Psychology, Redux

“What’s up?” you say, taking a seat in the back next to Vishal again.

“Cheers friend,” Vishal replies, stifling a yawn. He looks real exhausted.

“Had a late night yesterday?” you ask.

“More like a real early morning,” he says, rubbing an eye and taking out a notebook. He looks at it, frowns, returns it to his bag and pulls out another one. “My focking girlfriend’s still in London, and she wanted to talk before her classes started, you know how it is.”

“Sounds brutal man,” you say, giving him a sympathetic look. “Going from the UK to here in the States—there aren’t many of your countrymen who do that. Why’d you come here for college?”

“I didn’t know what I wanted to read,” Vishal shrugs. “Also, I kinda focked up my Oxford interviews, so… not much of a choice there.”

“I’ve heard those are tough,” you commiserate, and Vishal nods, looking a bit despondent. He perks up a little, though, as Sarah walks in, flanked by a crew of guys trying a little too hard to impress her.

“Hey, did I catch you checking out Sarah? Didn’t you just say you had a girlfriend?” you say.

“She’s a cute brunette, she looks kinda British, and fock man, I’m tired,” Vishal laughs. “Cut me some slack ‘k?”

“Just messing,” you say. “I can’t say I wasn’t doing the same to her too.”

The professor brings the class to order then, but instead of diving into the rapid-fire question-and-answer style that he seems to like, he begins with some announcements: “I’ve gotten a few complaints about the way I teach this class. If you don’t like it, take it up with the founders of our department. Their graves are down by Nassau, in case you were unaware. Participation is the lifeblood of our classroom, and you’ll be thanking me when the exams roll around and you’ve answered questions just as hard in twice as stressful of a situation.

“Next. Your project for the semester. Because this is an introductory class, you lot are still bumbling fools who don’t know how to conduct an experiment. I’ll spare you all the embarrassment from having to call some n = 12 bogus shit with p-values out of the wazoo real science; instead, you’re going to learn how to properly run experiments. Luckily for you, we have a world-class psychology department that is always looking for bumbling undergrads like you to fill up their studies.

“What does that mean, exactly? It means that, for your final project, you are going to need to participate in no less than three different experiments run by our beloved Psych Department. By the end of the semester, I want to see write-ups about the methodology used, the way the study was conducted, and how you would have improved upon its design and implementation. Questions? No? Good. Let’s jump into the Erikson. He describes the central crisis of intimacy against isolation after one’s formative years; can someone discuss how this might be affected by the rise of online dating?”

A dozen hands shoot up, and the professor instantly calls on one of them. The guy, fit, tall, and Asian, shoots a winning look at Sarah, before launching into a quick, concise answer that sounds like it was lifted straight out of a textbook.

“Solid,” the professor retorts, “but we must not forget how support networks for ostracized groups also check back against these effects that you mentioned, much less the presence of specialised apps for specific demographics and fetishes.” He goes through a quick aside and lobs another question to the class. You raise your hand a beat late for this one, and so he opts to call one of the other students. Shit.

The class passes by quickly, the rapid back and forth between professor and students keeping you on your toes as you try to insert yourself into the conversation. You have little more luck than in the prior class, but feel yourself starting to tune into the rhythm of the class. Besides you, Vishal is almost nodding off, his eyes zoning in and out as he struggles to keep awake. You shake him once or twice, and he gives you a thankful smile.

By the third time, class is over, and Vishal slumps over the desk, falling asleep as the mass of students pour out of the lecture hall. You’ve got a chemistry lab next, but snap a picture of Vishal sleeping for future use before you head out.

Vishal +5