Calvinism in the Ladies' Room

In college and grad school, I was often amazed at how absent minded and almost other-worldly some of my professors were. Did they not live in the same world as I? Some of them seemed downright oblivious to the daily goings-on of life around them. But I always had this idea that at one point in time, they were not oblivious. There was a day when they had a clue. They played sports. They learned to drive. They listened to cool music. They read modern books.

So what pushed them over the edge from being a relatively stable, street-smart citizen to the bookish, absent minded prof with the high-water trousers and the mismatched tie? What could have caused such a cataclysmic change? And now I know. It was the PhD. That sealed the deal, as they say. There is something about studying at the doctoral level that makes a person slowly lose their mind, and with the loss comes a disconnect with reality and the correspondent wardrobe to match.

But how slowly is the loss? Apparently, not very slow at all. I am already showing symptoms. I am not 2 months into my degree and today, I evidenced this oblivion. I was in the basement of the Buswell Library at Covenant Seminary, busily reading some secondary articles for my dissertation topic and drinking this new German coffee that I found in a local grocery store. I was honestly feeling pretty cool, wearing Kenneth Cole shoes and a Swiss-made timepiece, working on a sweet Sony Vaio laptop. Then, not surprisingly, nature calls. So I went off plugging to the men's room, faintly aware of how dapper I was and thinking about the reasoning ability of the natural man and presuppositionalism and the certainty of faith and Kantian a priori-ism and the Holy Spirit's role in all of this when I look around for the urinal and there was no urinal. "There's no urinal?" I ask myself. "No, there's no urinal," I respond. Talk about an epistemological crisis!

My first thought was that there must be no urinals in this particular bathroom and so I made about half a step into the stall. Then, I began to think about the implications of this decision and what had led me into this bathroom. I began to question how certain I was that I knew where I was. This is epistemology in action...where it counts. Instantly, I developed this hypothesis that I took a wrong turn and ended up in you know where: the ladies' room. I promptly retraced my steps and this theory became fact as its was revealed to me by a white sign depicting a person in a skirt. I walked into the ladies' room. Charles Hodge would have been proud at the method of my inductive reasoning. But for me, I was embarrassed and so I hightailed it out of there.

Now, thankfully, it was a beautiful day outside and every sane person was outside enjoying its splendor. So there was no one to catch me in this mishap. But it happened nonetheless.

So reality and street-smarts, I bid you adieu. I am saying hello to a new me: high-water trousers and bad ties. I may even throw in a comb-over just to make it all official. And the rest of you will forget who I am.... It was nice knowing you all. And oh, if you ever have Abby and I over, be sure to avoid conversation on pop-culture, hide sharp objects, and plainly label your bathrooms. Thanks.