focus group

The Chool Bus (ch17)

CHAPTER 17: Professor T explains the rationale for his research.

Professor T has some well defined opinions about the nation’s fibrillating heart. Indeed. But also, he tries to keep personal opinions to himself when discussing research as a general rule. After all, it’s about the study’s participants and data, not the researcher. That said, he’s fairly open with the Forks and Buck, especially after a couple of margaritas. Something about returning to his grunge-metal roots in Seattle filled him with a blustering swagger that can only be interpreted as flow state channeling.

To set the scene: It was the gang’s last night in Seattle. As a fitting sendoff, they chose a place frequented by their favorite artists, the Central Saloon. 

“Woohoo, air-fried vittles and libations!” Jack was hungry and the gang was stoked to commune with their favorite grunge ghosts. This was the place. In the 1970s the Central Saloon helped introduce live blues and rock to the neighborhood. In the 1980s it played a role in the rise of Grunge, hosting shows by the genre’s leading lights. 

“Yup… that sounds like a solid plan,” said Mork T.

Now, when Professor T gets all liquered up…deep into one of those no-holds-barred-rages…he starts grumbling about the Great Flyover. He’s been known to echo the likes of HL Mencken, lamenting how sectors of the rural South and Midwest are vast, Dollar General wastelands where intelligence is a mark of shame and systemic prejudice clings like barnacles on the ship of culture.

“We are what we think and the American media is currently a swamp of rot and resentment,” said Professor T. “The national heart isn’t just skipping beats… it’s in a full-blown, fibrillating code-blue emergency.” According to the Professor, a glowing ember of white resentment turned into a goddamn inferno the moment an intelligent, scandal-free black man ascended to the White House without an Anglo-Saxon overseer holding the leash. This sent the small-town bourgeois…those without skills to join the laptop/air travel class or too proud to mount the struggle bus…into a total psychological aneurysm. “Many find themselves lifetime members of the doomed underclass… they know it and somebody has to pay. This paves an express-lane for demagogues promising retribution.” Mork T was approaching a tequila-fueled angry flow state.

Through the din of house music (a bit too loud) and the compensating murmur of the bar patrons, Professor T, fueled by top-shelf blue agave continued, “Let’s get down to brass tacks. This tooth-gnashing fury, in part, can be traced to the degradation of an indispensable social asset…whiteness…it’s a bank account that’s fast approaching zero.” Practically yelling over the din, and channeling Mencken, he referred to the phenomena as anthropoids reacting to civilized humanity… a primal, beastly shriek to reestablish an hierarchy nature was busy flushing down the toilet. “I actually feel a twisted sort of compassion for their apprehension. Imagine the sheer, bone-chilling terror of realizing a person from a traditionally marginalized demographic was actually the smartest person in the room, especially if that person is a woman, and you’re standing there with nothing but fading ethnic/gender privilege and a bad attitude for consolation.”

“And that’s just one pole of oscillation,” Jack was familiar with Professor T’s 19th Century Wildian musings regarding the attractive and repellent forces of science and religion.

“Right! Religion, the opiate of the masses,” Professor T extended the segue. “You have that end times doctrine… the ultimate supernatural shell game. It’s a beautiful grift, really. The apocalypse has a 100% failure rate, but hustlers never run out of marks,” said Professor T.

Jack was beginning to tap the flow. “It’s a perpetual motion machine of dread. Every time the world doesn’t end the year and month predicted they chalk it up to a clerical error by a god who apparently can’t read a Mayan Calendar, and the believers line up for more disappointment a couple years later.” Jack was yelling to be heard over the din just as one song was ending and before the next began. Of course nearby patrons heard the outburst and turned to look at the Forks’ table. Some snickers, some frowns, mostly disinterested staring. It was Jack’s second pint of Imperial IPA, so he was feeling particularly uninhibited. In response, he gave the gawkers a take a picture, it lasts longer countenance, sorta dancing in his chair to the next song’s groove.

“Why do they buy it?” asked Billie. 

