A Storm

    Yesterday morning it was dark and windy outside.  Not North Dakota windy, but by the time Beth and I got to philosophy class, we were hearing about tornado warnings in neighboring counties.  About five minutes into class, the campus police came and told us to stay in our basement classroom, because we were under a tornado warning.  Two minutes later there was a knock on the door and about forty students and teachers piled into our room. 

     

     Our professor joked half-seriously at first about continuing the lecture, but as more and more people came in and he realized it would be impossible to teach, he just leaned against his podium, looking more and more depressed (he really likes philosophy).

     Forty five long minutes later the weather service lifted the warning, and the people filed out.  We sat there, wondering whether or not our professor would lecture in the remaining half-hour of class period.  

     "Back to Sartre," he said.

     We must have all groaned, because I think he was serious, but he quickly asked what we'd prefer to do.  I don't think a single person requested that we stay.  Sartre was crazy, you see, and his writing evidences that.

     I like storms.  Ordinarily I like school too, but of all the classes for the tornado warning to disrupt, this was the one!