Now I'm pretty sure that attending a party with your undergrads is generally a bad idea and the repercussions of said dalliance might prove messy. I suspect, however, that the mess might be more our concern than theirs.
So, here's a story about a spectacular collision between work and pleasure. On a Sa
turday night after lots of teaching and stupid administrative work, I went out with friends to a fabulously dark and seedy gay after hours club. Loud music, sketched out party kids, and fetishes left, right, and center. Without divulging *too* many of my social predilections, I showed up in leather chaps, a leather harness, and not much else. I hardly stood out; sleaze is de rigeur at said club. After getting royally ripped in a variety of ways, I found myself crushed up against a wall in the clutches of a very handsome, slightly older man. Heaven. In and amongst the groping, the loud music, and the lip smacking, I managed to come up for air. I wanted to know the name of my hunky catch. Between the small talk I happened to look over his shoulder, and who should I see but Terrance, a student of mine who I last saw in class on Friday afternoon. He was, obviously, slack jawed. In shock I think. I did all that I could in such a context: I winked and went back to the crushes of my handsome lucky find.
The next time I came up for air, Terrance was there with two of his friends. Over the music and noise of the club, I could see one of his friends mouth to him, "That's your prof?" to which I waved and smiled. And then I dragged my hunky find into the mess that was the dance floor.
The following week Terrance showed up in class. After agonizing for the week, I decided to be casual and up front. During the break, I asked if he enjoyed himself on the weekend. He said, "Yeah, it was fun." we talked about the music, the crowd, and the scene. Neither of us batted an eye. I have no idea what he and his friends talked about. But there was nary a ripple in my life as a result of that collision. Maybe they can be adults.