Professor T put on a disinterested, deadpan countenance. “The outlook is grim. For one, Their Rapture represents a cosmic revenge for disenfranchisement. It lets the ‘pious’ picture their godless neighbors being slow-roasted in a lake of fire while they sit on a cloud playing their golden harp.” 

Billie snickered, “Good one,” she winked. She had always marveled at doomsday ravers’ ability to willingly suspend disbelief regardless of how many end times deadlines come and go.

“It’s a bitter-kiss theology of spite,“ Professor T chimed in. He had always found the whole thing absurd. “You’ve got people who swear the world is ending next Tuesday yet they’re fighting like cornered rats to control the local library board on Wednesday,” nods from the table. “It’s not about saving souls… it’s about will to power exercised with willful ignorance,” said Professor T.

“Right.” Jack was hanging in there. “The Evangelical Ethnonationalist is just a person who wants the Kingdom of Heaven because the Kingdom of Earth…with its books, its reason, and inconvenient facts…is too goddamn hard to navigate.”

Buck, attentively taking it in, offered his take. “It seems we’ve gone from bread and circuses to grievance and retribution, politics designed to keep the populace alarmed and clamoring for a leader to save us from an endless parade of imaginary threats. One day it’s a Black man in high office… tomorrow it’s holy war waged against a veritable parade of boogiemen.”

“The circus never leaves town because the customer never changes,” said Professor T. The former bourgeoisie still remembers when the world handed them all privileges at the front of every line. But now, they’re being asked to make room for formerly disenfranchised minorities. They fear the truth and revel in the freak show.” Professor T was fading.

As if a powerful amphetamine-laced turbo-hallucinogenic mind-jacking recreational street substance had suddenly taken hold in Billie’s brain, she gave the boys a look that can only be described as lucid, psychotic, reptilian predation. She addressed Jack first. “Were you going to let the good professor leave it at that? What about the war waged in kitchens and bedrooms everywhere, always. Have you forgotten about the fact that Western Civilization only granted women personal agency in the last century.” This made a significant impact. The room was still quite noisy so Billy had to up the volume several notches above her comfort level. But there was no indication of physical strain, and she didn’t appear rattled, but the boys knew, they were in for an ass-chewin’ like they haven’t experienced since their porch-monkey days.

“I’m sorry, Billie.” Jack knew there was only one logical response to this oversight, contrition.

“In fact, the rise of Feminism and the reactionary Manosphere are factored into the survey and focus-group methodology,” said Professor T. “We haven’t begun looking for patterns as we’ve only just launched the focus-group tour.” Professor T realized his explanation to Buck and Billie had not included this element, but he knew the advocates for Patriarchal dominance was playing a big role in the social/political disunion. 

“It seems to me, this may be the most impactful conflict right now,” Billie was on fire. “The idea of society digressing, shoving women back into subservient roles, turning the clock back on Women’s Suffrage, the feminist bra burning of the 1960s, and all those Rosey the Riveters getting a post-war taste of bringing home the bacon, enjoying the independence that comes with earning her own way.   

Buck was no stranger to the phenomenon of strong women, his mother’s sister was an architect. But not until an unfortunate scene in her first marriage convinced her to go back to university.

The scene went thusly:

HUSBAND (Jake): “If i wanted your opinion, i’d give it to you.”
AUNT JASMINE: “Excuse me?”
JAKE: “That’s right, look (he throws a pair of his jeans to the floor)…
I am the dictator and you are the subordinate. We’ll have sex when i say so, and you’ll serve up the sandwiches on command. This is a one-way monogamous relationship. You stay home, tend to parenting, my libido, my sandwiches, etc, and i’ll take care of whatever side action i please. Someday, when the world finally wakes up and takes the red pill, i’ll take multiple wives. And that’s how it is. You can contradict these dictates as soon as you can put on those pants… (he points to the jeans on the floor).”
AUNT JASMINE: “Thank god i’m not pregnant.” (she plans her escape)

“I wonder why she didn’t see that coming before the marriage?” said Jack.

