The Quad, 0813
Chris Miller is not excited about his first day at community college. He's not excited to be back in Colorado, or back in Greendale. He's really not excited to be living in his parent's basement on the wrong side of thirty. The whole point of joining the military and getting married was to avoid the whole Colorado, Greendale, parents' basement scenario. But thanks to one little (series of escalating) mistake(s), both the military and his wife decided they didn't want Sergeant First Class Miller anymore.
Since a dishonorable discharge means no more G.I. Bill, tuition assistance, or any other kind of financial aid, his college options are limited. The University of Phoenix finally lost its accreditation. City College is out of his budget. Subway's Sandwich University wouldn't admit him. So really, Greendale Community College is his only option.
He decides to make the best of it as he strides onto campus. He's slept in holes (that he dug himself), eaten his weight in MRE's, and literally gotten shot at. Despite Greendale's frankly illustrious reputation, it is a legitimate school that can set him on a path to a legitimate career. Which is more than he can say about drinking and sulking in his parents' basement.
"Good morning," a small, bald, bespectacled man says into a megaphone on the quad. "Many of you are starting your first week here at Greendale, and as your Dean, I thought I would share a few thoughts of wisdom and inspiration." Chris stops to listen. The Dean probably has something important to say if he's addressing students directly. Like when the Commander addresses the formation. "What is community college? Well, you've heard all kinds of things. You've heard it's loser college for remedial teens, twenty-something dropouts, middle-aged divorcees, and old people keeping their minds active as they circle the drain of eternity." Chris is still waiting for the wisdom and inspiration part. "That's what you've heard. However, I wish you luck!" The Dean seems confused, then annoyed, as if the speech he was giving came to an abrupt and unexpected end. "Oh come on! Where is that middle card? I'm missing a note card people. Can we all look around our immediate areas? And can somebody check my office? Frankie? Frankie!"
Chris sighs. Wisdom and inspiration are likely in short supply around here.
At Least It Was Here - The 88
Starring:
Chris Evans
Kat Dennings
Daniel Radcliffe
Melissa McCarthy
Naomi Scott
Mena Massoud
with
Ken Jeong
and
Samuel L. Jackson
The Guidance Counselor's Office, 0830
The pretty blonde in the faux leather jacket and tight jeans isn't quite what Chris expected when he entered the guidance counselor's office. He was expecting someone a bit more, well, matronly than sexy. He didn't realize that colleges even had guidance counselors. She looks about his age, maybe a little older, not that he's looking. The divorce is still too fresh in his memory to consider dating. Plus there's the fact that he hasn't been on a first date in over ten years.
Still, she is hot though.
"Hey there…new student " Hot Blonde Guidance Counselor says in a tone that is friendly, but betrays that she isn't properly prepared for this meeting. Maybe she's new at the job. "Sorry, I don't know your name and pronouns yet."
"It's Christopher Miller. Chris." He offers his hand. "And um, he/him? No one ever asked for his pronouns before, but he's seen people put it on their Twitter profiles.
"You don't seem very sure of that. It's okay if you're questioning."
"I'm sure," he says politely.
"Awesome. Britta Perry. She/her," she says as she shakes his hand. "You can call me Britta, AKA your guidance counselor, AKA the best friend and ally you'll meet here." She seems...intense. "I'm here to counsel you and provide you with guidance, both academic and emotional during your time here at Greendale. And while I'm legally obligated to tell you that I am not technically a mental health professional yet," (That's weirdly specific), "I am a good listener and an even better advice giver."
"Okay…" Chris says, unsure what to make of all that.
"Cool. So, let's take a look at that schedule, shall we?" She types something into the computer. "Psychology 101, nice. You'll like Professor Duncan. He's one of the few teachers here that actually has a PhD. And he's three years sober now, which has really improved his performance." Chris shrugs. High-functioning alcoholism is something he can relate to unfortunately. "By the way, are you interested in participating in a psychological experiment?" Britta, (like the water filter?) askes eagerly. "I'm this close to finishing my Master's."
He is not. "Um…"
"You don't have to answer right now. Let's see. History of Ice Cream? Nice. I wish I could've taken that class." Wait, is she a student? Or former student perhaps? "Weird. Ladders got cut years ago. Not sure why that's still in the system. That's okay, we can find something else to fill out your schedule. What's your major? I probably should have asked you that first."
