I was hired by an institution in another state. Back then, I was in my mid-20's, and had some ideas of what kinds of lofty thoughts and clever sayings were expected of me as a newly minted assistant professor with my recent Ph. D. from the University of Alabama. I thought I was well-read, kept abreast of current affairs (Hey, I subscribed to Time, had a smattering of philosophy, a limited knowledge of arts, and a lot of brass.) Yes, I drove a 1967 Volkswagen and had broad tastes in rock music.
My first task on the job, other than filling out a lot of paperwork, was to stand by a door and let students through only if their I.B.M. card had a green stripe on the top where the name was typed. If they lacked the green stripe, I was to send them down the hall. I was never told what happened to the green stripers nor the others; the greenies could have been admitted to a wild party or damned from here to eternity, for all I knew. Oh well, I learned about need to know when I worked for a radiopositioning company.
I guess assistant professors are regarded as in the same category as second lieutenants.
The next day, I went early before classes into the snack bar, met a few fellow faculty members, and thought, "Wow, my first intellectual conversation as a junior college professor! I hope I can hold my own."
Only it didn't work that way. The sage elders (pretty nice guys, by the way) were talking about something I knew nothing about.
Cyd Charisse's legs!
Of course! College professors talk about some of the things that others do. Actually, they talk a lot of shop, sports, and politics. Politics? Up one's wazoo! Yes, and actresses from before my time.
Anyway, when I took my next teaching job, I was then knowledgeable about Cyd Charisse's legs! Darn it, I was never asked about them.