by Nic Olson
12 noon. The McGill Psychology Department requires that you drink 240mL of pure alcohol in fifteen minutes and do a series of mind stimulating tests in a 4’x6′ 1964 lavender office. Once finished, knock on the door, get electrocuted for ten minutes and politely talk to the testers. Breathalyze every ten minutes. Chew on cotton, test cortisol. Constantly monitor heart rate. Repeat what you hear in the right earphone, but not the left. Slightly slur. Focus. Click the left mouse button. Watch numbers on a screen. Zone out, keep clicking. Think about zatars, slices, hockey, a real job. Click some more. Breathalyze.
Eat pretzels, watch Lost, read, pee, sit.
More snacks, another episode.
Yeah, sure, you’re fine.
Metro to the Library. Still smiling.
I was a test subject for eight very much needed dollars an hour. Eight hours. Strong drinks, stimuli, snacks and Lost. Could be the perfect job. One more shift and the contract is up. How much longer until the novelty of being poor wears off? How much longer until my 4 hours a week call centre job isn’t cute anymore? How much longer until I’m back at 0.00%? On a scale from 1-10, 10 being the most, 1 being the least, how energetic do you feel? Do you want to go sky diving? Did your mother love you as a child?
I could answer these questions all day long. Thank you higher education. You just got me buzzed and paid my rent. I will forever promote further education.