Professor Andrew's Self-Editing Epiphany Experience

Professor Andrews left the gothic artistic designed lecture hall whose sole delegated epiphany task instructed, ‘remind the future about being sincere and trustworthy’. Stepping outside the collegiate building, adjusting the trench coat, making sure the overbearing jacket representing adulthood respect, could handle engaging the elements.

“Did you give me your paper due today?” Growled Professor Andrews, confronting a maturing youngster avoiding pelting rain.

“I am not in your class,” a stranger's voice honestly replied, making Professor Andrews defensively flex his chest presenting an indestructible image.

Deciding to combat the bad weather head on, the wise academic confronted the stormy conditions allowing his outer tan garment to turn dark. Strolling down the collegiate style city street, Professor Andrews noticed three letters ‘P U B’ shining brightly and decided briefcase paperwork, now a priority.

Entering the social establishment’s ghostly dining appearance the intellect one person performer, easily found a table.

“Professor Andrews,” greeted Monica, a server, distracted from stoking her small warming tease inside the fireplace.

“Well, hello,” Professor Andrews responded, “are you one of my students?”

“Last century,” the worker clarified, pulling out a miniature notebook.

Hearing the comment, the legendary large local University relic laughed, retrieving the file needing attention. “Is it time for the ‘look yourself in the mirror’ essay?” Monica curiously inquired.

“Same old assignment, assignments, never change,” Professor Andrews answered.

Following mug brew disappearing and a crumb full appetizer plate, the wooden door mystically opened, “Girard Wallace,” Monica exclaimed holding menus, “fire is ablaze.”

“Just keep the marshmallows coming,” Girard requested, entering the dining room stage, prepared with a huge table, “they will be here soon. Well, if it isn’t Professor Andrews,”

“Do I know you? Were you one of my students?”

“Last century,” Girard mentioned, realizing not a red mark on any of the typewritten papers strewn across the table, "are those the ‘look yourself in the mirror’ essays?”

"Yes," Professor Andrews remarked, "and there are no grammatical mistakes."

“Must be magic,” Girard chuckled, “these days, all the kids do is press a button and boom, writing is proofread.”

“Takes the correcting out of correcting papers,” Professor Andrews concluded when a ghastly wind flowed through the restaurant, “my friends,” Girard welcomed, “come in, come in.”

As the whimsical visitors accepted their proper seating arrangement, Monica returned passing out marshmallows, wanting to be burned. “Here you go guys,” she informed the patrons wearing 18th century attire.

“Well, thank you my dear,” they all politely acknowledged.

For the next hour Professor Andrews listened, as each character, spun a tale, achieving their goal, stimulating emotions.

“That was a very enjoyable showcase,” Professor Andrews applauded, “I have been critiquing a few hundred memoirs about what they see in the mirror and kept dozing off, you all on the other hand, sent the same message with great enthusiasm.”

“Fiction is so much more entertaining than the truth, Professor Andrews,” Girard pointed out.

“You can do whatever you want,” Professor Andrews surmised.

“That is right,” Girard agreed, adding one more bullet point, “I guess it all comes down to, looking yourself in the mirror, pondering what you really want, honest reality or a fantasy trip escape?”