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Halloween (In)Justice l As a faculty member at a university, I sometimes have students ask me where I live. I am leery of this, especially at Halloween time. Years ago, when I was a new faculty member, I had a colleague that enjoyed having students hit his house with toilet paper. He always felt it was a sign of their affection for him. I, personally, could do without cleaning up the mess. Thus it got so that when students asked me where I lived, I would tell them if they wanted an address I would give them one. But the address I would always give them was his. I knew this was misleading, but I didn’t directly say it was mine. Inevitably, my colleague would come to work the next day and laugh, “Those little devils hit me again!” I would just laugh along with him, especially since I was not the one who had to clean the mess out of my trees. He was surprised at the increase in his popularity in those years, and I was more than happy to let him revel in the joy of his students’ love for him. However, he grew older and eventually left us. At first I was at a loss as to what to do. But it wasn’t long until a new faculty member joined our department. I nonchalantly asked him where he lived, and then memorized his address. Soon his house was getting hit by an exorbitant amount of certain squeezably soft personal paper products. But then I made a big mistake. One Halloween, when the students asked me where I lived, I put my colleague’s address on the board. I moved on with my class and forgot about it. As my lecture was ending, before I had a chance to erase the board, he walked in to prepare his class. With shock, he asked what his address was doing up there. My students 8