In which Piers wonders what crime he's being punished for

Act One:
2:10 pm. I'm in a conference with a student. A woman who appears to be in her sixties or so walks into my office.
"Are you DC?" she asks. DC is my office mate, a fellow english professor. I tell her that no, I'm not.
"Where is he?"
Well, he's normally not here until 3:00.
"3:00. Hmmmm. Who are you, his grad assistant?"
No ma'am, I'm a professor.
"A professor? You're awfully young."
Well, not that young, I'm 32.
"You don't look 32. Where did you get your degree?"
UNC.
"What was your thesis?"
Not that you care, but sixteenth century rhetorical theory, specifically the definitions of decorum used in various literary genres in the English Renaissance, as embodied in Thomas Nashe, Ben Jonson, and George Herbert. sixteenth century rhetoric.
"Ah. Well, I'll just wait here for him." She makes no move to leave the room.
Okaaaaay, in that case I'll take my student down the hall and we'll sit at the table in the lounge.
"Oh, am I interrupting something? I can wait out here. Three o' clock, huh?" She meanders down the hall.

Act Two:
2:20 pm. I have told her she could wait just across the hall. She waits about 5 minutes, then goes to find CB, an english professor whose office is next door. He is called in to confirm what I've already told her: D is not here, I don't know where he is, and he is habitually not here until 3:00, when his CLEARLY POSTED office hours say that he'll be here. I don't know why she needs C to tell her that. Maybe he looks older than I do. Once C has told me to tell D that the lady is looking for him, he escapes--er, departs. I return to work, but now she's loitering in the hall right outside my office door, humming tunelessly to herself, and complaining that she might get a parking ticket. I resist the urge to suggest that she go somewhere else until 3:00, then come back when she knows he'll be present.

Act Three:
2:45 pm. I go down the hall to return an item to the department office. She has cornered one of the student workers, and is complaining about how she has to sit around and waste her time because (evidently) no one is helping her get in touch with DC, or rather he forgot their appointment, or something. Student worker looks scared but nods politely. I wonder if she has also had all of her credentials checked. Upon my return to my office, I sit down only to hear a familiar tuneless humming coming from the hallway just outside my office door. I bend toward my book, hoping that she does not ask to see my high school transcripts. About this time, someone upstairs starts beating a hip-hop tattoo through the floor and into my head.

Yes, it was that kind of day.