The lecture theatre is the smallest one in the university. Rodney privately thinks that this is some sort of a conspiracy to get him to transfer - the closer the quarters in which he has to work with the idiots the university has the gall to call his "peers", the more likely it is that he'll just get fed up and take his big, fat government grant somewhere else. He made a nuclear bomb in sixth grade, for god's sake - as long as he's taking the classes he needs to get this degree, the government won't really care where he's going. Very shortsighted of the university, then, Rodney thinks. He's attempting to blow up the desk in front of him with his mind when the professor walks in, lounges against the desk, and gives them all a blinding smile.
"A neutron walks into a bar. 'I'd like a beer,' he says. The bartender promptly serves up a beer. 'How much will that be?' asks the neutron. 'For you?' replies the bartender, 'No charge.'"
The class just stares at him.
He continues to lounge, hip hitched on the desk, shuffling with his papers. He's young, too young to be wearing an incredibly geeky - geekier than even Rodney would touch with a ten-foot pole - bowtie. Perhaps it's supposed to be ironic, Rodney thinks, resenting him and his stupid joke and his stupid smile and his stupid hair, which looks like it hasn't seen a brush in recent memory. The professor shrugs and says, "Worth a shot," and Rodney slumps down in his seat, positive that there's some conspiracy afoot. Maybe he shouldn't have made his last professor's TA cry?
The professor took out a marker and began writing on the board - "Dr. John Sheppard" in big, spiky green letters, followed very quickly by equations. Then he turned around and grinned again, and said, "All of this will be on the exam. Bonus points for any good quantum mechanics jokes."
Rodney was sure that this was going to be a very, very long semester.
no subject
The lecture theatre is the smallest one in the university. Rodney privately thinks that this is some sort of a conspiracy to get him to transfer - the closer the quarters in which he has to work with the idiots the university has the gall to call his "peers", the more likely it is that he'll just get fed up and take his big, fat government grant somewhere else. He made a nuclear bomb in sixth grade, for god's sake - as long as he's taking the classes he needs to get this degree, the government won't really care where he's going. Very shortsighted of the university, then, Rodney thinks. He's attempting to blow up the desk in front of him with his mind when the professor walks in, lounges against the desk, and gives them all a blinding smile.
"A neutron walks into a bar. 'I'd like a beer,' he says. The bartender promptly serves up a beer. 'How much will that be?' asks the neutron. 'For you?' replies the bartender, 'No charge.'"
The class just stares at him.
He continues to lounge, hip hitched on the desk, shuffling with his papers. He's young, too young to be wearing an incredibly geeky - geekier than even Rodney would touch with a ten-foot pole - bowtie. Perhaps it's supposed to be ironic, Rodney thinks, resenting him and his stupid joke and his stupid smile and his stupid hair, which looks like it hasn't seen a brush in recent memory. The professor shrugs and says, "Worth a shot," and Rodney slumps down in his seat, positive that there's some conspiracy afoot. Maybe he shouldn't have made his last professor's TA cry?
The professor took out a marker and began writing on the board - "Dr. John Sheppard" in big, spiky green letters, followed very quickly by equations. Then he turned around and grinned again, and said, "All of this will be on the exam. Bonus points for any good quantum mechanics jokes."
Rodney was sure that this was going to be a very, very long semester.