Chapter 6
Arthur
Two Weeks Later
Freshers went by in a blink of an eye. It mostly consisted of chilling with Sam, going out for food, and catching up on some of the sci-fi books I lugged with me, (whilst I still had time to bask in the glory of reading for pleasure, knowing that in 2 weeks, my course reading would have me in a death grip). I had a serious case of the Sunday night scaries yesterday and as I’ve woken up this morning, I think it’s safe to say you can forget the Monday morning scaries, and rather the Monday morning I-run-the-risk-of-shitting-myself, terror. I set my alarm for 6 am, but if you think that I’ve had an even remotely restful night’s sleep, one without any tossing, turning, and overthinking all night long, you’d be very, very wrong. My reflection in the mirror of my ensuite reflects exactly how I feel on the inside right now, rough. My eyes are bloodshot, my hair is sticking out in all sorts of weird directions and my face looks so puffy, I look like that photo of Bear Grylls when a bee stung him.
My lecture starts at 9 am and I wanted to give myself at least 3 hours to get prepared and make sure I got the bus on time, (cue my dad saying ‘I told you so’). I have the world’s quickest wash in the lukewarm shower, creep to the kitchen to grab some toast and a cup of the strongest tea I could find for my caffeine fix, and then proceed to sit on my bed and check my bag over and over again. I realistically know nothing has magically disappeared since the last 30 times I checked, but you can never be too sure. I’ve left myself a good hour to sit and rehearse all of the fake conversations with all the hypothetical students that I could meet on my course today. I know it makes me sound like an actual fruit loop, but it’s a ritual I just can’t break. Likely, I won’t even end up starting any conversations anyway, but I’m just planning for the possibility of someone approaching me. Although I’m a staunch Atheist, I’m praying to all that is holy that there are no icebreakers, I’d honestly rather eat horse manure and vacate the room right there and then.
◆◆◆
I already did a test run of the bus route to campus to try and make sure that I could find the building I was due to go to for my first lecture. I don’t want to be that studentwho turns up late and has to do the walk of shame whilst every head turns to look at them in a vomit-inducing silence, I swear it’s every student’s worst nightmare, (besides blowing all your student loan money, hearing your flatmates doing the dirty through the walls and you know, failing your degree). I head over to the Newton building, map in hand, navigating like an awkward year 7 on their first day of secondary school. I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I arrive inside and realise, I have found the correct room. My first lecture of the day is ‘Introduction to Social Psychology’ and trust me, I see the irony in that, someone like me daring to do a psychology degree when I have my fair share of psychological issues. But to be honest, that’s kind of the point. Psychology has always fascinated me since GCSE and as cliché as it sounds, as much as I want to understand how other people tick, I also want to better understand myself. The double doors to the lecture theatre are currently ajar, I can spot a few heads spread out among the vast crowd of seats with ‘Welcome to Social Psychology’ and ‘Dr Louisa Smyth’ plastered in big purple letters next to a generic cartoon brain on the projector. I tiptoe into the room, gripping my laptop for dear life as the clammy hands make their recurring appearance. Avoiding eye contact and being the absolute social butterfly that I am, I quickly tap my student card on the buzzer to sign in and sit as far away as humanely possible from everyone else.
Smooth Arthur. Real smooth.
An Auburn-haired woman in a long floral dress, with glasses perched on the tip of her nose gives me the cheesiest of beams from the front of the room. Judging by the ‘staff’ lanyard around her neck and the fact she’s standing directly next to the board, tells me that she’s the lecturer, at least I hope so, or she’s just a very eager student. She walks over to me and passes me a handout of today’s lecture slides; I give my best I’m-not-a-mess-I-promise smile and take the sheets from her.
Jesus,there are 70 slides. It’s only an hour lecture and there’s a related seminar directly afterward so I don’t see in what world we can cover this amount of content in one hour. My brain is already starting to feel scrambled and the lecture hasn’t even started yet.
