Awkward Talk

I looked at the clock on the hotel wall which showed 5:12 pm.  The conference that day was winding down and so were we.
    He just stood there as if he were one of us.  He owned the awkwardness and wasn't apologizing for it. 
    The rest of us worked closely together and were about to plan where we would eat for dinner.  But there he was.
    He must've been talking to someone in our group, I thought, almost subconsciously.  This is the place to network and meet people.  But none in my group was talking to him and he just stood there, out of place. 
    Then three of us broke away to form a smaller group, to his left.  Zack and I were cornered on his other side, blocked partially by his position and the fact that he was looking expectantly at us.  It was as if he knew something we didn't.
    What was left of his hair angled raggedly from the side-patches of his balding head.  He slight of build and must've been in his 50s or 60s.  His smile was more like a gaze and his awkward silence put Zack and I at a loss.  Who was this guy and why was he standing here?  His conference name tag said "Brown University" on the first line and "Issaac Capernick" on the second.  It sounded like a good name for a scientist.  I wondered if he was doing research.
    He was an oddity; his belt, a rope, held together by a hastily tied knot.  His shoes, socks-in-sandals, with a toe or two protruding through sock-holes.  Silver chains hung in U-shapes from his rope-belt, chiming softly off of his worn green cargo pants every time he shifted position.  There were noticably more chains than necessary for an average number of keys, a stopwatch, a good-luck rabbit foot, and anything else imaginable.
    He must be a smart dude, I thought.  Smart, but strange.  Computer technology is an ocean of socially handicapped intellectuals.  I jumped in anyway.
    "Soo, you're with Brown - do you teach or are you in research?"  I asked, venturing into the unknown he so unconsentingly projected.
    He nodded, saying nothing, his gaze squarely aimed my way now... pause... still nodding...  Was I missing the hidden message?  The moment stretched into several as I computed gaze + nod.
    "Both??" I finally asked.
    "Yes, I teach," he seemed to conclude.  Did that mean he didn't do research?   I should've phrased the question better.
    "So, you are in research?" I asked, trying to clarify.
    "Yes," he replied with insufficient elaboration.
    His gaze returned and suddenly placed me in a freeze-framed scene, where everything is lifeless and motionless, except you.  It wasn't real.  Zack was frozen too, but in a happy way.  It was as if his ice-state was self initiated and conscious.  Minutes or hours could have passed and it all would've felt same.  The moment seemed an eternity.
    "Have you been teaching for long?" I asked, unfreezing the scene.  I wished Zack would help but I started to suspect Zack, my demented friend, was getting a kick out off the eerie development.
    "27 years...," he said, nodding some more.  It seemed like he wanted acknowledgment, but, for what?  He was a frictionless head nodding machine, and seemed to suggest that acknowledgement was definitely needed.  Must be a Brown thing.  He must be used to people acting weird about his credentials, I thought.  Eternity looped into another frozen scene with head-nodding thrown in.
    "Wow," I said, with psuedo interest, barely breaking away from the timeless spell in which I had nearly become captive.
    Then it occurred to me that I really couldn't have known the difference if he was a Nobel Prize winner or just an eccentric with a professorship.  I recommitted to refocusing and giving the scenario my best.
    "I've been there since I was 18. Computer Science," he said, with surprising conversational generosity.
    "That's a long time," I replied.  Maybe he'd be interested in a recent brainstorm I had.  It occurred to me that it would be interesting to get perspective from someone so rock solid in CS fundamentals.
    It was his turn to ask a question or continue talking so, I waited for him to continue.  Except, he didn't.  After another record breaking pause, I finally relented.
    "I've been thinking about an idea to write a Linux port that..."
    "Like Redhat??" he interrupted, the gaze replaced now by a changed, half-twisted smile that seemed to hint of mocking disdain for my utterance.  I knew why he asked but I hadn't finished my sentence.  He had stopped me in mid-sentence.  How could he know what could come next?  Are all Linux ports, no matter what the reason, a ridiculous notion to him?  I thought as I considered my response and starting doubting the value in trying to continue.
    It seemed to be getting late and I remembered how hungry I was.  The conversation had gone on much longer than I had anticipated and when I spoke, it echoed off of timeless, impenatrable walls.
    I resumed, "...port Linux, for an OS targeted at..."  As I spoke, I realized I first needed to assert a critical assumption in my line of reasoning or my idea wouldn't make it out of the gate.  "I should preface my idea by saying: assume bandwidth isn't a factor..."
    "But it is," he interrupted again, his smile irritating me, now.  The good will I gave him at the outset had just expired.  His expression now seemed more like Brown crust, baked-on by years of eccentricity and disconnectedness from the real world.  He looked haggard and pathetic as he started nodding again, clearly believing he had sufficiently addressed whatever I might have to say.  If it was even possible, another eternity seemed to pass as I considered what to say next.
    "I know, but, for discussion's sake, imagine that bandwidth isn't an issue," I said, increasingly exhasperated.  I didn't wait for another interruption;  "In theor..."
    "Latency is always increasing," he interrupted again.  Come on, man!  Let me finish!
    Then I wondered; is that true?  Is network latency always increasing?  But who really knows?  Not me.  It was an unnecessary obstacle in the path to my proposition.  It was a path I had now lost interest in. 
    Each slow second now became a conscious tick that demanded my exclusive awareness and seemed to resonate in perfect harmony with each irrational nod of his toy-like head.
    "That may be true," I finally returned, giving my best head-nod as I faked thoughtful consideration for his position.  He didn't deserve the lie but I didn't know him, so I dispensed the last drop in the benefit of my doubt.
    It was a good that became conscious Zack's absence.  How could I have missed his escape?  I looked around and saw Zack several feet away, walking towards the exit with rest of the crew.  I found myself one-on-one with Brown crust.
    "You coming, Ben?" John called out as he walked backwards, facing me.   
    "Be right there, " I replied, then turned back to face my nod-versationalist.  I did the only remaining thing possible and extended my hand for a cordial handshake, goodbye.  There was no ignoring the reality of my impending departure.
    "Well, enjoy the rest of the conference," I said.  His hand was disgracefully passionless and weak as it shook mine.  Then I turned and moved in a shuffle to catch up with the crew.  As I was turning, I noticed the clock.  It was only 5:14.