Max quickly put his laptop in his briefcase and hurried down the hallway. Remembering the unfortunate spill, he ducked into the men’s room to do something about his pants. Glancing back towards the coffee shop, he saw Sally watching him. Forcing a smile, he waved as the restroom door closed.

Alone in the restroom, he looked in the mirror. The coffee spill was large, dark and could not have been in a more embarrassing place. First, he tried to dry the spot with a paper towel. No impact. He then dampened a paper towel to clean the front of his pants. No improvement. Finally, he stood in front of the hand dryer, trying to position the spot under the nozzle. It would probably leave a big ring around his fly, but dry had to be better than wet. He faced the hand dryer, bending his knees. He turned sideways. He did squats. He jumped up and down. He leaned back thrusting his pelvis toward the nozzle. His efforts were in vain, but with no real options he kept trying. He had a meeting with a student group and could hardly stand in front of them with a big wet spot over his fly.

The door opened, startling Max. He turned.

“Max? What on earth are you… My God! What happened? Oh wait, I know what happened, but…!” Jeff Stanley, the chair of the history department stifled a laugh.

“No, no, it’s not what it looks like” Max said, “I ran into an old colleague at the coffee shop and she spilled her coffee on me. Not on purpose. At least I don’t think it was on purpose. But I need to clean up before the student meeting that starts in exactly…” He looked at his watch. “7 minutes.”

“Don’t you keep a spare suit in your office?” Jeff, asked.

Max shook his head. Leave it to Jeff to always be prepared. An Eagle Scout, no doubt. “No, I have a spare shirt and a couple ties, but no pants. I mean, how often do you need a spare pair of pants?”

“Well, I haven’t needed them yet, but I do have a pair. 34 waist. You?”

“On a good day. And let’s hope this is a good day. Can you bring them here?”

“Sure, I’ll go get them… but first…” Jeff turned toward the urinal while Max continued his dance with the hand dryer.

A few minutes later, Jeff returned with his pants. Max pulled them on but no matter how vigorously he sucked in his gut, the pants were not going to button. Clearly not a good day. Desperate with no other choices, Max left his shirt untucked to cover the unclasped waistband. There was nothing to be done about the inseam that was at least 2 inches too short. But unclasped high waters were definitely better than wet spots. At least Max was wearing a great pair of socks.

Picking up his briefcase, but leaving his questionable pants hanging in a stall, Max left the restroom. Glancing back, he saw Sally and Nora sitting together and laughing. He desperately wanted to believe that not he, his pants, nor his stalled career was the punchline of the joke they shared.

“I hadn’t thought about Max Trowbridge in years,” Sally told Nora. “I had no idea he was here at Kentwood. He was so full of himself, especially after his textbook was adopted by the entire SUNY system. He even had tee-shirts made with a picture of a cannon shooting cannonballs at a stack of literary classics. On the back it said “Maxwell Trowbridge, Canonblaster.” He gave one to every grad student and English professor. He personally signed each one with a sharpie.”

Nora laughed. She didn’t know Max all that well, but she just could not imagine him wearing a tee shirt, much less distributing autographed ones!

“Really, his ego was the size of the Empire State Building, but he wasn’t a terrible person. His grad students liked him and he had some good advice on finding a new position when my tenure denial came through. I was so angry at first, but he helped me land my job at Springfield. I wonder why he left Columbia. Seems like he had a pretty good gig in New York.”

Nora shrugged. “He came here before I did. In fact, he hired me. He has been helpful these last few years, helping me find journals to publish my stories. Two were published last year; one in Antioch Review and one in The Threepenny Review. No one gets rich publishing short stories, but I hope to get tenure that way.”

Max entered the small classroom where he was hosting an open forum for students. The room was already filled and some students were standing around the perimeter. His associate dean, Kaiyo Sato was already there, chatting with a few of the students from the Physics Department.

Seeing Max, Kaiyo rushed to the door. Quietly, she said, “Max, I was wondering what happened to you. You’re late.” Looking down, she added “And you are sporting a whole new style.”

Glaring at her, Max walked into the classroom and grabbed a chair. Sitting in front of the students, he began, “As you know, I come to these meeting with no agenda. This is your time to ask me whatever you want, so .. what are you thinking about? What do you want to know ? What do you want us to know?”

As always, an awkward silence ensued as no one wanted to be the first to speak. But finally questions started coming.

Parking. As always. Students at Kentwood ALWAYS complain about parking. Clearly, they have never been to Columbia!

Rumors of department closures. More common lately.

The New York Times print subscription. Students were unhappy when the administration discontinued the free print copies that were distributed across campus, telling students to instead use the online edition through the library. Max liked the print copies too, but going digital saved about $25,000 per year. That savings allowed the library to maintain the exorbitant Elsevier (or just journal) subscriptions.

Free feminine products in the women’s bathrooms. Really? Is that expected of a college these days? Kaiyo came to the rescue. “This has already been approved and is underway through campus facilities”

Parking. Again.

Extended library hours. Max could definitely get behind that one. He replied,”Great idea. I will have Dr. Sato look into that for you.”

Finally, with about one minute of the hour left. one student, a senior, asked “Dean Trowbridge? Ummm….Nice pants… I mean… Great socks!”

Max smiled. “Thanks,” he replied.

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