by R. D. Power
“Uh, you know, you know each campus team can have one outsider, I’m telling you,” said the physical therapist. “Uh, you know, can you play softball well?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag, but I’m a good athlete,” said Mark. “I made junior B in hockey, and I was a star hitter in baseball growing up. I’ve not played softball too much, though.”
“Uh, you know, you know, would you be interested in playing, I’m telling you?”
“Maybe. It depends on my schedule in the spring. I’ll let you know.”
“Uh, you know, okay, I’m telling you. Uh, you know, you know if Mark can’t, what about you, uh—”
“Bob,” said Robert. “No, thanks.”
“Why not?” asked Kristen. Addressing the table, she explained, “Bob’s just being modest. He was a pitcher for the Minnesota Twins.”
“Really?” said Mark. “That’s great, Bob. I’m sure the health team would love to have you.”
“Sorry. I don’t want to play.”
“Why not?” Kristen asked again.
“For the same reason you wouldn’t moonlight as a nurse’s assistant at Maria’s Kiddy Lodge,” he said. She understood, but thought his response was rude. She leaned toward Mark who put his arm around her shoulders.
The first half-hour was otherwise cordial, except when Dr. McDermott started carping about Americans. Robert let it go, and Kristen changed the subject. Mark got the group laughing a few times. Robert tried but failed. He never could force humor; it was either there or it wasn’t. Tonight it wasn’t, just when he needed it.
There was one fleeting moment when Kristen and Robert finally locked eyes and connected. Both were a little drunk and let their guards down. What their lips dared not reveal, their eyes could not conceal. He cast at her a sad, longing look that sought to communicate, Krissy, for God’s sake, what are we doing to each other? I love you! You said you’d always love me. If that’s true what are you doing in another man’s arms?
Looking inexpressibly sad, her eyes replied, Mark makes me happy, and I won’t take the chance of ruining my relationship with him for a man who has demolished my heart time and time again. I’m sorry. But, God help me, I still lo…
At this point Mark leaned forward and came between them, breaking the spell. Miriam noticed the intense nonverbal exchange and knew at once they were deeply in love.
Robert asked Mark what he did for a living and felt threatened by the answer. “That’s really impressive at such a young age,” Robert said, “and good luck in the next election.”
Mark responded, “Thank you. You make your living as a lecturer in computer science?”
“That, and consulting.”
“Kristen mentioned you ought to be a professor. No professorships available anywhere?”
“Not at the top places, for white men at least. I prefer the part-time role anyway, with my little girl to look after, and I like consulting more than all the baggage that comes with being a professor.”
Dr. McDermott, an ardent feminist, took issue with his “white men” remark. “So you’re saying employment equity, what you Yanks call affirmative action, made it impossible for you to be a professor? Most professors are white males, especially in your department, so how can you say that?”
“Not one professor hired by the department in the last few years is a white man. Computer science departments all over North America are teeming with deadwood, most of whom are white males. Each time one of them finally retires, the departments are pressured by all the busybodies who make their living harassing others to make the world as they see fit and ensure that every little nook reflects society at large, so women and minorities are lured with big promises—immediate tenure, teach only one class, and so on—while white men go begging for work. How good you are is of lesser import.”
“I am knowing many many young, vhite men who are being professors here,” piped up the Pakistani doctor. “Maybe you are blaming society for your personal failure to get a position.”
“And maybe you owe yours to affirmative action.”
“How dare you qvestion my competence, sir!”
“Affirmative action gives me leeway to do that. Our society goes out of its way to put incompetent people in important places under the flag of affirmative action. How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“I am not being pleased at your tone, sir. Maybe it is being a veakness of mine, but I am getting almost wiolent when people are showing me impertinence.”
“Oh? Maybe you should see someone about that,” Robert returned.
“Bob,” said Kristen, “don’t be—”
“Don’t be who? Me? I am me. Who the hell are you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kristen shot back.
He lowered his eyes. Seeing Kristen with this handsome man tonight had been most disheartening, but as Mark continued to impress the assembled and as he continued to do the opposite, the state of affairs was becoming provoking.
“So you’re saying that all women and minorities are incompetent?” challenged Doctor McDermott.
“Not at all,” said Robert. Fixing his eyes on Kristen, he said, “I know a woman who puts every man I’ve ever met to shame.” Turning back to Dr. McDermott, he continued, “I’m saying hiring decisions should be made with no reference to group.”
“You say that because you’re a white male, but you can’t justify it,” said the doctor.
“Common sense justifies it. No one group of people is better than any other, but individuals have different levels of merit. That’s obvious, right?”
“Wrong,” said Mark. “I believe everyone’s born equal; only society’s inequalities render people unequal.”
“What you believe is irrelevant. Belief cannot trump reality. People are not born equal. Society does not make some people tall and others short; some pretty, others ugly; some brilliant, others moronic. Nature does this all by itself. It may be unfair, but that’s reality, and no government program will ever change that. People should succeed because of personal merit not because of what group they belong to.” Looking at Kristen again, he concluded, “It’s simple: just pick the best person, period.”
