Legend
Last year, R and I went out to lunch one day, as we often did and still do. However, this lunchtime we took longer than normal because we were engaged in some scintillating debate (obviously, I was winning but he wouldn't admit defeat. I hate that). On arriving back to R's office about a half an hour later than usual we noticed that the ceiling had fallen in. On his desk. His computer, thankfully, had been locked away and the only damage was to his notes (all backed up) and his jacket, which had been over the back of his chair and was ripped.
This is what happened. However, I heard a legend this morning from a guy whose office is in the same building but one floor down. Said guy doesn't know who I am and has no reason to associate me with those events, and only got his office a few weeks ago. What he heard was:
There was a postgrad in his office one lunchtime, when he heard this really strange rumbling sound above his head. Without stopping to think, he picked up his computer and leaped with catlike agility and blinding speed into the doorway, whereupon the entire ceiling fell down and demolished his desk, and left huge chunks of Victorian-era, four-inch-thick plaster buried in his chair. His notes and his jacket were completely destroyed, and he'd have been dead if it hadn't been for his superior physics-ninja abilities.
And this took a year. In five years, will R have been killed in the terrible collapse of the ceiling? Will his unquiet shade be walking the halls in search of the blood of hapless freshers?
This is what happened. However, I heard a legend this morning from a guy whose office is in the same building but one floor down. Said guy doesn't know who I am and has no reason to associate me with those events, and only got his office a few weeks ago. What he heard was:
There was a postgrad in his office one lunchtime, when he heard this really strange rumbling sound above his head. Without stopping to think, he picked up his computer and leaped with catlike agility and blinding speed into the doorway, whereupon the entire ceiling fell down and demolished his desk, and left huge chunks of Victorian-era, four-inch-thick plaster buried in his chair. His notes and his jacket were completely destroyed, and he'd have been dead if it hadn't been for his superior physics-ninja abilities.
And this took a year. In five years, will R have been killed in the terrible collapse of the ceiling? Will his unquiet shade be walking the halls in search of the blood of hapless freshers?