by Christine Politte
STAUFFER SCIENCE LECTURE HALL — I’ve been sitting in this lecture hall for an hour and Professor Malinkowski has spent the entire time reading off the slides in a monotone. We’ve barely covered a third of the material. This physics lecture is drier than my girlfriend after I tried bringing quantum mechanics into the bedroom.
The professor’s explanation of magnetism makes me yawn more than my girlfriend did when I explained how the superposition principle applies to our sex life. Which went over worse than that time I whispered Newton’s Third Law in her ear in the heat of the moment. Come on, doesn’t “the mutual actions of two bodies” get anyone else a little flushed?
Everybody’s acting so confused, but it’s not like the material is hard. At least not as hard as I was when I told my girlfriend about the elegance of the Bose-Einstein distribution. The way this professor teaches, these kids will never know Bose is more than a brand of headphones. Like I told my girlfriend the other day, the Higgs Boson shouldn’t be the only excitation in the room. Clearly I could teach this class way better.
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. If I taught this class, it would be as steamy as the fluid dynamics of superheated gases. Once these kids get a proper grasp on spatial wave functions, time won’t be the only thing dilating. And I’m sure my girlfriend will have a similar reaction once she finally understands how to calculate the tensor product of two Hilbert spaces.
Yeah, if I taught PHYS 151 there would be more sexual tension in the room than when I had my girlfriend pose for a free body diagram. If sexual encounters were allowed in the “experience” section of my resume, I would’ve had the job yesterday.
If this class doesn’t get more interesting soon, I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it faster than I’ll drop my girlfriend if she doesn’t stop interrupting my explanation of eigenvectors to talk about her art class. God, can’t she understand not everybody’s into that stuff?