I Genuinely Love Anthropologists So Much

I genuinely love anthropologists so much

At the start of one of my many attempts at uni (we're no joke on number seven) I took an anthropology class because it seemed cool. This was at the absolute height of the popularity of Bones so the first lecture was literally standing room only, fire hazard levels of packed.

So the professor comes in and I cannot express enough how much this man was actually round, not tall, greying, balding, and literally wearing a three-piece tweed suit with a little red bow tie. He was the most perfect human being I've ever met.

Anyway the look on his face when he saw an actually packed lecture theatre was one of sheer unbridled glee. Natural, right? His dinky little subject is suddenly unbelievably popular.

Which gave him the perfect opportunity to talk about pissing for a solid hour. Because that was his specialist subject. Comparative urination etiquette.

This man who was the Platonic ideal of a humanities professor stood there and talked enthusiastically about piss to a packed to the rafters lecture theatre full of bright-eyed first years, and as this was a Monday morning it was almost certainly many people's first ever university lecture of their whole life. His eyes were glittering with joy the whole hour. He was having the time of his life.

There were absolutely no questions at the end of the lecture. He, apparently having fully understood what he was doing, clearly expected this and instructed us to have a lovely day and wished us good luck on our higher education journey.

You could sit anywhere you wanted in the lecture theatre the next week and the lecture was intro to methods in anthropology.

I don't think I could ever love a man more than I still love him.