There’s a really bad teen movie I somehow remember: about some guy who failed High School’s summer trip to France (that’s a PUNISHMENT?) where the trip somehow gets tied up with secret agent subterfuge. At intervals along their journey, their bus driver keeps stepping off and being ‘replaced’ with the ominous words “I am Pierre (or whatever.) The new driver.”
Well, that’s sort of what’s happened on the Accounting module.
A vast, shambling hulk of a man, not long for this earth, febrile bulk of sagging flesh somehow retaining mobility. Has appeared. His vast body slumps and stumbles around the stage, presence without authority, full of pathos.
(Accounting midterm was seriously screwed; have the MBA programme bosses heard of this, and ensured he ‘met with an accident’ or something? Hey, remaining on the world’s top MBA lists is a difficult business, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they occasionally resorted to a little cloak-and-dagger. Is the previous Accounting guy resting dismembered in a Warwickshire field somewhere, ‘whacked’ for ruining the rep of the Warwick MBA? I’m almost afraid to email him and find out, lest I find myself on WBS’s hit list for ‘knowing too much’.)
This guy could have been the inspiration for Mary Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’. More reconstructed Victorian nightmare than man, no discernable gap ‘twist head and body; a mushy expanse of near-pyramidical shoulders to midsection; spindly legs all cloaked in frayed cotton and badly-reheeled shoes. A veritable chimera of corporate finance procedures.
So: we’ve killed off the principal lecturer, and we’ve got this guy instead.
And actually, he’s quite good. I’m starting to enjoy Accounting again.