"I haven't decided yet," Chris says sheepishly. He has no idea what he's doing when it comes to this whole college thing. He filled out his course schedule based on what seemed interesting at the time, which in retrospect seems like a mistake.
"I'm just going to put down Psychology." Chris assumes he can change it later. "Let's see. Fundamentals of Law with Professor Winger. Don't tell him I told you this because his ego doesn't need any more stroking," Britta says conspiratorially, "but he's one of the best teachers here. Still, you'll only get as much out of that class as you put into it though, so fair warning. What else. Intro to Film. Totally a blow off class, but don't tell Abed I said that." Chris has no idea who Abed is. "And last but not least, Math 125 with Chang." Britta frowns. "Yikes. Chang's even less qualified to teach math than he is to teach Spanish, which is not at all, so good luck with that."
"Seriously?" Chris asks. How bad can this guy be if another faculty member is willing to openly denigrate him in front of a student. Granted, Britta doesn't seem to be the pinnacle of professionalism, but still.
Britta shrugs. "Unfortunately, he's the only math teacher and you need it to meet your gen ed requirements, so unless you want to take a class at City College, which is where dreams go to die, he's your only option," she explains. "You should join and/or start a study group if you're gonna get through Chang's class."
"A study group? Really?" Chris asks skeptically.
"Trust me. This place can be a crazy town banana pants," she says, like that's an expression people routinely use. "You'll need a study group to get through the next six years with your sanity intact."
Chris's eyes widen. "Don't most people graduate from community college in two years?" he asks, alarmed.
"It takes some of us longer than others."
Math 125, 0930
Chris's first class doesn't leave him feeling optimistic about the quality of the faculty at Greendale Community College.
"Every once in a while, a student will ask, 'Señor Chang, why do you teach Spanish?" the insane little Asian man calling himself Señor Chang says. "They say it just like that. 'Why you? Why not math? Why not photography? Why not martial arts?' I mean, surely it must be in my nature to instruct you in something that's ancient and secret like, oh, building a wall that you can see from outer space."
Chris looks around the room, only to find everyone else looks equally confused. "Well, I'll tell you why I teach Spanish," Chang continues. "It is none of your business, okay? Now, I don't wanna have any conversations about what a mysterious, inscrutable man I am. I am a Spanish genius!" Chang roars. "In Español my nickname is El Tigre Chino."
Chris raises his hand. "You, beefcake. What do you want?" Chang demands.
Chris assumes he's the beefcake. He does put in a lot of time at the gym after all. And he has his hand up. "Um, am I in the right class?" he asks.
"En Español, por favor."
"Perdón," Chris replies in flawless Spanish. "Pensé que esto era Matemáticas ciento veinticinco."
Chang stares at Chris incredulously. "What?"
"Is this Math 125?" Chris asks, doubly confused. "Am I in the wrong class?"
Chang gives it some thought. "No you're right. My bad. This is Math 125. That was a test." That seems like a lie. "Let me Chang (not change) gears here. First question: If you're on a work release program for seven years, and it's been five years, how many years do I have left before I can leave?"
"You're on work release?" a dark haired woman in the front row asks. She sounds alarmed.
Señor Chang makes an obnoxious buzzer sound. "Wrong! What are you, stupid? The answer is I am never leaving! Now, for your next assignment, I want you all to help me improve my Grindr profile, because no one is swiping right. Here's my username and password. Username is Chang. That's C-H-A-N-G. Password is P-A-S-S…"
Outside Borchert Hall, 1017
Chris feels like he's lost his way, metaphorically and literally. He isn't sure where his next class is or if he should even go to it. The military gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Greendale on the other hand seems distinctly directionless. He's seriously considering writing off the whole experiment.
"Looks as if you've lost your way," a man says from behind him.
Chris turns around to find himself face to face with a ghost. A mind-reading ghost.
"What the hell?" he yelps. He slaps himself to be sure, but the blue translucent figure of a portly, balding man with glasses and an aw shucks vibe doesn't disappear.
"Continue on this path, and you might miss your last chance. Don't turn your back on…" The ghost glitches briefly. Do ghosts glitch? "...Greendale. Take it from a man with no legal right to be there. You're in a special place. A crappy place, sure, but only because it gives crappy people a chance to sort themselves out."