“They need to include red flag training in high school,” said Professor T.

“We need to elect a woman in the White House,” said Billie.

“I’m sorry, Billie, i won’t forget the battle of the sexes ever again,” said Professor T.

NEXT WEEK:
The Forks crash through the dense Oregon forests, dodging Sasquatch and coastal pirates.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch11)

Chapter 11: We learn a bit of Buck Wellstone’s back story and Professor T’s Zoom Conference provides more questions than answers.

The time for Professor T’s Zoom conference had arrived so after grabbing a coffee in the University of Utah library’s lobby and one more trip to the restroom he checked into a reserved study room, settled into a comfortable chair, logged into his laptop, and checked a few emails and social media direct messages. Once all of these preliminaries completed, he logged into the Zoom session which placed him on hold waiting for the attorneys back home to start the conference… a pair of opportunistic shysters, as the befuddled Mork T would later characterize the firm of Scheizer and Bok.

“Good Morning, Professor Thompson,” the conference moderator began. “As indicated in the summons, this is a formal information gathering exercise. There are no charges to answer, but because a complaint has been filed, we’re obliged to interview all relevant parties.”

“Understood,” Professor T had resolved to let the process play out. Once he deciphered the essence of the matter he could better respond.

“Now, Professor Thompson, are you familiar with Abigail Weiser, administrative manager at your current academic post?” The interview was underway.

“Why, yes. I’ve worked closely with Ms Weiser for the last fourteen years,” said Professor T.

“And could you please characterize the nature of your and Ms Weiser’s relationship?” asked the moderator.

“Sure. She keeps the department’s administrative and bureaucratic matters attended in good order. I have found her exceptionally good at her job,” Professor T responded to the question.

“Could you elaborate, Professor Thompson… is there nothing more you would add about a working relationship going back fourteen years?” The questioner was probing for more.

“Well, i try to show appreciation by presenting her with a gift card to the union coffee shop at the beginning of each semester and the department staff chips in on administrative workers day. We all sign a card and try to show our appreciation,” Professor T was wondering where this line of inquiry could possibly be going.

“Please give us a sense for how your and Ms Weiser’s association had evolved over the years,” said the moderator.

Professor T gently rubbed his chin mentally retrieving memories from the distant past. “Well, my time with the department began a semester after hers. She was still getting her bearings as a new administrative manager… basically, we were learning the ropes together. We were kindred spirits, i suppose.” Professor T took a pull from his now luke-warm coffee. “I suppose there was a time when we could have ended up dating, but my policy is against mixing intimate personal relationships with co-workers. I’ve seen how those entanglements can end up, and, well, i prefer a strictly businesslike office atmosphere.”

“Now, professor Thompson, on the day in question, June 1st, will you please walk us through your interactions in the 24 hours preceding your final encounter with Ms Weiser before launching your research tour? Who reached out to whom? What was the tone of the communication?” Professor T blanched at the notion of anything unusual happening on that day.

“Well, frankly i’m not sure what might be special about June 1st, other than that being departure day for the tour,” Professor Thompson was digging for more to go on.

“The complaint alleges there was inappropriate physical contact that day. Can you tell us what happened from your point of view?” The moderator provided a glimpse.

“Oh, okay, yes. Ms Weiser and i were attending some paper work matters, signatures, completed forms, regular operational stuff.” He was starting to remember. “Just as my companions were arriving, Ms Weiser seemed to have tripped over her own feet and happened to fall into me. Of course i caught her and prevented what might have been an embarrassingly comic pratfall. I did notice her countenance was not what you would expect.

Rather than thanking me for preventing the fall, she departed through the office door with a bit of a blushing sneer.”

Professor T blanched at the memory. “I chalked it up to something in her life outside the office. We had finished our business so after her exit, my companions and i made our way to the Union cafeteria for a meal before loading up in the bus and heading West,” Professor T felt sure he had remembered correctly.

“Now, Professor Thompson, the complaint outlines a pattern of lewd talk and groping as a regular feature of day to day work in your office. When you first learned a complaint was filed, what was your immediate response?” The moderator was zeroing in on the point.

