I took a class this semester by an art professor—one of the most stereotypical professors you can imagine. Exactly one minute before class would start, he would stroll into the lecture hall, carrying a leather satchel and wearing what seemed to be a beret. Just picture it.
He must have been someone pretty well known during the prime of his life, or maybe he just acts like it. Nonetheless, he name dropped like you wouldn’t believe, quicker than the girl-next-to-me’s jaw would drop when “Madonna” came out of his mouth and echoed through the microphone.
He planned for a guest speaker one Tuesday class. The speaker was late, and after five minutes of his powerpoint, I was ready to go. But in walks the extremely well-known producer in Hollywood, Mark Johnson.