"Found it!"
Chris looks over to find a tall brunette dressed like a lawyer or some other professional, which makes her stick out compared to the other students and faculty here, who are generally dressed more casually. She's running in heels, which is impressive.
"You saw it too, right?" she asks, breathless.
"The ghost?" Chris asks. It disappears by the time he turns around, as ghosts tend to do, he assumes.
"It's not a ghost. Not a literal ghost. I can assure you of that," she insists. "It's more like a computer virus. A very stubborn computer virus."
"Oh. Do you work in the IT department or something?" Chris asks.
"Why does everyone ask me that?" she replies irritably. "Debra quit years ago."
"Who's Debra?" Chris asks, but Not Debra From IT is furiously texting. As he waits for her to finish, the PA system crackles to life.
"Attention all Greendale students and faculty," a voice Chris is pretty sure belongs to the Dean says over the speakers. "Quick reminder. Any holograms you may encounter and any racist, sexist, ableist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamophobic, transphobic, or otherwise discriminatory views expressed by said holograms do not represent Greendale Community College or its views. Thank you, and remember: at Greendale Community College, you're already accepted."
Chris has about a dozen more questions, but Not Debra points at her phone apologetically. "Elroy? It's Frankie," she says to Elroy, which is apparently a name people still give to their children. "Yes, another one. Yes now. Because, it's bad enough that this school has a reputation of being haunted by the ghost of Pierce Hawthorne. I don't need a hologram reinforcing the myth and/or sexually harassing our female students."
The hologram, which appears to have a sense of comedic timing, crackles back to life. "Some women can't take a compliment," the digital ghost of Pierce Hawthorne says.
Frankie groans. Chris shakes his head.
Fundamentals of Law, 1114
The first thing Chris notices when he takes a seat in the back row of his Fundamentals of Law class is that the first two rows are filled with female students, save for one very gay (is it okay to say that?) male student. The second thing Chris notices is why. Professor Winger clearly takes care of himself. He's a tall, fit, handsome, forty-something that clearly puts a lot of effort into and takes a lot of pride in his appearance. He maintains a certain devil-may-care attitude and he exudes an effortless charm that clearly has an impact on many of the women and at least one of the men in the class. He seems knowledgeable, or at least confident, which according to him goes a long way in the courtroom.
"Let me tell you something my best friend and most insufferable student taught me," he says during the lecture. Most of the class laughs. "If I want to win an argument with her, I don't argue. I let her argue with herself until she loses. Anyone that tries to argue has already lost, because they pick an argument to lose." His delivery has a practiced cadence to it, like he's said it several times before. "Prosecutors beat themselves because they draw a circle around something called 'The Truth,' and they say that everything outside it is a lie. But in doing so, they're assuming a burden of proof above and beyond 'innocent until proven guilty.' All you have to do is point out where they've failed to meet it. That's why I never lost a case." He flashes a cocky grin. "Now, we're almost out of time, so let me give you a little unsolicited advice."
A girl in the front row raises her hand. "Um, there's fifteen minutes left in class," she says before waiting to be called on.
"According to you," Professor Winger retorts. "Prove it."
"Well, my phone says it's 11:15, and class doesn't end until 11:30."
"Your phone says 11:15. That clock says it's 11:27." He points to a clock on the wall. "Should we go by the clock or by your phone?"
"My phone says 11:15 too," another student chimes in.
"Interesting, but irrelevant, since time is relative and I can end class whenever I feel like it," Professor Winger says with an indifferent shrug. "Now, as I was saying, consider me and basically every other teacher in America a cautionary tale. If we could do, we wouldn't be teaching." Chris wonders how a seemingly talented lawyer got stuck teaching, but doesn't ask. "So if you phone it in and try to coast through here by doing the bare minimum, then you too can enjoy spending the rest of your life stuck in a career where mediocrity is the best you can aspire to."
Chris hears the door open behind him, but doesn't look over to see who entered. He's fascinated by the change in Professor Winger's expression. Throughout the whole lecture he's been aloof, sarcastic, self-aggrandizing, and smug. Kind of an asshole, but in a way Chris supposes some people find charming. But whoever just entered the room made Winger's face light up. Chris knows that look. He's seen it before.
