One day in class (though I can't recall which), I drifted into a certain daydream which I am quite positive every man who has been alive and bored at the same time has entertained at some point in his life ... or perhaps just me. It's the one where nuclear fallout or some other Will-Smithian disaster has just occurred outside (the details of which are not too important), trapping me and the rest of my classmates (thanks to the zombies in the hallways) for the rest of the foreseeable future in some Spartan classroom in Humanities, let us say. (A variant of the scenario involves scientists, a space station and a flesh-eating plague, but the end result is the same.) As the tragic yet oddly intriguing truth dawns on those of us in the room that we may never again see the outside world, that our loved ones will have to be shoddily replaced by either some hussy from the suburbs of Chicago or some weirdo from Wauwatosa, the class eagerly drops whatever topic the TA had been prodding us with like a rock to begin overhauling the little learning community we had into a functioning society of survivors.
It takes about 10 minutes of pacing around and raising and lowering of arms before everyone is sufficiently convinced that their cell phones will not get any service, so the actual society-building business is somewhat delayed. The TA's authority has been subverted by an onset of raging hysteria, and in the confusion of the first moments an alpha male has yet to emerge, so initially things are quite democratic. As everyone happened to bring bagged lunches that day, it is decided that we are set regarding the food, and naturally everyone, without a word, senses the next order of business is to partner off into mating pairs to ensure successful population replacement, should the situation of the first order of business change.
At this point in the daydream (which is really the whole point of it in the first place), I scan the room to select my Eve, which, back in the daydream, I coolly lock eyes with (she was thinking the same thing) and give her my best how 'bout it?"" shrug. Unfortunately, the guy sitting closest to her was also thinking the same thing (it's an economics discussion - slim pickings), and it becomes clear she has another suitor. Immediately, our animal instincts take hold, and my rival and I stand, click our ballpoint pens into write/impale mode and begin to slowly circle each other within the ring of foaming spectators that has quickly formed around us, while our prize wears a detached look about her and watches on. Things escalate quickly (as they usually do in daydreams), and the crowd is sent into a mad frenzy of cries and howls when I decapitate my foe with a desk to the head. I am immediately proclaimed dictator for life, and life in the classroom society of room 2611 passes peacefully (and well-populated) under my reign, until I lose interest in my constructed universe and abandon it to doodle on a newspaper until the 11:50 bell sounds.
Some would say it's obvious I did not learn anything passing class in such a manner. But as a matter of fact, I did, you priggish simpleton, and you know what? I even feel benevolent enough to pass it on: For those who find themselves in a similar situation, or to be technical, put themselves in such a situation, when you practice that little ""how 'bout it"" shrug, make sure the person isn't looking back at you, because they usually have no idea what's going on inside your head, and trying to explain things afterward sort of gets a little tricky. I guess the moral here, if there is one, is fight the zombies first, because then you'll probably start doodling way before you get the chance to look like a total creep. But that's just me.
Have you survived a similar situation? E-mail David at dhottinger@wisc.edu.
