Where There's Smoke

Another time, and the details are particularly cloudy on this one, two fellows I know, we'll call them TwoEars and CocoNut, had elected to spend a beautiful afternoon enjoying some of the fruits of God's great garden before attending class. Both of our protagonists were enrolled in an upper level business class, the correct name of which escapes me, but which was colloquially known as "Cocktails with Cole." The course name was derived not only from the apparent drunkeness of the professor and many of the students but also from the fact that many class meetings occurred at taverns or other places where alcohol was freely imbided. Professor Cole used something like the Socratic method, only without the distraction of all of that "learning."

Apparently, Cole's flexible teaching philosophy led our protagonists to conclude that it would be acceptable, nay enjoyable to get extremely baked before going to class. And so, on this beautiful Friday afternoon, our two heroes wandered in to class, late as ususal, disheveled, with bloodshot eyes, reeking of smoke, and one of them carrying in his pocket a fairly sizeable bag of oregano. After spending some time finding seats, they tried to figure out what was going on and who was up in front of the class. I forgot to mention that much of Cole's teaching strategy involved having others actually teach the class. Guest presenters frequently would appear to lecture about who-knows-what. And so it was on this day that an unfamiliar someone stood at the head of the small seminar classroom patiently waiting for the two late-comers to find seats before resuming speaking about who-knew-what.

Imagine the surprise of our heroes as reality slowed inched its way into their fogged brains enough to enlighten them that the guest presenter that particular day was an agent with the FBI. I also forgot to mention that this episode occurred during the late 1980's when the intoxicating possibilities promised by a "War on Drugs" had not been tempered by the sobering reality inherent in such a policy. This was not simple prohibition, this was a War on controlled substances. Under some interpretations of the US Code, the recreational vegetable that our heroes had been enjoying might have been classified as a controlled substance. This caused them considerable distress, and their facility for managing the situation was substantially impaired by the fact that, well, they were higher than kites.

Bravely, they squirmed and twitched in their own pools of sweat with just enough restraint to pass for non-lawbreaking students until, after what seemed like 14 hours of lecture, class finally was dismissed and our heroes escaped unscathed. Although their paranoia told them otherwise at the time, apparently the FBI was none the wiser. Boy did they learn their lesson from that one.