It's love.
"However," he continues, "if you try, actually bust your ass and put in the work, you can be like my wife, who managed to eke out a successful career in forensics despite the fact that she went to school here too."
Chris looks over to see a pretty pale brunette in a smart blazer and slacks, very pregnant, but otherwise petite, with big blue eyes and a warm smile on her face. Chris's first thought is trophy wife, since she's thirty at most, at least a decade younger than her husband if not closer to two, but there's as much love in her eyes as there is in his.
"Don't listen to him," she says as she walks towards the front of the classroom. "He's just sulking because he has tenure."
"You say that like it's an accomplishment," Winger scoffs. "Thanks for undermining my authority on the first day. Usually you wait until I'm bored enough with them to let you guest lecture."
"Careful Professor Winger. I'll audit your class again if I have to," she teases.
"Is that a promise or a threat Agent Winger?" Professor Winger smirks.
"Can't it be both?"
"See? That's why you don't argue with Annie," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright. Go read something so I can make out with my favorite workaholic. Class dismissed."
Annie doesn't wait for the students to finish filing out of the classroom to give her husband a not all that chaste kiss, which garners a few disappointments huffs from a couple of his students, not that she's marking her territory or anything. "Hey you," she says fondly.
"Hey you," he replies. "You're early."
"My boss kicked me out of the lab. I talked her out of making me go on maternity leave for two more weeks, but she's only letting me work half-days," she explains.
"How dare she look out for your welfare? Whatever will you do with all this free time?"
"I already updated my calendar. In the meantime, I thought I'd treat my husband to lunch."
"If you want, I can cancel my afternoon class and we can make a day of it," Winger offers.
His wife swats his chest. "Jeff!" she scolds him. "It's the first day of school. You can't cancel class on the first day!"
The two of them act as though they're in their own little world.
"Technically I can do whatever I want. I have tenure," Winger grins. "Speaking of which, how would you feel about breaking in the new classroom?
Completely unaware of anyone and everything else. Chris remembers what that was like.
"Gross," Annie says, shaking her head.
"So is that a no?"
"Jeff, I'm huge," she protests, gesturing vaguely at her belly. "You cannot possibly want to have sex with me."
"You are as beautiful as you were the day I married you," he says sincerely, stroking her cheek as he kisses her.
"Awww."
"So is that a yes?"
Annie grins and takes a seat on his desk. "Lock the door," she commands him.
"As you wish milady."
Chris decides he should probably make his presence known. He was hoping to find out what he's supposed to read before the next class, which is why he stayed behind way longer than he should have. "I'm just gonna go," he says.
"Holy crap!" Jeff shouts. "Have you been sitting there the whole time?"
"I just had a question," Chris says, deciding he can't make the situation more awkward. "Which chapters did you want us to read?"
"Read Chapters One and Two. And there will be a quiz, so don't think you can get away with skimming it," Annie says. Chris gets the distinct impression that Mrs. Winger is the one that created said quiz.
"And will that quiz be short answer or multiple choice?"
"Leave!" both Wingers shout in unison.
Cafeteria, 1139
Chris opts to skip the main lunch line at the cafeteria. The food there appears somewhat less appetizing than the food he used to eat in the DFAC back when he lived in the barracks. But if the line to Shirley's Sandwiches is any indication, he should be able to get a decent meal there. The marketing material features a cardboard cutout of a curvy African American woman with a bright smile who he assumes is Shirley.
"Welcome to Shirley's Sandwiches. How can I help you?" the man behind the counter says. He's a tall lanky fellow with a mop of curly hair named Todd, according to his nametag.
"Be honest with me. Is the food here…edible?" Chris asks suspiciously. Some of the ingredient combinations seem dubious.
"Don't worry," Todd assures him. "Britta doesn't work here anymore, so the sandwiches are good now." Chris assumes Todd is talking about a different Britta. "They're made with love instead of burnt bread and incompetence."
"Got any recommendations?"
"The Troy-jan Horse is pretty good. Don't worry. There's no horse in it." Chris wasn't worried, but now he is. "It goes bread, lettuce, ham, ham, bacon, chocolate…"
"I think I'll just have a ham and cheese."