The crowds of students start to flood in now, punctuality clearly didn’t mean as much as I thought it did. The lecture theatre piles up easily to around 100 students, tons of hoodies, colourful thermal water bottles, Apple MacBook’s, and pyjamas fill the room, yes, someone is wearing literal banana pyjamas in here for reasons god only knows. The muffled buzz of the room grinds to a halt as Dr Smyth speaks into the microphone with a much-too-cheery for 9 am, “Good Morning everyone, and Welcome to Social Psychology!”
Silence.
At least I can be at peace knowing everyone in here is feeling just as awkward as I am. She carries on chirping as if unenthusiastic students are just part and parcel of the job.
“I’m Dr Louisa Smyth, but please just call me Louisa. Now, I’m not going to lie to you guys, this module will challenge you. But as humans, isn’t that what it’s all about? It’s only when you’re pushed to your limits that you learn what you’re truly capable of after all.”
She taps her clicker and the first slide of the lecture pops up on the screen, introducing us to the syllabus that we’ll be covering during the year. I inwardly cheered when I saw that we’d be starting the course with the topic of social conformity and thereby learning all about Milgram’s (1963) experiment on obedience, I always found the findings so terrifying. The fact that more than 60% of the participants went up to 450 volts and were willing to hurt another human, simply because an ‘authority’ figure told them to do so. Mental.
The communal symphony of keyboard tapping is in full force as she begins teaching. I know I likely won’t need to remember every single sentence, but will that stop me from making sure I get down every shred of information so I can absorb it into my brain like a sponge? No, no it will not. Louisa is just in the middle of asking the silent room whether we believe cultural norms affect levels of conformity when she’s suddenly disrupted by a huge crash. Just like in my vast bank of nightmares, every head in the room turns in one synchronised sweep towards the culprit who must have been running late and for some odd reason, thought that hurling the door open at supersonic speed was the best way to make an entrance. I try to refrain from turning my head and staring, but it’s like a car crash, I just can’t look away. I settle for a glance over my shoulder and, oh no.
No, no, no. I know that face. She’s sporting the same look of guilt as the night she vomited all over me.
It’s her.
She’s desperately scanning the room for a seat, her Black leather bag hanging so far off her shoulder it’s practically on the floor. She’s cradling a bunch of black binders that say, ‘Witch please,’ and I can hear her intense rapid breathing from over here, you’d have thought she’d given Usain Bolt a run for his money, considering how badly she was fighting for her breath.
And now she’s quickly making her way over, her flared black jumpsuit swishing as she passes to the first empty seat…which is right next to me. oh fuck, why. WHY.
I try my best to swallow down the massive lump in my throat and keep my eyes firmly on the screen.
“Excuse me...sorry...excuse me!” I hear her mutter as she skirts through the rows of people until she eventually reaches the empty seat next to mine. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, “sorry, is this seat taken?,” she whispers.
My eyes still glued straight ahead; I shake my head.
She’s sat so close to me now I can feel the heat of her leg from under the velvety fabric pressed against mine, and although usually, my heart would be singing at the thought of a pretty girl sitting practically on my lap, I can’t ignore the fact that the last time I was graced with her presence, I was also graced with the contents of her stomach. The even more annoying thing about it is she doesn’t even seem to remember. My muscle memory from the night takes over and I shuffle my leg away, trying my absolute best to focus on social psychological theories rather than the girl next to me.
“Have you got a spare pen I can borrow?,” she whispers.
My heart rate picks up, I don’t want to have to talk to her. I know it makes me appear like the world’s biggest dick, but not only do I feel an anxious mess at the prospect of talking to her anyway, but dare I also say, kind of resentful? I try and shift those thoughts down briefly and reach up to pick a blue biro out of my backpack. Avoiding eye contact at all costs so as not to get flashbacks of puke-gate, I pass it to her.
