The XYZ Affair

I earned my college spending money (which was more often than not sunk into that pizza franchise that was really the salvation of the entire student body, rescuing us from the evil clutches of the cafeteria) in the computer labs of various halls at the university. My lab of choice was located in the science building, because most people there usually had some remote clue about computers and required the least condescending assistance. However, a few idiots did seek me out to haunt me, eventually becoming members of the infamous group dubbed “The Regulars.” But theirs is a different story, so stay tuned; it promises to be a good laugh for all who have a grain of intelligence.

On this particular day, I was relaxing in the lab and aggressively surfing the net when Professors A and B, whose offices were near the lab, walked by. A social being, I went outside to talk to them. Our riveting discussion on celestial mechanics was suddenly rendered more interesting when I happened to notice that Professor A’s fly was unzipped. Not wanting to embarrass him, I repeated mentally, “Just maintain eye contact, just maintain eye contact,” and continued to smile and nod politely.

After about half an hour, I returned to my lab and began working on a project. As I sat down, I noticed, ironically, that my fly was also unzipped. I had to laugh to myself as I realized that Professor A had probably been making the same polite mental notes about me that I had been making about him during the entire conversation.

I was part of a team for the programming project on which I was working, and had to email some information to Tom and Joe about it, so I logged onto the university’s class pages. After including the information about the project, I decided to add a bit of humor: “Hey, a funny thing just happened while I was talking to Professors A and B…” and proceeded to relate the whole ironic story.

I hit the “send” button—and realized I had accidentally sent it to the entire class, including the professor in question.

In a quandary, I ran into Professor A’s office, got down on both knees, and exclaimed, with hands clenched desperately, “Professor A! I must tell you something important immediately!”

“Just a moment, just a moment, let me finish checking my email…” said Professor A nonchalantly, his back to me. I watched as he silently read, then embarrassedly looked down to his zipper…

My face turned a million shades of red, then white, then gray. What had I done? Why did I do it? This was the professor who had to grade my senior thesis and all my finals, this was the professor who could single-handedly prevent me from graduating. I had broken bread with him at his table, had taught his daughter racquet ball in exchange for violin lessons, and had had many good and strange discussions about everything eccentric in the world with him...He finally looked at me, and I am grateful and surprised that he ever spoke to me again.

My self-inflicted penance was to search high and low all over campus for the members of the class and beg them on their honor not to read the email. Of course, this just made them more curious and inclined to open it.

Over two years have passed since that time, and I thought that the memory had died in the minds of my classmates. We’re all graduated now, and have moved on with our lives. It’s easy to forget these things, right?

Last month I received a login for a friend’s website. He assigned me a password. It was professorAlefthisflydown.

Rat finks.