A True Story by Professor Cordova
Willamette University
March 4, 2026
A cautionary tale about long days, illness, short memories, campus security, and the existential threats posed daily by fruit.
The professor had been having one of those “manic” Wednesdays. The kind where you teach an 8 am class, start feeling like something is taking over your body (not possession, but like a cold or allergy), distract yourself answering 47 emails, attend meetings, experiencing severe hunger because you missed breakfast and forgot lunch, and then feel just awful and lose your voice like right before you’re slated to teach a four-hour class, having to cancel said class and head home.
The professor walked to the parking lot. Bag on shoulder. AirPods in. Upbeat music playing to try and mask the fact that he is not feeling well. Everything normal.
Except for one small detail.
His car was not where he parked it.
He did what any rational person would do. He panicked. He called campus security. He may have gotten a little emotional about it. Maybe even ugly cried a little.
“I think my car has been towed or… maybe stolen.”
Campus security, with the calm demeanor of someone who was not convinced of what they were being told, looked past the professor and asked a simple question.
“This car you’re describing…, does it happen to be the car over there behind that big truck?”
It was. The professor had parked in a different spot that morning than usual. A spot he actually walked right past on the way to report the “theft”.
So, he drove home in silence and in shame. No music. Just embarrassment and then there was that lingering hunger pain.
He grabbed an apple from the fridge and took a bite, and then…
Rest up so you don’t get sick.
Eat actual meals.
And for the love of everything holy, remember where you parked.
That is enough vulnerability for one evening.