Like every starry-eyed, second year practitioner of realpolitik , I found myself in the Isabel Bader Theatre with all the other second-year political science majors. The lectures are two hours: long, dry, rational .
In every Bader lecture, there’s always a similar cast of characters:
- The dudes who sit in the front row who respond to every question the prof asks and DEFINITELY didn’t get bullied enough in middle school (I got bullied in middle school, I’m allowed to make this joke).
- The students who dress WAY better than you and are always on the Canada Goose or Patagonia website instead of paying attention to the professor.
- The stoners who straggle in 15 to 30 minutes late blasting Mac Demarco, and reek of either wet dog, weed, or 7/11 hot dogs.
Which is why I was shocked when the person who sat next to me fit all three archetypes perfectly.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. I can’t exactly describe the scent, but it vaguely evoked the aroma of the Alphabet City dive bar I went to with my friend from high school who’s now at NYU. For the record, this bar’s specialty was an in-house liquor called “ass-juice.”
Then I noticed his fashion. Now, this wasn’t UofT Prep, Toronto fuckboy, or even Canadian softboy: this guy looked like thrift store Joey Ramone, but you could clearly see expensive accessories, like a Gucci Belt and a Rolex. He probably was the black sheep of his boarding school.
Then he opened his mouth. I don’t remember what question our professor asked, but it was probably something about justifying United States imperialism through John Stuart Mill or something like that. He had a deep, raspy drawl that somehow understood YOU despite the fact you could barely understand HIM.
“And what is your name, sir?” Our professor asked.
“CASABLANCSNF,” he replied.
“Yes, Mr. Casablancas, and what’s the crux of Chapter Nine of The Prince?”
The room went silent. Isabel Bader smelt worse than Greenwich Village does on New Year’s Day. I opened up Twitter on my laptop.
“WELL… I SSIAFSS PLUSHEEE DON”TS LOW ME DOWNNN. “
Our professor went silent.
Julian got up to leave, and the lecture went on business as usual.
It was a Friday night, but I had to stay in. Exam szn. As I was humming “Reptilia” to myself in my dormitory shower, I could’ve sworn I heard his rasping voice off in the distance. So long, Marianne.
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