“Preposterous,” Professor T was starting to feel his temples heating up. He felt he had always maintained a professional tone in his office, with the exception of those first few months of his association with Abigail it had been so, and back then, the extra-curricular attraction was strictly one way and he made a point to draw boundaries as soon as he was aware of Abigail’s crush. “I’ve maintained a professional decorum with all of my colleagues from day one.” Professor T was satisfied he had made his case.

“Very well, Professor. Thank you for your cooperation. You will hear from us once the preliminary interviews have been conducted and a decision is made as to whether the process should continue or terminate. Good day.”

Once Professor T had his laptop and cables stowed, he made his way to the union cafeteria. His companions were waiting to hear how the Zoom meeting went. As each of the Forks and Buck settled with their lunch tray, Professor T redirected the gang’s attention, turned the conversation spotlight to Buck. “What about your home in Texas, Buck? Can you give us some more of those Southern accents?” Glad to oblige, Buck launched into a story concerning his early Texas memories. He described the ranch he grew up on and the hired hands he had met. 

***

“Cowboys come from everywhere.” Buck was a true lover of the old wild west stories and the life of cowboy ranchers under the endless stars of the Texas sky. “And my dad is the ultimate cowboy.” Buck was on a roll. “He didn’t just read about it romanticizing the old days, he lived it. Dad made a point of giving those rodeo cowboys a fallback redoubt.” He was waxing misty eyed about the lifestyle he loved through and through.

“Did your dad ever hire any desperadoes?” asked Billie, who perked up with this topic. She was feeling kinda cringy about Professor T’s predicament.

“Well, you see, Dad’s attitude was sorta like Tom Joad in Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, everybody’s got their struggle and Dad cast his lot with the doomed same as the rhinestone, bronc bustin’ buckle winners.” Buck was no stranger to dangerous characters and was careful not to put on airs around those polite society would shun. “Besides, the desperadoes had the best stories.” Buck was poised to launch into one when Jack asked about Buck’s mother and what she was like.

“Tell us about your mom, Buck. We haven’t heard about her yet.” Jack persisted.

“Yeah, mom died in childbirth. I would have had a sister, but the baby was breach and they were not ready when the time came. With no doctor within a hundred miles, it all happened too quickly and we lost them both.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to hear this,” said Billie, as the rest of the table nodded in agreement. Professor T placed his hand warmly on Buck’s shoulder, and the gang had a moment of silent empathy before finishing lunch and heading back to the bus. Tomorrow would be focus group interviews… then back on the road.

NEXT WEEK:
Campfire ranch storytime over craft beers.

GO BACK => Preface and Chapter Links

The Chool Bus (ch8)

Chapter 8: The Forks prepare for a long swing through the western states, Professor T ponders a vivid dream, and Abigail Weiser takes advantage of his unsuspecting nature. 

Mork T’s eyes popped open around midnight. He hadn’t felt this giddy since The Forks’ early days. That is, before the charms of his post-punk song & dance routine began to wear thin. After an obligatory visit to the toilet he would try to get right back to sleep as tomorrow would be a long day of travel along familiar highways. Sometimes however, the call of nature sings subtly, not loud enough to force an immediate nocturnal trip to the commode… just enough to invoke that foggy state of consciousness where textures, moving objects, interactions, and colors are vivid as ever with your waking mind present enough to recognize the dream state and, depending on the desirability of the images, works to keep it going. In this straddled state, Mork T witnessed a stunning tapestry of swirling figures, all moving in color-streaked spirals around his awareness. A hurricane of sensation where the locus of observation was like the cockpit of an aircraft in the eye of a category-5 storm. He saw artifacts of human progress; he saw the icons of religious tradition; he saw labs of scientific inquiry; he saw spires of great cathedrals, microscopes, holy books, high-tech weapons, bottles of communion wine, communication satellites, pipe organs, advanced medical imaging machines, and gilded pulpits swirling around him in an ever expanding spiral. And just as Professor T’s awareness worked for a finer focus at these swirling shapes, the dream state evaporated like so much morning fog. As he reached for the flush handle, he tried to focus his bearing toward slipping back into a cozy position in bed in order to get right back into the dream state. Before pulling the covers and placing a pillow between his knees, he made a mental note to take up the dream impressions for later ponderings.  

