“It’s OVER!!!” Harold shouted, standing up in his chair. The wait staff eyed him warily as he chanted “no more quizzes, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks! While dancing on his chair. The others sitting around the table, including James, were drunk enough to laugh.

            “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to get down,” a waitress said as she was passing by. Harold leapt down from his chair, got down on one knee, took hold of the waitress’ hand despite her efforts to evade his grasp and said, completely straight-faced, “and I’m gonna have to ask you… to marry me.” The waitress smiled a little, rolled her eyes and pulled her hand free. “Don’t walk away,” Harold said, still on his knees, “I’m a graduate!”

            “And how you ever graduated, we’ll never know,” Jerry said, pulling Harold back to his chair.

            “I graduated, by being an astute and observant student.”  Harold said, rising, brushing himself off and straightening an imaginary bowtie that had actually been there earlier in the evening, but had long since discarded during their evening of rabble-rousing. He was mimicking one of their most hated professors who always scolded them for neglecting their studies in favor of parties.

            “Shut up and sit down,” James said. But he knew that by this point it was pretty much useless. Harold had been a bit of a clown since the first day he’d met him and once alcohol was introduced into his system, there was virtually nothing anyone could do to stop his routine once it got started.

            “I do presume that you hope to become professionals at some point, no?” Harold said continuing. His voice was such a dead ringer for Professor Stein’s that the entire table busted out laughing. “I assure that your current work ethic, won’t get it.” He stressed the term get it, the way the professor always did, as though he were using some new slang, that the student’s would recognize as their own language. “You cannot muddle through your entire lives like this, responsibility incessantly giving away to your,” here he cleared his throat, “baser urges. You cannot hope to simply-” A French fry bounced off of Harold’s head, suspending his monologue.

            “I’ve been listening to talk like that for 4 years from one teacher or another. Sit down, shut up and drink your damn beer.” James said.

            “-Get by,” Harold continued, before being pelted by a fuselage of French fries, coleslaw, chicken wing bones and other assorted side dishes. Shortly thereafter the skinny Harold attempted to overturn the table at which his cohorts sat spilling drinks and food everywhere and they were all summarily ejected from the establishment.