In honor of Pi Day, comes this tale from my archives.
This is my story.
It is my junior year attending Northwestern University.
I am in the Technological Institute (“Tech”) building sitting in the Auditorium, a cavernous space of a classroom, attending a class on astronomy.
I am sitting on an aisle seat on the left-hand side of the middle section of three sections in this auditorium.
An educational video about…oh, I don’t know…black holes and gravitational waves has just finished.
The lights start to come back on after being dimmed for the video.
The professor walks up the stairs on stage left (or the right-hand side for those of facing the stage).
There is movement on the other wing of the stage as the curtain flutters as if someone has just emerged from a hiding place behind the curtain.
I am in the process of moving my notebooks around to have a better writing position when the professor begins to resume the lesson.
However, I am now aware that things have gone incredibly quiet (and as the cliché goes…”too quiet”). I am now also aware that the only sound is the pitter-patter of large feet coming up the aisle I am sitting adjacent to.
I look up just in time to visually be aware of three things:
a) An extremely large chicken,
b) lots of white, and
c) a flash of light to the right of me.
As a picture is worth a thousand words here (oh, another cliché), for your amusement and preserved for all posterity, is that moment caught on film as it was published the next day in The Daily Northwestern, the university’s paper of record.
I have been hit by the Pie Bandit.
In an interview with the Daily, the Pie Bandit would say that this crusty barrage was not a random incident and that I was specifically targeted. My poultry-clad assailant would only cryptically say that he was exacting his revenge for some slight I gave him during our freshman year.
As cliché as it sounds, I can now say that I have been hit in the face with a banana cream pie (although I rarely put this on my CV).
That’s my story.
P.S. Before you start chuckling too much, I should inform you that this was actually the second time I had been the victim of a baked-good assault at hands of his chicken-cowled prankster. And there would be a third time also, but those are tales for another day.