The seminar was on Smith. Adam, that is. Every one was a bit jittery, but we were all pretty sure, because the seniors hadn't doen Lola's yet. That's where they make their money, right? They can't do it before they make their money! So it can't be, could it? Of course, there are balloons in the freshman seminar down the hall . . . and somebody saw seniors mixing drinks in the faculty office twenty minutes ago . . . and a bunch of seniors were seen driving down Camino Cruz Blanca in the back of a pickup truck porting a keg of beer . . . but still, Lola's hasn't happened yet, so how could it be?

We talk about sweatshops, with an air of absurdity, because there was nothing in this particular reading that would lead one to talk about sweatshops. Tairiffs, yes, how much France sucks, yes, but not child labor or Nike. I tell them all this, but they don't listen. They almost never listen to me. I make a comment and the conversation stops, my tutor says something like, "But isn't he also talking about how we should have no qualms about importing, as long as the price is cheaper?" And I say, like, "Yes, but it's in reference to developed countries. Last I heard, there weren't any sweatshops in Holland." And she says, "But it's not such a leap to apply it to a debate that's still going on today, is it?" And I say, "No, but we would have no support from the text if we want to talk about it. If we want to talk about it anyway, fine." And she says, "That's understandable. But suppose--"

And then a phone rings. People look around to see what asshole forgot to turn his phone off, but we soon realize that everyone is looking around. Finally, the guy in the corner (the prematurely balding blonde Texan with freaky jaw bones, as a matter of fact) opens the cabinet and takes out a tiny gray cell phone. "Hello? . . . He wants to talk to Mr. Green." The class laughs, and the phone is passed to me.

"I thought I told you never to call me here."

"Camm autsihd," I hear Jess Castle say. "Ant tell suh clas to continyu see conferzation."

I leave the room and there is Jess, dressed all in black, with sunglasses and a blue neck scarf. His friend Angus is also there, wearing the same get-up. They pull me into the corner and say, "Take ov your shirt and your chaket, hmm? Ant put on zis sun dress." They instruct me to put my arms through the neck hole. "It iz sleefless, yah. Klaus, look at the big girl!" "Yah, he is zo pretty! Now go back into see classrohm and tell zem to continyoo see confersation. Ve'll be there in a few minuten."

I go back in. The seminar is talking about machines and labor. I sit down and people laugh nervously, explosively, still trying to control themselves a bit. "Hey, pretty lady!" "Mr. Green, what are you doing later tonight?"

"It's becoming increasingly obvious. They said to continue the conversation."

Amazingly, people actually did continue to talk about Adam Smith, though in the silliest possible manner.

After a few minutes, my shoulders were getting very cold and I was wondering if Jess and Angus were actually coming. I was looking down at my lap and Mr. Coker-Dukowitz looked over and said, "It's showing, but don't worry, it looks good." Hmm.

In come Jess and Angus. "Hello, seminar. Vee are prospective tutors, and ve're goink to be takink ovah your seminar tonight. I am Klaus, and this is my partner Klaus. Vee are gay lovers from East Berlin. Hm-hm-hm-hm! Olt tutors, please go to Lowah Commons. Come on. Get aut."

"Do you mean 'old tutors,' or 'legitimate tutors'?"

"Vee ahr Cherman. Vee mean 'olt'."

And there was much drunkeness and spilling of baby formula.