In panel 2, the astute will note that the courses page declares the limit for how many less-taught languages you can take and get credit for. This was indeed the case in the linguistics department where I went to school. There is a reason for this: subjects that with low-marketability promote post-class student hob-nobbing, and extremely high return rates. There were a group of "regulars" that I was never surprised to see on the first day of any given historical linguistics class. These were often professional students, people far removed from the general university social experience by one or more of the following: (a) age, (b) absence of communication skills, and (c) beards. Not just any beards, either. There was one we knew affectionately as Beardo, whose facial growth was a flowing ecosystem, separated into distinct locks straight out of a bust of classical antiquity.
One particular class that I took, Intro to Indo-European Studies, was an illustration of this. Let me back up and explain my Tuesdays & Thursdays during those illuminating times: I would begin the day with Biblical Hebrew, before the crust had escaped my eyeball crevices; directly afterward, I crossed North Campus in a hurry to get to Generative Syntax on time, where I diagrammed the holy crap out of sentences for over an hour, and then formulated arguments for my choices; and finally, once my energy was depleted and my learning ability quashed, stomach roaring with hunger, I made for Intro to IE Studies to have my mind blown for an hour and a half. I frequently looked like the Memorex guy, my eyes opened to worlds of knowledge that could never find traction in my poor, spongy brain-substance.
By the end of that schedule, I was ready to eat and sleep at the same time. I think it conditioned me to refuse new historical linguistic knowledge, and to admire (read: pity) the hapless souls sucked into the scene, and yes, as I am about to explain, there was and is a scene.
The clock would hit go-time, and the professor would generally finish his current thought, and then graciously call an end to class. Looking back, I suspect this was almost exclusively for my benefit. I would pack my things up and leave. Almost no one else even stood up. The desire to hang out with this ancient demigod of historical linguistic knowledge was too powerful for most.
If one timed it right, one could catch them around campus – a handful of them surrounding the professor on the way back to his office, like so many bearded remoras, hoping perhaps that some shred of his talent would rub off on them by osmosis.
I smiled. Usually.
