Playing Nice

I attended an alumni thing over the weekend for my graduate school university and the woman who arranged the gathering asked me about a professor I'd had in graduate school. I think she was expecting me to sing this woman's praises, but instead she got my unvarnished opinion of the woman. This professor, I thought, was nuts. She'd come to class and complain about her neighbors, their dogs, their wind chimes, how she thought they were in Mafia, how they were stalking her, etc. Now I don't know if any of the stuff she said was true but, considering the fact that (A) she was/is nuts and (B) she was/is a fiction writer, I tended to believe she was bullshitting about most of the stuff she said. It's a sad thing to be held captive by a crazy professor. You can't just get up and leave when the craziness starts. Well, I guess you can, but your grade will surely suffer. Back then, I just took it because I needed to get through the classes and graduate. I played nice, kept calm and carried on. Now, at my age, I'd probably be more tempted to speak up and say something like, "I'm not paying tuition to hear this shit! Tell it to your therapist!"