Coffee For Two

The day was typical, at least so it would seem. The morning laboratory session was a complete disaster, the cafeteria was out of onion rings, and as it has happened every week before, Professor Santos mistook his Tuesday class for his Wednesday class. The lecture hall was buzzing with conversation as my classmates waited for the professor to arrive. My friend and I sat in the front row waiting patiently, discussing the poor performance of the Maple Leafs from the night before. As always, Professor Santos came running in briefcase flying, and coffee in hand; only 9 minutes late this afternoon. Perhaps my watch was slow, perhaps the professor is getting more timely, whatever it was, something was different; it was no longer a typical day… at least not for me; for the unluckiest person in town, however, this was a typical day.

Professor Santos began scurrying down the stairs towards his podium. “I’m sorry, I’m Sorry. I swear, one of these days I will actually get here on time.”

The professor began to sort his papers and the class started to settle down. From the front row I could still hear the ‘Milton Twins’ and company discussing their rowdy weekend adventures.

“Did anyone get up to anything exciting this weekend?” the professor asked?
The class fell silent, as each student looked back at their weekend, analyzing every moment to see if anything was worth presenting. Myself, I was still distracted by the conversation occurring four, maybe five rows behind me.
“… I just can’t believe I waited song long before I let him do that to me”, it was one of the Miltons
“Do what to you Miss Milton?” Professor Santos asked.
“… Oh my god! Umm… forget I even said that.”
Her face grew a bright red, as the class focused solely on her, each leaning forward to hear more of her dirty gossip.
“What’s wrong Miss Milton, fill us in, I’m sure everyone is as curious as I am now.”
The class’s ears perked up, waiting in anticipation.
The professor put his foot up against the armrest of the empty chair next to my luckless friend, leaning forward, his coffee in hand. He took a small sip of his drink and continued, “Please, fill each one of us.”
“Ha, that’s what she said!” A voice cried out from the back of the class.
The room fell silent once again, not knowing what to make of the immature comment. The professor froze, with his coffee cup to his lips. Slowly his cheeks began to grow, like a propane tank in a fire, the pressure was too much; he was going to blow. The hot coffee spurted from the mouth of the professor as his laughter echoed through the lecture hall. The class would be quick to follow, laughing at both the comment, and at the professor who was now lying on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. All were laughing, all expect for my ill-fated friend, who too was on the floor, however, not with laugher, but with pain as the searing coffee began to burn the flesh. Eyelids blistered and bruised, forehead swollen and red, and cheeks lightly rashed. The burns would turn out to be minor, however as I walked down the corridor on the way to the campus clinic, my friend in my arms, I realized one thing: we never did find out what happened to Miss Milton. Some people have all the luck.