But Mark would have none of this. He opined, “Without affirmative action, the domination by white males would be even worse than it remains today. It has given women, minorities, aboriginals, and the disabled a chance to compete on an equal footing with white men.”
“That’s just it. The competition is not equal. To make up for past discrimination, it’s now weighted against white, able-bodied men. You seem to think in terms of body types. The least bigoted people don’t give that any consideration. They merely consider excellence. And, by the way, are aboriginals not minorities? Are they accorded a more special status still than other minority groups? Are we to rank body types now and slot them into a prescribed order as new positions open up? We have here a brain surgeon position. Anybody from the reserve want it? No? Anyone else with colorful pigment in their skins? No? Anyone who can’t walk? No? Anyone with boobs?”
Kristen cast her eyes upwards. Miriam tittered to herself.
Doctor McDermott declared, “Oh, my God. You’re unbelievably crass.”
“Natives are the aboriginal owners of the land, which we out and out stole from them,” proclaimed Mark. “It’s the opposite of what you contend. We haven’t ranked them first, we’ve put them last. We’ve shown our contempt for them by sequestering them on desolate reserves. Even when it comes down to the nicknames we choose for sports teams, we show our disrespect. It’s so degrading to the aboriginals that white man names his teams the Atlanta Braves, the Cleveland Indians, and—this is the worst one—the Washington Red Skins.”
“We stole their land; I love that. Ever since we jumped down from the trees, man’s been stealing other man’s land. Natives were continually stealing each other’s land before paleface got here. Land-stealing is still going on today all over the world. Why aren’t you up in arms about that? In
stead, you’re sitting here moaning about irrelevancies like the nicknames of sports teams, when there are serious problems facing us. I’d love to see how starving Africans would react when you tell them with your contrived indignation, ‘Okay, sure, you can’t feed yourself, and four of your kids just died from starvation and two more were abducted by the rebel army, but dammit, Washington has some nerve calling their team the Red Skins.’ Because Europeans came over here centuries ago and did what Homo sapiens and every other species have always done—displaced weaker inhabitants—I’m supposed to feel guilty today? What they did to natives was deplorable, but the idea that we have to pay for eternity for centuries-old crimes is ridiculous.”
“If we have the will and the means of redressing an obvious wrong, shouldn’t a civilized society do so?” challenged Mark.
“And your liberal means consists of providing for their every need forever?”
“Every need!” rejoined a now exercised Mark. “We give them next to nothing. What we do give them is required by treaties that we signed, no more. They’re desperately poor.”
“We provide them with what they need—a basic living—and, like all human beings who don’t have to provide that for themselves, they get shiftless and bored, so unemployment, alcoholism, and suicide become rampant. All perfectly predictable human responses to misguided policies.”
“I don’t believe you associate with this cretin,” remarked Dr. McDermott to Kristen.
Mark said, “Touché.”
“Please, let’s keep this civil,” implored Kristen.
Robert said, “Look at you, with your self-appointed outrage on behalf of somebody else. There’s a good herd of liberals. Your blithe assumption that you have monopoly on morality, is not only pompous, it’s insulting. It’s just politically-correct bullshit that makes you feel good about your humanity without doing anything for humanity.”
This exchange, of course, made things worse, with denunciations, insults, and “you know”s. Kristen stepped in and yelled, “Okay! Let’s not ruin the evening. Please everyone, settle down. Surely we’re open-minded enough to hear viewpoints different from our own without resorting to personal attacks. Now, let’s change the subject.”
“And what have you done for humanity?” Mark asked Robert, thinking there could be nothing from this fascist.
“You first,” said Robert, who had no idea of Mark’s valiance in rescuing the two children. Mark modestly waited until someone else brought it up. The nurse exhorted him to regale them about his heroics. That would put this cad Owens in his place. Mark did as she insisted, proudly detailing the daring deed. Kristen smiled throughout, noted Robert. He said nothing until Mark finished and the others had lauded him for his feat.
Robert said, “It’s terrific what you did. It must make you feel proud.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it does,” confirmed Mark.
“I see what looks like a burn injury on your right hand. Is that from the fire?” said the nurse.
“Yes,” Mark answered, “it’s a little gross-looking, but Kristen calls it my badge of courage.”
“So, Bob, tell us about your badge of courage,” taunted the nurse.
“My badge of courage?” he responded as his eyes migrated from the nurse to Kristen. “Nothing anyone can see: general aches and pains, arthritis in my fingers, loss of some vision in my right eye, a never-ending ringing in my ears, a slightly damaged heart that could shorten my life …” Kristen was so disconcerted, her mouth opened wide, her nose began to run, and her eyes filled with tears. Miriam looked on in amazement. Robert went on, “And I’ve lost any patience for all the pettiness that most people obsess about, like badges of courage.”
As tears rolled down Kristen’s cheeks, the physical therapist said to Robert, “Uh, you know, you know, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, I’m telling you.”
At the same time, Mark asked Kristen, “What’s the matter?”
