Every moment can lead to romance, even when your professor is trying to share their screen. graphic by Anna Johns

Missed Connections: Seeking philosophy major hottie

We were in class via Collaborate. The subject was history, but it might as well have been chemistry! You’ve talked before, usually to rephrase an already-expressed opinion on our reading, and I never thought much of you. You were one of the few to have your camera on in class, an act that denotes virility and honor, and sometimes the class watches your feeding habits. Two weeks ago, you grazed on cereal for the entire hour and fifteen-minute class.

This Wednesday, though, you opened your mouth, and I fell in love.

The professor discussed the First Crusade, particularly the siege of Antioch, and you raised your hand mid-lecture. When you were called on, you asked the importance of the trebuchet in cases like the siege of Castelnuovo Bocca d’Adda in Northern Italy in 1199.

Time seemed to slow. Where did you get such obscure information? Which devil did you trade with to have such refined knowledge?

Our professor paused, scrunching his nose as he thought over your question. “Castelnuovo Bocca d’Adda,” he muttered to himself, like he was trying to remember this particular historical moment. Seconds went by.

If this were an in-person course, I’m sure it would be obvious how we were all on the edge of our seat.

Finally, our professor said, “Uh, I’m not sure if I remember that in particular. Maybe you can find some information online, or I can direct you to some sources that may help.”

The professor didn’t know. The professor, who has the doctorate, couldn’t find an answer! What a way to stick it to the man.

You nodded as a self-satisfied smirk poised upon your lips as you looked into the camera. Amateur, your glance seemed to say, and I felt my breath stop.

“Well,” you began, your tone haughty but understandably so, “I think I remember reading that the stones they used in that particular siege weighed between nineteen hundred and twenty-five hundred pounds. It was a pretty monumental attack, as far as historical records go, in terms of how efficient the trebuchet could be. I just wanted to know your opinion, of course.”

And there was the kicker! You knew all along, didn’t you? You tricky minx. Not only did you prove your intelligence and status as an alpha historian, but you also won my heart.

“Oh,” the professor said blanky. “Are you a history major?”

You snorted, as if it were beneath you, and you said, “Nah, I’m a philosophy major.”

If my pants were any more viscous, I’d be afraid I’d be swooning to death. Instead, I stared at your Collaborate screen. A philosophy major? God, that’s even sexier, I thought.

I hope you’re reading this. I know I’m not the smartest girl, but I’ve got two ears, one big heart, and a bit of a persistent itch in the foot region. Most importantly, I want to hear you explain things. I don’t even care if they’re right. I just want to hear you talk!

If this was you, send a pic of your Gadsden flag. I hope to hear from you soon.

Post Author: Anna Johns