“Ah Legend, thank you!,” she beams. I know she was drunk out of her mind that night so it’s pathetic of me to even entertain the idea that she might remember, but I just hate the fact that I’d put myself out of my comfort zone for one night and because of her, it immediately got cut short. Now, she’s sat next to me asking for a pen like I’m just some random guy.
Thankfully, she seems to ignore me for the remainder of the lecture, so as Louisa finishes, I quickly begin packing up my bag and plan my escape route. I guess I didn’t plan efficiently enough for the hustle and bustle of the room though, when nearly 100 students are frantically trying to make a break for it all at once. Despite feeling intensely claustrophobic as I try to squeeze through the crowd, I somehow make it out unscathed.
According to my trusty map of the campus, my seminar is in the same building on the first floor, so I avoid the hoard of students congregating in the lift and head up the staircase. The common area is vast, filled with funky neon tables with built-in USBs, separate studying booths, huge toilets that look more like a futuristic spaceship, and tons of white doors with various room numbers. I find the room that has, ‘105’ in bold, metal letters spread across the door. There’s a small queue of students outside so I awkwardly perch behind them and pretend to browse through my phone.
“Do you think they’re going to let us in any time soon or make us stand out here all day?,” a familiar peppy voice says into my ear.
Oh Christ, not her again.
To say I jump is the understatement of the year, I physically throw my phone into the air, (seriously, what is it with this girl and nearly breaking my phone?). I scramble around on the floor for the metallic Blue iPhone 11, that miraculously survived the impact.
“I’m so sorry!” she squeals. “Ughh. Can you believe that’s the second time I’ve nearly broken someone’s phone this week?,” her face engulfed by a mix of both horror and guilt.
Before I have time to stop myself and realise that my brain is in fact, connected to my mouth, I mumble, “Oh, I can.”
Her bottom lip immediately droops in defeat, her eyes looking genuinely sad, and I suddenly feel horrible.
I could just tell her now that it was me during that night and clear the air, but I feel like I have a shield in front of me at all times, preventing anyone from getting in and preventing me from getting out. Even if I wanted to admit it, I couldn’t, because the doors to the seminar room opened, and just as rapidly as she arrived, she’d gone inside.
The seminar only has around 15 people in it. Great for less chaotic exits, but not so great for more chances of being picked on for answers. Really not great for the fact that our seminar leader, a blonde guy called ‘Jordan,’ who only looks freshly graduated himself, decides to do an icebreaker. Surely if he’s in his 20’s you’d think he’d understand and share the mutual hatred of icebreakers.
Have you ever had one of those dreams where you turn up naked at a social event?
This is the same embarrassment I feel right now as he points around the room, each student stiffly introducing themselves and contributing one ‘fun fact.’ A fun fact about me is that I loathe this seminar leader already and would like nothing more than for someone to clobber him over the head right now for suggesting this stupid idea. Somehow, I don’t think that would go down very well though.
“Hi everyone!,” that same peppy voice beams from across the room, “I’m Ember. Yep, I know what you’re thinking. Her parents must hate her for naming her after a literal lump of hot coal.”
A few people snort at this. “I don’t have a fun fact in terms of things like I’ve solved world hunger or I’m a Guinness world record holder, but my party trick is that I can rap Dr Evil’s ‘Hard Knock Life’ Jail rap from Austin Powers, Gold Member, word for word.”
This earns a roar of laughter from the whole room now, and I struggle to hold back a smile at thatvery odd, and weirdly specific fact. Also, I can’t help but notice that I finally have a name for her, Ember. That’s a new one. Unique. Pretty even.
I shake off that random thought and can feel myself scorching like red-hot fire when Jordan points to me. My ears ring and my mouth goes dry as if I’ve inhaled a gallon of sawdust. My brain goes into a hazed fog.
“And your name is?,” Jordan repeats as 15 eyes all bore onto me.
“Uhhh- Arthur,” I manage to croak, saying it more to the table, than him.
