“The night grew long.”
I’m half-way through Joy Castro’s memoir The Truth Book, a grim account of “escaping a childhood of abuse among Jehovah’s Witnesses.” By the late 90s, the author, who is now in her 20s, has escaped. (At least, one hopes she has.) She is finishing up her dissertation on “leftist women writers” and, desperate for money, enters the academic job market. Castro nicely captures the quirks of that particular circuit. During one interview stint at a small liberal arts college, she is invited to a dinner party hosted by the chair of the department:
The night grew long. Corks lay stained between the plates and dishes. Finally, the chair’s wife, laughing loudly, placed her forehead on the table and slapped the wood several times. Her forehead remained there, and she continued to laugh. This seemed to indicate the end of dinner.