Velociworld

MY SOCIAL PROMOTION

When I was doing hard time at one of Uncle Sam's finer military academies I learned very early on that all officers were expected to graduate as engineers. Functional Individual was the operative term.

As a person who in their teens was by nature a dopesmoker and daydreamer, a loller in fields of grass with bottle of wine, and obscure poetry, and hopefully someone to neck upon, I cannot begin to describe how this information dismayed me. I was bolt-gun stunned.

See, I thought I would be allowed to pick my major. I wasn't sure Lolling was a bona fide major, but I figured I could find something similar. But in between brutal physical training and barking drill instruction I was soon disabused of my thoughts upon the matter.

Which brings me to Krasner. I was, to put it mildly, an indifferent student in the three semesters of calculus, two semesters of chemistry, and three semesters of physics that were forced upon me. Not that they aren't noble pursuits; they just weren't my field of play. Interestingly, I now find quantum mechanics fascinating, and will one day force myself to learn it properly on my own. I may even tackle string theory.

But back to Krasner. The worst part of these courses was the fact they were taught by officers for the most part. Masters degrees, to be sure, with a sprinkling of PhDs, but these gentlemen were more concerned with wringing the pantywaistage, the insolence, the lackadaisium from our recalcitrant asses.

And so I entered Physics III with a D in Physics I, and a D in Physics II. The only D's of my life. As luck would have it my professor for Physics III was a civilian, Dr. Krasner, a jovial little man with a biting accent. Think Grandpa Munster with a crewcut.

I loved old Krasner. He would crack jokes, and I would banter back with insults. I was merciless. It was a great relationship, and the only one I ever had like that in college with a professor. Until finals rolled around, and I knew I was headed for another D.

I went in his office the week before finals, and said "Saul, I have a problem. My GPA's fucked up, and I just can't do this fucking physics. My parents are apoplectic with these D's. I really need a C."

"You want to get a C from me, you damned swab?" says Krasner. "You gotta want it. Prove it."

That made sense. Then I thought of the buttons. Did I mention the buttons? Of course I didn't. Saul always wore two buttons on his white lab coat. One was day-glo green, and it was a drawing of Einstein's face. The other one was day-glo orange, and it said E=MC2. I'd always loved those buttons. I have no idea why. At that point I generally coveted things like pot stones, and Beatles bootleg 8mm film. But covet I did.

"Here's the deal, Saul," says I. "I'll bust my ass studying, and if I get a C I want those buttons."

"Deal," he says.

And so I studied my ass off. and when I walked out of that final I knew I'd flunked it. D would be a gift from God.

And yet two weeks later I found an envelope in my mailbox, and inside were the buttons, and a note from Krasner. "Congratulations swab! You got a C."

And so I moved on to my junior year, but I know in my heart of hearts I screwed that test to hell and back. Saul took pity on my swabbo ass, and gifted me that C.

I still have those buttons somewhere. I run across them now and then, pull them out, put them on, and laugh at that crazy bastard. He was the best.