History is Serious Business

It doesn’t matter that there are plugs in the floor of my university’s lecture halls and classrooms.  It doesn’t matter that the professors look fondly upon those students toting laptops to their classes in place of spiral bound notebooks, it doesn’t even matter that I type more quickly and accurately than I can write with a pen; I should never bring my laptop to class, because the university also offers high speed internet.  As soon as I sit down, the sound on my computer goes off and the instant messenger goes on, and I start typing away.

Professor: And ah, Rugila exacted tribute from the Eastern Roman Empire.
Fish: Arugila? He was named “Salad”?

This drew to mind images of rampaging vegetables shouting ferocious battle cries and bearing down on the beleaguered Roman legions.  Had I in fact had my paper notebook, I would have filled it with stick figure sketches of this, so it’s just as well I didn’t.  The horses would have been made of cauliflower.

In my defense, at least I was conversing about what my professor was saying, just not probably the way he would want me to.  Actually, since much of what I wrote was just relating what my professor said, I had halfway decent notes by the end of it, which was a very good thing, because I barely remembered the lecture at all.

Just when I thought I could get my expression back under control, my professor came up with another gem.  It isn’t fair, really.

Professor: With their recurved bows, the Huns could penetrate their enemies from horseback.
Cat: Mmm, penetrate me Attila!  Penetrate me on horseback!
Fish: Salad, the amazing horse riding sex machine!

I’m sure my widened eyes gave my poor professor the impression that I was completely engrossed in his lecture and my furious typing no doubt impressed him as to my note taking abilities.  Actually, I was trying to figure out the physics of such an undertaking.  I had never before considered equine acrobatics of that sort, but my professor has a PhD, so it must be true.

At long last, near the end of class, the professor realized a verbal error, but it was too late to save me. My facial expressions must have been very strange indeed.

Professor: When he died in a writing accident-
Cat: Writing is an extreme sport?
Fish: The quill attacked him.
Professor: Erm, I meant riding…

I must regard my laptop’s classroom presence as a failed experiment, and yes, of course I blame the mindless box of wires instead of my own inattentiveness; this is a perfectly accurate conclusion, I’m sure.