Tolerance

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DJ Swanson sighed with frustration as he packed up six boxes of pizza to cart it down the dormitory’s hall to the garbage. Another attempt at a floor program, another no-show by his residents. He’d really thought he’d get some this time—he’d even managed to nag a few out of their rooms and into the hallway, but had somehow lost them in the hundred-odd feet between the floor lounge and there. Making his way back to his room, he could hear them rushing out to steal the bounty of free food before his door even shut.

He settled into his desk, and after a few minutes of frittering away time on social media, he got to work on his research project. He’d already had to abandon his topic twice to satisfy Dr. Restrepo—no, “Melissa”—no, “Missy.” It was her first semester out of her own PhD program, and she wanted to relate to her students, though DJ could never think of a professor by their first name no matter how many times she insisted she was “one of them.” The only trouble was that Missy was a mean-spirited narcissist whose standard for satisfaction was that everyone write exactly the way she’d have written their paper, and arrive at the same conclusion. She’d lambasted his rough draft of this topic—“this simply will not do” she’d scrawled across the top, then not bothered explaining why. He respected her, truly; she’d accomplished much in her field in a short time, and although her youth and good looks might make some of his peers see her as less than she was, DJ hoped she’d grow into her role as professor.

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