Bwog Staff Writer ruminates on authority figures’ off hours

Have you ever wondered what your professors do after they finish imparting their wisdom or in some cases imparting gargantuan amounts of reading on you? Such a question struck the mind of this Bwogger last semester on the 1 Train up from Times Square (she had just transferred from the NQRW), because such is the way of Barnard Baddie. But I digress. It was one of those nights when the New York cold was beginning to show its teeth, and as an LA girl, I was wildly unprepared. My leather gloves were mostly for aesthetics, and my wool coat, which I had optimistically deemed “so warm” in October, was proving to be a fraud. My company for the night (a fellow red nosed LA girl) started vigorously poking my wool padded shoulder. At first, I assumed she was drawing attention to my tragic hat hair—because yes, the static had truly humbled me—but no. She was, in fact, pointing at the woman sitting directly behind me.

Now, let me paint the picture. She was young, had the kind of chic tortoiseshell glasses that scream “I annotate PDFs for fun,” and chestnut hair that fell effortlessly in that way only achievable by people who don’t have to battle subway humidity. But most importantly, she was wearing red sequin fringe pants that caught and reflected every bit of subway light like a disco ball in motion. And perched on her shoulder—because life is full of surprises—was a parrot. Fake, unfortunately, but still. The parrot was there. Multicolored and looking as though it was poised to squawk.

I had already dubbed her “Parrot Diva” in my head, because obviously. I had also spent the last two stops internally debating whether the look was more “burlesque performer en route to a dazzling finale” or “pirate who moonlights as a jazz singer.” Either way, I was obsessed.

Parrot Diva, apparently, was also my friend’s Econ TA The very same person who graded her problem sets with an iron fist? Who wielded supply-and-demand curves like a weapon? Who had single-handedly caused half her recitation section to rethink their life choices? That Econ TA? And here she was, a vision in sequins and avian accessories, just casually riding the 1 like any other commuter.

All this to say, if you’re ever wondering what your professors (or TAs) do once they step outside the Barnard Columbia gates and become part of the wide wide world of Manhattan beyond Morningside, it could very well be something completely unexpected. Of course, it is entirely possible they could do something very normal. Feed their cat, read a book, plot on how to make your life more miserable, gleefully cackle as they draft a message on Canvas. But it is equally possible that they could spend their weekends in a LARPing troupe in Central Park. They may write Wattpad fanfiction under a pseudonym so unhinged you’d never suspect it was them. They could be part of a biker gang, a competitive karaoke league, or an underground speakeasy dedicated exclusively to dramatic readings of bad Yelp reviews.

Most importantly, they could be Parrot Diva.

Parrot via Bwog Archive