"Cool. With your military discount, that'll be six dollars even."
Chris frowns. "How'd you know I was in the military?" he asks.
"Your haircut, the way you stand, and the fact that you were my team leader back in 4th ID. We were in Iraq together," Todd explains. "Sergeant Miller, right?"
"Yeah, that's me," Chris admits sheepishly.
Chris has no idea who this guy is. Todd? Todd...something. Private...Todd?
"You don't remember me, do you?" Todd asks screwdly.
"Sorry. I led a lot of Soldiers over the years," Chris explains "Names and faces start to blend together after a while. No offense."
"None taken."
The conversation trails off from there once the two settle into that uneasy silence that comes when two veterans who otherwise have nothing in common recognize each other. Chris thanks Todd for his food and heads into the seating area to find a free chair.
He passes Professor Winger's table. He has his arm draped around his wife and is having an animated conversation with her, Señor Chang (or Professor Chang, or perhaps Mr. Chang, or maybe just Chang), and a lanky man with glasses and a mopey expression he recognizes from the faculty web page as Professor Duncan. He looks around the cafeteria, suddenly hit by First Day of School jitters all over again. He hasn't felt this way since high school. He doesn't know anyone here. Except Todd, apparently. In the military, everyone has their name literally sewn on their uniform and the rank they wear indicates whether they're a peer, subordinate, or superior. Here there are no uniforms. There are just people.
He opts to sit by himself.
The sandwich is pretty good, but sitting in the cafeteria alone leaves Chris alone with his thoughts, which is less than ideal. He pulls up his phone. The lock screen still has Carmen's smiling face with the tag "Mi amor" on it. He sighs. Tis better to have loved and lost... He really should change that wallpaper. He should also delete those old texts from her. Or possibly just get a new phone altogether.
It's funny. For a while, all he could think about was how bad things had gotten between them towards the end. Now that it's over, now that she's moved on, he finds himself thinking about how good they used to be.
A vampire dressed like a hooker shakes him from his melancholy. She's probably not actually a vampire, but she's pale enough to be one, with black hair and plump, blood red lips, which accentuates the effect. She's wearing a low cut shirt/corset thing showing off an abundant display of cleavage (which he mostly avoids staring at) and thigh high pleather boots. She looks bored.
"Chang's class, right?" she asks without pretext. She sounds bored too.
"Um, yes?" he replies.
She hands him a sheet of paper and walks away, which is nice to look at too. He looks down at the paper to find that it is a photocopy of a note, handwritten in neat, feminine cursive.
Dear Classmate,
So, there's a chance that "Señor Chang" might not be the best math teacher out there. I'm trying to get a group together to study together at the library after class. We're meeting today at 4 p.m. in Study Room F. Hope to see you there!
Naomi Pudi
He assumes Busty the Vampire Hooker is not Naomi Pudi, since Pudi sounds like an Arab or possibly Indian name, but he agrees with whoever this person is. Surviving Chang's class is going to require teamwork. Chris is good at teamwork. He folds the flyer and puts it in his pocket. Library, Study Room F, 1600. He originally planned to leave campus after his last class of the day, but now he has a reason he should stay.
Intro to Film, 1300
Despite having fought in two actual wars, Chris has never seen anything more disturbing than what he will later learn is the school's mascot. The figure is human shaped, but that is where the resemblance begins and ends. It is completely white and featureless, save for the large blue letter G emblazoned on its chest. In lieu of an actual face, black circle eyes and a wide, eerie smile are crudely scribbled onto the blank spandex covering its face with a permanent marker. How the poor fool inside that costume can see or hear is a mystery.
The so-called Human Being manages to press play on a laptop hooked up to the TV at the front of the classroom, then takes a seat at the teacher's desk. It pulls a phone out of one of its pockets (seriously, they gave the costume pockets but not eye holes?!) and proceeds to fiddle with it while a YouTube video buffers.
"Troy and Abed Making Content!" Troy and Abed announce cheerfully from the TV. Chris has seen these guys before. They're hysterical. Their channel is the absolute perfect blend of weird, funny, sincere, and heartwarming. They'd probably struggle on network television, but if their subscriber count is any indication, they're perfect for streaming platforms like Netflix. They could probably get a movie deal if they were so inclined.
"I'm Troy Barnes."
