Southern Connecticut State College . . .

In January, 1967, I went back to college.  I enrolled in Southern Connecticut State College, which seems to have been the college that everyone who couldn't get into the college of their choice went to.  For me, it was the college of my choice.  Or, rather, the college of my mom's choice.  I personally would have chosen to disappear.   SCSC is now SCSU, and here's a photo of how it looks today . . .

It was a lot smaller in January, 1967 . . .

One of those buildings is the student center, which housed the cafeteria, wherein I spent a lot of time, as I didn't go to class a lot.  One morning,  I noticed a rather bizarre looking individual who came in and sat at a table across from me.  He had the longest hair I'd ever seen on a man, bell-bottom levis, a loud print dashiki style shirt, sandals, no books, and no food, and a slightly wild-eyed look about him.  On each table, there were salt and pepper shakers (see Fig 1)

 There was also a napkin holder (see Fig 2)

This wild-eyed individual proceded to remove one napkin from the holder and tear it as suggested in Fig3.  He also removed the tops from both the salt and pepper shakers, and dumped out a quantity of each onto the napkin fragments previously prepared (see Fig 3).

Then he inserted the napkin fragments with their quantity of condiment, each into the top of the opposite container . . . (see Fig 4)

Then he screwed the tops back on each shaker, tore off any protruding napkin chads and left the doctored condiment containers in their usual position by the napkin holder (Fig 5)

Then he got up, moved to a different table, and repeated the process.  Eleven more times, within about an hour.  He finished just as the lunch rush was descending on the cafeteria, stood up, looked around, smiled at me, winked, and left.

I don't know who he was, and I never noticed him again.  But since I'd already missed Botany and half of Baroque Music, and figured I was destined to fail both anyway, I remained where I was to see what would happen.  Some people were so intent on other things that they never even noticed.  They just seasoned their food, ate, and moved on. 

Some were greatly perplexed, bewildered at the salt that spewed pepper, and the pepper that spewed salt.  One guy shook out salt that came out pepper, shook out some more into his hand, then picked up the pepper shaker and shook out some salt into his hand, then seasoned his food and went on.

The funniest was the guy who tried both, got angry and then twice moved to other "doctored" tables, only to encounter the same phenomenon repeatedly.  All in all, it was for me, time well spent.

I learned more about intentional comedy in that lunch hour than I was ever going to learn about Botany or Baroque music.

For instance:

1. Intentional comedy takes preparation.  Wild-Eye was willing to put in the time to perpetrate an effective bit of business on an unsuspecting public.
2. Intentional comedy takes inspiration.  Without the idea behind it, nothing funny happens.
3. Intentional comedy requires an opportunity.  A good comedian waits for, seeks out, creates opportunities.
4. Intentional comedy is exaggerated.  He set up not one or two, but twelve tables! 
5. Intentional comedy requires confidence in one's inspiration and use of the available opportunity.  Wild-eye left without ever seeing the results of his shennagans (great word, huh?). 

I failed Botany, and Baroque Music.  And I flunked out of SCSC.  But what I learned about intentional comedy in that two hours in the cafeteria?

Priceless.