She couldn’t say anything just yet, so Miriam helped her out. “Kristen you’re exhausted, emotionally and physically.” She looked at the others and explained that, “She came in to work at 2:45 this morning to be there for a terminal patient and her family. You should go home, Kristen.”
Robert felt bad about trying to make Kristen feel guilty over his trivial ailments when she’d been there to help with something truly consequential: the death of a child. He tried to apologize with a remorseful look.
She recovered her equanimity enough to reply, “I am tired, but I want to stay a little while longer. I’ll be okay. Thanks, Miriam.”
Not wanting to let Robert off the hook, Mark said, “Okay, Bob, it’s your turn. Never mind petty badges of courage. Tell us what makes you feel most special about yourself.”
“Being a pitcher for the Twins made me proudest.”
Kristen, contrasting preventing a base hit with preventing smallpox, snapped, “That’s what you’re most proud of?”
That transformed his remorse into vexation. “What is it, Taylor? Sports beneath your dignity? I wasted my time throwing a ball when I could’ve been doing something worthy like using my brain?”
Which transformed her remorse into vexation: “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. Why are you so churlish tonight? It goes without saying that playing in the major leagues is impressive.”
“I was merely answering the question put to me and wasn’t aware I was supposed to answer it as you saw fit. Sorry if my pride is misplaced.” They sneered at each other.
“I’ve always been a good judge of character, and my bet is he’s never done anything for anybody besides himself,” interjected Dr. McDermott.
His tolerance of this woman’s affronts exhausted, Robert said, “Oh, mind your own business, skank.”
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life!” barked the doctor. “I am a physician, and I deserve respect.”
“You’re right. Mind your own business, Dr. Skank.”
“Of all the nerve! My virtue has never once been questioned.”
“Nor tested, I’m sure, what with that impregnable guard always on duty,” he said, while pointing at her face. Miriam turned her head and chortled into her drink. Signaling the final triumph of the beer over his good sense, he went on, “I didn’t mean to imply you’re a loose woman. Believe me, you’re in no danger of ceding your title to chastity. I meant it in the sense that you’re a low-class, miserable bitch.”
She picked up an empty glass from the table and reared back to hurl it at Robert. It was hard to say whether Kristen’s scream or Mark’s commanding “Don’t!” figured uppermost in her decision to forbear her rash design, but as the physical therapist uttered a string of “you know,” Dr. McDermott put down the glass, said, “I refuse to sit here and be vilified by this, this trailer trash. Good night!” and departed in a pique. Her Pakistani colleague, shaking his head and smirking at the boor, joined her.
Kristen, relieved he came to no harm and pleased that he’d taken the vile woman down a peg, was nevertheless upset at his puerile behavior. She glared at Robert to communicate her displeasure. Robert thought, Things are going horribly for me tonight. I better leave before … Hold on a minute!
A pretty woman strolled up to their table and greeted Kristen. “Hi, Professor Taylor. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your class yesterday. You’re an inspiration to me.” Brittany was a second year medical student taking Kristen’s class in pediatric oncology.
“Thank you, Brittany,” replied Kristen with a smile. Kristen was about to invite her to sit, but she saw Robert ogling her. Miriam sniggered as Kristen did a double take in catching Robert eyeing Brittany.
“I’ve been sitting over there with my friend, but she had to leave,” said Brittany, hoping for an invitation to join them. Brittany looked at Mark and thought, Hm!, but saw he was with Kristen. She glossed over the homely physical therapist, then looked at Robert and thought, That’ll do, too.
Brittany’s sweet smiles at Mark and
Robert caught Kristen’s attention, which caught Miriam’s attention. This should be fun, she mused. “Why don’t you join us?” encouraged the always polite Miriam.
Robert pulled out the chair next to him that had been vacated by the Pakistani doctor. Kristen then did the same with the other vacant chair to her left and said, “Sit here.” There Brittany sat. Kristen introduced her as one of her best students and said, “This is Mark Loftus, my close friend. Have you heard of him?”
“No,” said Brittany.
“He’s the police chief who saved those children from the house fire. He’s also a member of Mensa, and will be the Liberal candidate in the next federal election. He’s an amazing man,” she noted with a glance at Robert.
“Very nice to meet you,” said Brittany with a vivid smile. They shook hands.
“And I think you know my boss, mentor, and best friend, Miriam Blalock. She’s a magnificent physician and teacher. We’re so lucky to have her.” The two women nodded. Kristen then introduced the nurse and the physical therapist, complimenting their skills, and when it came to Robert she said parenthetically, “And this is Bob Owens, the computer technician who installed our makeshift system at the center.” It was all Miriam could do to avoid bursting out laughing.
Brittany smiled politely at Robert, but turned her attention to Mark. So far, Kristen seemed to be unconcerned with Brittany’s evident interest in Mark, which in itself was curious. Most women would consider Brittany on the prowl as serious competition. Miriam, who was a keen observer of the human animal and an experimenter by nature, decided to see what would happen if Brittany was given more information on Robert.
During a brief lull in the three-way conversation between Brittany, Kristen and Mark on medical internships, she interjected, “Dr. Owens, does Berkeley have a medical school?”