"And I'm Abed Nadir."
"And we're here to tell you why we went to Greendale Community College."
What follows is a series of hard cuts, clearly edited together with a combination of both recent and fairly old footage. The overall effect has a certain charm to it.
"The Dean is a genius," a younger, frazzled version of Annie says into the camera. She has crazy eyes and pencils shoved in her hair.
"To meet different people," Britta says in unison with Troy, with whom she shares an awkward hug. She sounds like she's being held hostage.
"With three kids at home, you better believe every penny counts," Shirley of Shirley's Sandwiches says.
"I loved my time here," the still alive version of Pierce Hawthorne brags. "I got laid like crazy."
"No, he didn't," Jeff assures the audience.
It occurs to Chris that it's only been a day and he's met like half of the people in this commercial.
"So why should you…"
"Why should you…"
"Why should you go to Greendale?" Troy, Abed, Jeff, Annie, Britta, and Shirley ask in unison.
"Greendale is the best school in the entire world," the Dean sobs.
"Okay, technically it's only the second best community college in the Greendale area," Troy interjects.
"We're legally obligated to tell you that," Abed adds.
"But it's a special place," Troy says fondly.
"A place where you can learn," a more put-together Annie says.
"Grow," Shirley adds.
"Form lifelong friendships," Britta says.
"and discover your true potential," Jeff finishes.
"Because at Greendale…" the Dean says with his arms stretched out wide.
"You're already accepted!" a massive crowd of students shout cheerfully from the quad.
And last but not least, there's a final clip of a small collection of students dressed like it's 1992 dancing on the steps of the library.
"Go Greendale, go Greendale, go!" they chant. Pastel animated lines appear above them and the phone and fax number for Greendale appear below. The email address is included as well, but it's in a different font and has clearly been edited in.
The Human Being starts slow clapping. Unsure what to do, a couple of other students join it. Before long, the entire class, including Chris, is clapping.
This school is weird.
Study Room E, 1603
Walk past Jeff, Annie, Britta, Frankie, Chang, Duncan, and the Dean chatting, as well as three faces on a TV screen, Troy, Abed, and Shirley. Go instead to another study room, this one populated by a couple of random students.
Study Room F is already full by the time Chris arrives at 1550. He peeks through the window to find Professor Winger, his wife Annie to his left, Professor Duncan to her left, then Frankie (who is apparently the Vice-Dean), then a large TV in lieu of a chair, then Britta, and last to Jeff's right is Dean Pelton. The TV screen split into two smaller screens with Troy and Abed of Troy and Abed Making Content sharing one screen and Shirley of Shirley's Sandwiches appearing in the other. The group is talking and laughing (quite loudly for a library) and don't seem anywhere close to ending their meeting.
Chris checks the flyer again and sure enough, it says Study Room F. He wanders the library for a bit on the off chance there's an alternate meeting location. He finds a computer lab full of computers that are at least a decade old and a vending machine with a single sandwich in it he suspects is about the same age.
Eventually, he finds Study Room E. Seated around the table are a seemingly random collection of what Chris assumes are students. To his right is the pale brunette with the lips and the boobs that gave him the flyer. Seated next to her is an equally pale twenty-something guy with a mop of unkempt hair, speaking with what sounds like a British accent. Next to him at the far end of the table is a fit, handsome, laid back barely twenty Arab fellow with his feet kicked up on the table. Next to him is a bald, elderly African-American man with a white goatee and an angry energy. Seated by him is a portly fortyish fair skinned woman with a tired smile whose clothes and demeanor scream put-upon housewife. And last but not least is a shiny haired Indian girl in thrift store clothing with an over-eager smile who looks like she graduated high school yesterday.
"Is this seat taken?" Chris asks. Everyone stops talking and focuses their attention on him.
"That depends," the Busty Vampire replies. "Are you in Chang's class?"
"Yeah. Is this the Math 125 study group?" he asks. "The flyer said Study Room F, but it was already occupied."
"You've come to the right place," Cute Indian Girl says warmly. "Sorry about the flyer. We were supposed to meet in Study Room F, but apparently the 'Nipple Dippers' have that room permanently reserved."
"I guess it pays to be the Dean's BFF," Old Black Man grumbles.
