Introduction?

I'm so terrible at introductory posts.  So instead of doing the whole, "this is who I am, this is what I'm going to be talking about" nonsense, I'm going to assume that there's only going to be like four people who ever read this and skip all that.  Here's a story instead.

Last week, the Provost of Cornish College came into my writing class to make an announcement.  If you're wondering what a Provost is, so am I.  The Internet tells me that a Provost is "the equivalent of a pro-vice chancellor at some institutions in the United Kingdom and Ireland," which is one of those rare answers to a question that actually brings you further away from the answer you were looking for.  Our Provost doesn't actually seem to do anything, but her name is on all the e-mails that I get from the school so she must do something.  Maybe she's just, like, a figurehead, like the Queen of England, and her job is to look rich and important and official while the deans and teachers and other faculty get all the real work done.   I feel like 30 seconds of Wikipedia will tell me every facet of a Provost's job, but I kind of like not knowing because now I picture our Provost waving serenely from the back of a chauffeured car on the faces of stamps and postcards and whatnot, and knowing what she actually does would probably ruin that image for me.

Anyway, that wasn't the point of my story at all.  The point is that she came in to make an announcement, looking all official and Queen-y and standing in the back of the room, waiting for our teacher Chris to notice her.  When she finally got the chance to speak, she moves to the front of the class and says,

"Hello everyone!  It's so good to see you!  I just wanted to come in and ask you all to treat Chris gently.  She's not one of our more stable faculty."

AND THEN SHE LEFT.

No more words. No second, more administrative announcement.  Not even a moment to laugh and be like "Just kidding, you guys!"  She just glided away all classily, leaving us stunned in her wake, wondering whether that was a serious warning, given out of concern for our safety, or the greatest administrative practical joke ever.  Should we laugh like carefree children, knowing that there was a chance the sound would set off the bestial side of our ever more sinister-looking teacher? Should we start coming to class armed, just in case?  Was our teacher's quick, loud laugh after the announcement legitimate, or an attempt to throw us off the track by making the genuine warning seem humorous?  Nobody knew, and after a moment of silence and a few confused and quickly-stifled giggles, we returned to our discussion, each of us mentally calculating the quickest route to the exit in case our teacher should have one of her "episodes" and reflecting on the bureaucratic mystery of our school's Provost.