“Nice to meet you Arthur, any fun facts you fancy sharing?”
Jordan mate. Can you not tell that I DO NOT want to do this?
I avert my gaze only briefly across the room and end up locking eyes with Ember. Considering the level of dickish I was with her earlier, you wouldn’t be able to tell by the most warm and reassuring smile she gave me. I can’t describe it. It’s almost as if she’s subconsciously letting me know that I won’t implode if I speak in front of everyone. I divert my eyes back to Jordan who is looking more pained by the second.
“Uhm- I’m from Wool in Dorset. It’s about 15 minutes away from Durdle Door. Errr- it’s not a fun fact, but I like to go bodyboarding on my own down there when there are no tourists.”
“Lucky! I love Durdle Door,” a random girl pipes up from the opposite side of the room.
I gawkily smile and squeeze my hands under the table in relief.
◆◆◆
After an abysmal 15 minutes of ice-breaking, Jordan goes over all the assessment material for the module. I find out that we have a 2,500-word essay and we can pick one out of five topics to choose from. The nerd in me fills with glee when I realise there’s a question on how Milgram’s (1963) study on obedience can explain the social conformity seen by Nazis during the Holocaust, (and no I’m not some creep who gets off on dark topics, I just feel an inch of confidence that it’s something I might be able to do well). However, my brief sense of victory is exactly that when Jordan announces the second assessment topic, a presentation. I can hear the collective groan of the room when he explains that he will be putting us into groups of three to present on the different topics of the module. It honestly feels like I can’t get five minutes to breathe. Presentations are just such a ridiculous addition to the education system. They don’t take into consideration different learning styles or the fact that some people have crippling social anxiety. You could be the smartest person in the world on paper, but if you stumble in a presentation because of fear, you can flunk an entire grade. It makes zero sense.
Jordan’s voice grows louder over the inevitable mumbles of annoyance in the room, “Guys, guys. It’s really not a big deal. You’ll be in a group, you’ll share the workload, and it only works out 10 minutes of individual contribution, with a few minutes left for a Qamp;A.”
Oh Great! Only 10 minutes of me fumbling like an absolute idiot then.
I think Jordan can tell he’s fooling no one with his sugarcoating. He coughs and says, “If some of you have any special requirements, I can allow you additional time of around 10 minutes.”
See, I’ve never understood that. One, I hate the way he says ‘special requirements’ as if he’s a waiter asking if we have any allergies in a restaurant. Two, if the whole reason you struggle with a presentation is because of the fear of public speaking, then how is extra time going to help? Yet another reason why the system is so flawed. Either way, it’s something I’ll have to accept as it’s the first assessment we have coming up. He says to make it fair; he’d already put all of our names into a hat and drew them out into groups of three. He goes through each group, my name nowhere to be heard and my knees jiggling quicker by the second in anticipation.
“And finally, Arthur Kirby, Caleb Jones, and Ember Hallow.”
I swear the universe is testing me right now.
I think I’ve just found Caleb judging by the direction of the grunt sound in response. Aka, the guy who is currently half-asleep, slouched over his desk with a hood on his head. That’s reassuring.
Jordan continues, “I advise you all meet up at least once every week leading up to the deadline to make sure you’re all clear of what each of you is doing and then you can rehearse together and time yourselves.”
It’s clear he wants to avoid any confrontation with students about the assessment, so he finishes the seminar after only 30 minutes, telling us that he needs to head out as he has a meeting to go to. A meeting in the middle of your scheduled first seminar of the year? A cop-out more like. I know that this is the time we should ideally be spending to arrange to meet up with our groups, but I’m pretty sure Caleb has fallen asleep and although I can see a very much awake Ember in my peripheral, I just can’t garner the confidence to talk to her right now. On that note, following Jordan’s suit, I pack up my bag, grab my laptop and add yet another dickish thing to my list, I leave.