeze to cover the smell. I didn't see that part, but my neighbor told me about it - she's the one who pointed him out to me to begin with.

His behavior was so erratic that he was making the entire class (75+) uncomfortable. It must have showed, because Professor Dailey finally stopped her lecture in the middle of a point and asked, "Is there something going on?" Total silence. No one wanted to point him out for fear of invoking his wrath. "Yes!" someone from the back shouted. More silence. "What?" Dailey asked. More silence. Finally, a girl gestured towards him and said, "I think we have a, uh, a guest speaker."

He looked up; he'd been found out. Dailey immediately processed the situation. He stood up and started to walk down towards her. Not menacing, but the total unpredictability of what might or might not happen had everyone on edge. "You're welcome to stay if you want, sir," she said. What else could she say?"

I just want to tell a joke," he said, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

Shit. The spotlight was on him now, he knew it, and he was ready to milk it for all it was worth.

"I'm afraid we don't have time for that," she said. "But you can sit back down if you want."

"I just want to tell my joke," he slurred again in a deep southern drawl.

"We can't do that," she said, "and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Total, complete, deafening silence. He started back up the steps to his chair. He was clearly affronted, angry. That was the worst part. "What do you call a B.S.?" he asked. "Bullshit."

"Sir, you need to leave, or I'm going to call security," said Dailey. No trace of hesitation or fear, to her immense credit.

He was back at his seat, gathering his things, brushing off the table, putting on his jacket. "What do you call an M.S.? More shit."

My cell phone was already out of my pocket, and I was scrolling through my contacts, ready to call UTPD if necessary. I put my head down on the table - too tense, too uncomfortable, too unpredictable, and yeah, a little scary. Dailey threatened to call security again.

"What do you call a Ph.D.?" he asked. He mumbled the answer to this one, realizing for the first time how embarrassing the situation was for him and how uneasy he was making all of us. Every eye in the class was on him as he slowly trudged down the stairs, around the corner, and out the door. We heard it slam. The room exploded in nervous and relieved laughter.

A student in the class, a bigger guy, left the room to call the cops at Dailey's request. When he came back in, he said that students outside had seen him go down the hallway and out of sight. The assumption is that he left the building via a back elevator before he could get caught. He left his wool cap behind.

Only in Austin.

P.S. Saul suggested that a better punchline for this one might have run something like, "I looked the guy's joke up on Google when I got back to my room a couple hours ago. Turns out that 'Ph.D.' stands for 'Piled Higher and Deeper.'"