Claudia was simultaneously spiteful and grateful toward whomever designed comfortable lecture chairs. Within five minutes of closing her eyes, slouching down, and folding her arms across her chest, she had achieved a state of mental weightlessness that Buddhists spent years perfecting. Calm. Serenity. It was peculiar that she could never achieve this in her own room, lying on her own bed, for there were a multitude of distractions and things back there that she'd feel obligated to do. Here, she was fulfilling her duties as a student, by the mere fact of her presence. Her courses required nothing else of her. That was the experimental nature of the institution – one in which students were left to their own motivations to drag themselves to class, and by simply filling a chair in a hall, they would pass. Oddly enough, this honor system placed a profound, existential kind of stress on the average student. No grades, no concrete way to fail, so how would you know if you'd failed?
Claudia drifted along the edge of sleep, her head periodically bobbing up and down, dipping into this ethereal current. She had, as always, opted for the seat on the very interior of a row, so her shoulder had firm support against the wall as she dozed.
If, somehow, the thoughts that meandered through her mind could be made outwardly visible – if everyone's thoughts were somehow externally projected into the air, above their heads – how might that change her current state? The nature of her latest psychological disturbance, if made known, would likely utterly repel those around her, and, possibly, attract the curiosity of individuals who might not have otherwise interacted with her.
If everyone then, knew everything about everyone else, would people eschew interaction with others, disgusted by the unfiltered flow of the id, or would all people acclimate and achieve a level of complete nonchalance toward the bestial thoughts of others?
Within minutes, thoughts began arising independently of her direction, haphazard thoughts, the kind that manifest vividly on the inside of one's eyelids for moments before turning black again. Quick flashes of scenes, pulled from the recesses of her mind. Driving along a highway bordered by pine trees, accompanied by a floating sensation. An older boy tearing open a packet of powdered cheese and pouring it into a pot on a stove. A three-second movie clip of a storm at sea, a man stepping back from the helm, and lifting his hands to the sky.
"Hi. So, as you've just heard, my name is Arthur Nielsen-"
Claudia was yanked up through the surface of her subconscious – at once being pulled, and doing the pulling, in that mental endeavor of rousing one's self from a very comfortable nap. She resisted for a moment, wishing to sink back down to peace, but something else seemed to take her by the shoulder and shake her awake.
Her eyes snapped open. From her slouched state, she sat upright rather abruptly, shaking the row of seats, and a student two seats down from her regarded her with annoyance.
The man at the podium spoke, "I'm going to keep this brief, since I know that you all want to leave, and I highly doubt that any of you would be interested at all in my work."
There was a titter of laughter in the audience, though it faded to uncomfortable whispers as the expression of the speaker remained humorless.
"Nevertheless, I would like to invite all of you – well, not all of you, there is only one position available – to look into the internship opening at the anthropology exhibit over on the east side of campus."
The usual course lecturer clicked on her collar-mic and interjected with a smile,
"How many of you have been to the anthropology exhibit?"
Students heads turned to examine the numbers. The guest held up a defiant palm toward the lecturer. "Please, that's not necessary."
No hands were raised. The man removed his glasses and rubbed at his rather bushy brows in exasperation, politely ignoring (or simply oblivious) to the lecturer's discomfort.
He replaced the spectacles and continued, "Now, I realize that the nature of this offer makes it highly unlikely for anyone to want to apply, because you can do the math, and you realize that I'm offering one position to a lecture hall with approximately three hundred students. None of you will want to apply, thinking that everyone else will apply, realizing that your chances of succeeding are infinitesimal. So-"
He leaned across the podium, as much as his stature and girth would allow, until his moustache hairs bristled against the microphone. The students unconsciously leaned in as well.
"Do not apply," he urged, "It's not worth your time."
He leaned back and immediately picked up his briefcase to leave, as a murmur ran through the students, mingled with surprised laughter. "Oh, and thank you," he added, bobbing his head back toward the microphone. He shook the hand of a confused professor, then passed her and departed for the side door.
"Question!" a voice rang out from the middle of the students. The murmur died down, and the man stopped abruptly. "What does the internship involve?"
The guest walked briskly back to where the professor stood, which was closer than the podium, and brought his head inappropriately close toward her collar where her personal microphone was. She startled, but did not step back.
"You will do meticulous and mind-numbing grunt work that I will give you neither money nor transcript credit for. Thank you."
Without a further word, he strode out the side door.
Scattered, sarcastic clapping broke out, though it did not pick up steam, and before the professor had time to collect herself the students were moving out the lecture hall doors en masse. Claudia stayed transfixed in her seat, a ringing in her ears.
That was him.