Constitutional Puppies

By J.R.

"Yup."

It was mainly said to himself, just to hear a voice in the room, but he felt that he should say something. It definitely wasn’t directed at Professor Graber; although Graber was amicable enough, irreverent throwaway lines didn’t seem befitting of his reputation. If Roger had Graber’s stature, he wouldn’t be spending it helping his students get into law school, he’d be demanding that his monument be elaborate enough to require some construction workers to die during its construction.

But he knew Graber was great because he would have no interest in hagiography. Bart Barber, a professor who eclipsed Graber in international notoriety but definitely not in pedagogical importance, was like a human who aspired to be a god: he needed the attention and admiration of his peers and underlings to appreciate his achievement. Graber was just beyond all of that; he was like Zeus on top of the mountain.

Roger, of course, would never tell that to Graber, especially because the analogy might not even be accurate. (Barber may have mentioned that the Greek Gods still needed the affections of the mortals in "Ancient and Modern Philosophy," but it was testament to Barber’s shittiness that such information wasn’t retained).

Roger had followed Graber like he requested, and they had reached their destination some time ago: the "experiment" room. This room had the sterile scent of other rooms associated with government and politics research: the fidgety but resigned presence of students’ bottled energy, the scent of time dying slowly.

There were no computers in the room. Good, no staring at a screen, no disconnect between Graber and himself.

But with no computers, what would this experiment be about? A focus sample? A census survey? What experiment could a government and politics professor—a Constitutional Law Professor, mind you—perform without a computer simulation?

And why did he need to sign that waiver?

Graber returned from the back of the room.

Then he turned his back on Roger and started writing on a clipboard.

Graber spoke:

"Did you hear the news? Three hundred and sixty-five people died yesterday in a plane crash over Brazil. It’s horrible, isn’t it? Things like this; just wiped out. Everyone aboard died."

Roger didn’t respond. First, because his initial response was to say "one for every day of the year." Second, because Professor Graber still faced the wall.

Well, saying something is better than nothing.

"That’s horrible," he offered.

Next to Graber was something Roger had overlooked; it looked like an unopened package of printer paper, but it had a little red gumball in the center.

Professors don’t bring up tragedies unless their segueing, so Roger went along: "Do they know why? I mean, did the fuel tank explode, or something? Or…" (he hung on that last syllable for so long it almost felt disrespectful)…did they hit, hit, I don’t know, turbu…turbulence." His voice trailed off like a beaten puppy.

He then thought—moron—this is a constitutional law experiment, so the answer was invariably going to be terrorism.

But he hadn’t heard anything on the news about a plane crash (although, truth be told, he never did read the news daily, despite Barber’s failed attempt in Government 100: Introduction to the Principles of Government to make a newspaper and a journal of opinion mandatory daily reading).

Then he thought, maybe—moron—this being an experiment, there was no plane crash.

Then he thought that maybe Graber is moonlighting for the psychiatry department, and the test is really about student uneasiness and self-doubt in front of authority figures.

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