who's never seen one?"
"It's a hollow plastic sphere."
Don smiled. "All right. What does a hollow plastic sphere do?" Seeing the frowns, he tried explaining further. "You've already said it bounces. What else?"
"It floats."
"Exactly!" Don looked at the student who'd come up with that. "How can you use that to get the ball out of the tube?"
"Well, you pour water in and it will float to the top." The student shook his head. "But you didn't give us any water as part of the material we could use."
Don shook his head. "That just reinforces the teaching point. You have to examine the problem without constricting yourself by given or known parameters. What do you always have with you when you approach any problem?"
"Your mind?"
"Yes," Don replied. "And your body. Isn't your body capable of producing fluid sufficient to get the Ping-Pong ball out of the tube?"
"Oh, gross," one of the students commented as he realized what Don was saying. "You mean take a leak in the pipe?"
"Exactly!"
With that, two men in three-piece suits slowly walked in the front door and gazed about, referring to a photo the lead man held in his hand. They looked out of place among the cowboy boots and hats.
"And speaking of that," Linda announced, "I have to take a little trip. Get me another beer, please," she whispered in Don's ear as she got to her feet.
Don's eyes followed her as she wove her way through the tables to the ladies' room. As she passed the rednecks, they held up their numbers. Don was pleased to note that she rated as high as the mini-skirted girl but dismayed when Linda stopped and tipped their pitcher of beer over, soaking half the men as it splattered across the table.
Don leapt to his feet and was halfway to the table as a fat drunken man with a large silver belt buckle jumped up, cursing Linda. "You fucking bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Screw you!" Linda yelled back. "I should be able to go to the bathroom without getting harassed." "Hey! Let's chill out here," Don suggested, grabbing Linda's arm. "She with you, asshole?" The fat man wasn't waiting for an answer, looming over Don's slight frame.
Don looked up and smiled weakly. "Come on. Let me buy you another pitcher." He fumbled for his wallet.
Another man from the table cast a tall shadow to his right. "Fuck you. We're gonna make you and your girlfriend here lick our table off."
A large callused hand grabbed the back of Batson's shirt and he tried to remember some of the karate he'd taken in one of his inspired moments several years previously. Unfortunately, nothing of use carne to mind. "Listen, guys, there's no need to--"
The hand pressed him forward, lowering his head toward the wet table. Linda was kicking and biting at the man trying to hold on to her, his hands roaming toward intimate parts of her body.
A voice cut through the room. "Freeze! Breathe and you're dead." The cowboys became statues, their eyes mesmerized by whoever had yelled to Don's rear.
The hand on his back let go and Don slowly stood up and turned. The two men in suits were standing there, one holding a mini-Uzi on the group, the other a large, wicked-looking pistol. The man with the pistol looked at Don. "You Professor Batson?"
Don nodded.
"Come with us, please."
The please sounded incongruous, considering the firepower. "Let's go, Linda," he said, tucking his shirt back in.
They made their way to the door-the two men covering their retreat-and went out into the parking lot.
"Who are you guys?"
The man put his pistol away and flipped his ID card out. "National Security Agency. We need you to accompany us."
"What for?" Don glanced at Linda, who was still shaking from the confrontation. She was eyeing him in a manner he couldn't quite figure out. He shook his head trying to clear it.
The man was leading him toward a black Bronco with tinted windows. "That will be answered when we get where we're going, sir. This action is authorized by your involvement with the Hermes
"It's a hollow plastic sphere."
Don smiled. "All right. What does a hollow plastic sphere do?" Seeing the frowns, he tried explaining further. "You've already said it bounces. What else?"
"It floats."
"Exactly!" Don looked at the student who'd come up with that. "How can you use that to get the ball out of the tube?"
"Well, you pour water in and it will float to the top." The student shook his head. "But you didn't give us any water as part of the material we could use."
Don shook his head. "That just reinforces the teaching point. You have to examine the problem without constricting yourself by given or known parameters. What do you always have with you when you approach any problem?"
"Your mind?"
"Yes," Don replied. "And your body. Isn't your body capable of producing fluid sufficient to get the Ping-Pong ball out of the tube?"
"Oh, gross," one of the students commented as he realized what Don was saying. "You mean take a leak in the pipe?"
"Exactly!"
With that, two men in three-piece suits slowly walked in the front door and gazed about, referring to a photo the lead man held in his hand. They looked out of place among the cowboy boots and hats.
"And speaking of that," Linda announced, "I have to take a little trip. Get me another beer, please," she whispered in Don's ear as she got to her feet.
Don's eyes followed her as she wove her way through the tables to the ladies' room. As she passed the rednecks, they held up their numbers. Don was pleased to note that she rated as high as the mini-skirted girl but dismayed when Linda stopped and tipped their pitcher of beer over, soaking half the men as it splattered across the table.
Don leapt to his feet and was halfway to the table as a fat drunken man with a large silver belt buckle jumped up, cursing Linda. "You fucking bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Screw you!" Linda yelled back. "I should be able to go to the bathroom without getting harassed." "Hey! Let's chill out here," Don suggested, grabbing Linda's arm. "She with you, asshole?" The fat man wasn't waiting for an answer, looming over Don's slight frame.
Don looked up and smiled weakly. "Come on. Let me buy you another pitcher." He fumbled for his wallet.
Another man from the table cast a tall shadow to his right. "Fuck you. We're gonna make you and your girlfriend here lick our table off."
A large callused hand grabbed the back of Batson's shirt and he tried to remember some of the karate he'd taken in one of his inspired moments several years previously. Unfortunately, nothing of use carne to mind. "Listen, guys, there's no need to--"
The hand pressed him forward, lowering his head toward the wet table. Linda was kicking and biting at the man trying to hold on to her, his hands roaming toward intimate parts of her body.
A voice cut through the room. "Freeze! Breathe and you're dead." The cowboys became statues, their eyes mesmerized by whoever had yelled to Don's rear.
The hand on his back let go and Don slowly stood up and turned. The two men in suits were standing there, one holding a mini-Uzi on the group, the other a large, wicked-looking pistol. The man with the pistol looked at Don. "You Professor Batson?"
Don nodded.
"Come with us, please."
The please sounded incongruous, considering the firepower. "Let's go, Linda," he said, tucking his shirt back in.
They made their way to the door-the two men covering their retreat-and went out into the parking lot.
"Who are you guys?"
The man put his pistol away and flipped his ID card out. "National Security Agency. We need you to accompany us."
"What for?" Don glanced at Linda, who was still shaking from the confrontation. She was eyeing him in a manner he couldn't quite figure out. He shook his head trying to clear it.
The man was leading him toward a black Bronco with tinted windows. "That will be answered when we get where we're going, sir. This action is authorized by your involvement with the Hermes
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