And now, in the department office, taking care of final details, Abigail Wiser, long-time office administrative manager, approached Professor T with Buck Wellstone’s application paperwork. Just a couple more signatures and the process would be complete. She approached him with a Mona Lisa smile. Had Mork T been more aware of his surroundings he would have noticed Abigail’s attire was a tad more provocative than usual. She knew the rest of The Forks and Buck Wellstone were to meet in the office at noon. They would grab a lunch in the university cafeteria one last time before boarding the Chool Bus and striking west for Salt Lake City by way of Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Abigail was hovering a bit closer to Professor T than usual, but he thought nothing of it since he believed their relationship had settled into a strictly professional mode years ago. Little did he know, but Ms Wiser was setting him up to be caught by his traveling companions in the act of misconduct clearly prohibited by the policies of Title IX.

As Billie, Jack, and Buck entered the closed door of Professor T’s office, what they witnessed would be hard to interpret as purely innocent.

She tripped, fell against him, he caught her, hands around her waist and just as the Forks were entering the room, Abigail struggled against Professor T’s hold as if to escape an unwanted groping. As the Forks stood there, jaws agape, Professor T tried to maintain a dignified countenance, but Abigaile played her part with great panache. “This isn’t what it looks like,” said Professor T looking wide-eyed at his companions.

“Have a great trip,” said Abigail with a cold sneer as she elbowed her way out of the office.

After an awkward, silent beat, “Well… who’s hungry?” Jack enthusiastically inquired, eager to get past the chilly silence. 

“Right… shall we?” Professor T gestured toward the open door, leading the gang toward the cafeteria.

***

It was a perfect day for a road trip… evening was approaching as Billie steered the Chool Bus into Silverthorne Colorado. It was time to pull over for some rest before pushing on to Salt Lake City where their next focus group interviews would be conducted on the campus of the University of Utah. 

In a quiet reverie, with the hypnotizing sound of rubber to the road, Professor T recalled images experienced in the early morning hours of this day. It seemed as if his unconscious was sending him messages related to the research he was conducting. For most of his adult life, Professor T would be dismayed at the behavior of his fellow Kanoradians. Staunchly conservative in rural areas and moderately progressive in the population centers. Even so, there was much in the way of rancorous discontent between neighbors, even family. Some folks driven to the point of insisting the only solution to this stubborn culture clash would be a rematch of the Civil War. And with the rise of Social Media’s dominance of the Internet, these divides grew worse with each passing year. Professor T dubbed this the fibrillating heart of our divided nation and he hoped his findings would help people see a way out of this corrosive state of affairs. And so, the image of a swirling vortex of science and religious icons spinning around as if attracted and repelled simultaneously held some hinting charm in his mind.

Then the memory of Abigail Weiser, someone with whom he had years of shared professional experience, inexplicably forcing a close unwelcome physical encounter within eyeshot of witnesses had him puzzled. He knew she had crushed on him many years ago, but believed she had grown to accept the fact that he was not open to that kind of relationship, especially with co-workers. The encounter caused no great consternation and so his thoughts drifted back to the research project.

The sound of Sam Jackson berating Billie for missing a turn in Silverthorne broke Professor T’s reverie. Jack and Buck were finishing a chess match when Billie pulled the Chool Bus into the RV park where the gang would rest for the night.

“Check?” cried Jack with an almost surprised tone.

Buck took a moment to confirm, but sure enough, “I think it’s mate,” he mumbled. “Well played,” Buck congratulated his new colleague for an interesting match.

Next Week:
Professor T ponders mental residue of the previous evening’s dream and the newly expanded Forks make sightseeing plans before resuming research interviews.

GO BACK => (Preface & Chapter links)