"Cool," Chris replies. "I'm sorry. I gotta ask. Is it just me, or is 'Señor Chang' completely insane?"
"Thank you! I'm glad someone is willing to say it. Hi, I'm Naomi," Cute Indian Girl, whose name is Naomi says, offering her hand. She must be the one who brought the group together. Her eyes are warm and her smile is bright.
"Chris," Chris replies, shaking it before he takes a seat at the table. A backpack is in the chair next to her, so he sits in the empty chair next to it. "Nice to meet you."
"I'm Kat," Busty Vampire says from his right. "With a K."
"Daniel," Pale British Guy says with a little half-wave from her right.
"Mena," Arab Slacker says, continuing the circle.
"Sam," Old Black Man grunts.
"Melissa," Tired Housewife says cheerfully.
"Naomi," Naomi says again unnecessarily. "Sorry. I already told you that." She seems a bit high-strung.
"Question," Daniel says instead of just asking a question. "Do you think he looks like Nick Fury?" He points to Sam.
"Do you say that about every old black man you meet, or just the bald ones?" Sam asks irritably.
"Uhh…" Chris mutters. Truthfully, Sam does look like Nick Fury, except with two good eyes.
"Don't enable him," Kat says dismissively. "He's obsessed with movies."
"I'm not obsessed. I just have an easier time relating to people if I can associate them with fictional characters," Daniel explains. "Nick Fury." He points to Sam, who rolls his eyes. "Norah of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist." Kat sighs. "Aladdin…"
"That's racist," Mena scowls.
"Princess Jasmine," Daniel continues, oblivious.
"Awww," Naomi coos. She seems to like the princess comparison.
"...and Captain America," he finishes, pointing to Chris, looking quite pleased with himself.
"You know what. I'll take it," Chris shrugs.
"And what about me?" Melissa asks, frowning at being left out.
Daniel's brow furrows. "Ghostbusters?"
"You think I look like Sigorney Weaver?" she asks eagerly.
"Not that Ghostbusters."
Melissa scowls. "Thanks Grown-Up Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter was a hero who gave up his own life to defeat Lord Voldemort. I'll take that as a compliment."
"Sure, if you're down with transphobia and rampant commercialism," Kat grumbles.
"Okay Miss White Feminism," Sam snipes.
"You're the worst," Mena complains to Kat. "You're the Facebook comment section of people."
"Yeah, well you've been staring at my boobs since we got here dude," she snaps.
"I mean, they are kind of just, out there," Melissa says awkwardly. They are. Kat seems to not have any qualms about showing off her assets.
"I'm a sex-positive feminist Mother Goose," Kat says, proving the point. "I post on OnlyFans. Deal with it."
"Mother Goose?" Melissa says, her feathers ruffled. "I think we're about the same age." Clearly they're not, but still.
"Wow. I hope I have that level of misguided confidence when I'm middle aged."
"I'll make your ass middle aged."
Clearly this group is prone to fighting over basically nothing. Not unlike the military.
"Guys, can we stop fighting and focus?" Naomi pleads, trying in vain to be the voice of reason. "These algebra problems aren't going to solve themselves."
"Since when did they start including letters in math?" Sam complains. "Ridiculous. Back in my day, math was simple. Two plus two equals four. If you have three quarters and you lose one, how many nickels do you need to ride the bus?"
"How much does it cost to ride the bus?" Daniel asks.
"Who rides the bus any more?" Mena asks. "It takes like two minutes to order an Uber."
"What's an Uber?" Sam asks.
"It's a taxi for young people," Melissa explains helpfully.
"So what? Millennials are too good for American taxis? And here I thought we won World War Two."
"Technically it's a ride sharing service, not a taxi," Daniel explains.
"You know that the oldest Millennials are like, forty right?" Naomi asks. Chris tries to guess her age, then calculate the Half-Your-Age-Plus-Seven Rule in his head, but comes up short. He's not very good at math.
"We get it. You're young. No need to rub it in our faces," Melissa grumbles.
"Well, some of us are here through no fault of our own," Naomi snaps indignantly.
"That's true!" Mena shouts.
"And what exactly are you implying sweetie?" Melissa asks in Minnesota nice.
"Just that some of you might have made poor life decisions that led you to where you are now," Naomi mumbles. She seems to realize how judgemental and condescending that particular thought only after she says it out loud.
"Oh hell no!" Sam yells. "I am not going to be lectured by some punk-ass teenager."
"Wow. There were like a dozen mirco-aggressions in that sentence alone," Kat says sarcastically.
"Nobody asked you Kat Von D."
"I don't really see it," Daniel says, looking her over. "She doesn't have any visible tattoos."
"Except for the tramp stamp," Mena offers helpfully. Kat shoots him a withering glare and Melissa mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like slut under her breath.
"I do not have a 'tramp stamp.' I happen to have a Kanji tattoo on my lower back. It means 'lotus flower.' It's a symbol of peace and unity,'" Kat explains indignantly.
Everyone bursts out laughing. At her, not with her.
"Do you even speak Chinese?" Sam asks.
"Japanese."
"Whatever."
"No. But I got it from a Japanese artist," Kat says defensively.
"Well then I guarantee you that irregardless of what he told you," Sam says with a caustic laugh, "that tattoo says 'dumb white bitch.'"
From that point, the room devolves into a bunch of random shouting. Chris looks around, not really sure what to do about it. He's halfway tempted to just walk away and leave these assholes to their own devices. But it occurs to him that walking away hasn't exactly gotten him anywhere he wanted to go so far, so he makes a different choice. He whistles as loud as he can.
"Do you know what I see when I look around the room?" he asks. Daniel raises his hand. "That was a rhetorical question. I see wasted potential. I see people who have let themselves be defined by bad luck and bad choices. So, I say we go around the room and tell everyone why we're here. Kat?"
"Fine," Kat says, rolling her eyes. "I didn't technically 'finish' high school and I've never had a 'real job' even though sex work is work. Truth is, I'm not gonna look like this forever, so I figure I ought to work toward an actual career."
"Okay. Daniel, what about you?"
"I failed out of university," he says, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Turns out an intimate knowledge of American pop culture does not translate to academic success. Greendale's the only school I could find that would admit me with a one point one GPA."
"Fair enough. Mena?"
"Lost my soccer scholarship," Mena says with a shrug. "Wasn't my fault or anything. Turns out no one in America cares about soccer."
"Sorry to hear that man. Sam, would you like to share?" Chris asks.
"I'm retired," Sam replies. "I got bored."
"My turn?" Melissa askes eagerly. The others nod. "I kissed a girl, and I liked it. My husband did not. It took me a long time to make peace with who I am and now I'm starting over."
"Hey, better late than never, am I right?" Chris says encouragingly. "Naomi?"
"I grew up in the foster system," Naomi says shyly, like it's something to be ashamed of. "Aged out, to be more precise. This is the only school I can afford."
"So what about you Captain America?" Kat asks. "What brings you to Greendale?"
"And I got kicked out of the military for reasons I'd rather not get into," Chris replies.
"Were you part of a crack commando unit that was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit?" Daniel asks eagerly.
"I got a DUI," Chris replies flatly. "My wife left me and I literally live in my parents' basement, since they turned my old bedroom into an art studio. But that's my point." He channels the same kind of chutzpah he used to use when addressing his old platoon. "I'm not usually one for making speeches, but I think we can be more than our mistakes and our pasts. We can be more than a foster kid, or a middle aged lesbian, or a bored senior citizen. We don't have to be defined by a soccer scholarship, or a pop culture obsession, or a subscriber count. We're better than we think we are. We just have to find a way to forgive ourselves for our shortcomings. Together, we can be more than a study group. We can be a community."
The others remain silent for a moment, basking in the warm afterglow of that inspirational speech.
"Did you get that from a TV show?" Daniel asks.
"No," Chris sighs.
"Are you sure? It sounded familiar."
"Yes. I made it up. That was a Chris Miller original," he insists.
"If you say so. Seems derivative to me."
This devolves into a new argument about whether or not Chris's speech was paraphrased from The Mighty Ducks, whether Kat should wear something less distracting in the future, whether soccer should be called football, whether Sam gets to say the word lesbian if he's going to say it like that, whether or not Chris and Naomi were making heart eyes at each other (because she's way too young for him (not that it's anyone else's business (and besides, they're just friends))), and what exactly a quadratic equation is anyway.
All in all, it's a fairly productive study session.