STANFORD

TALK

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Tyler cleared his throat and loosened his tie. It had been a while since he was around so many people in their early 20's. At 29 years old, he felt uncomfortable. He remembered his college days, which had not gone as smoothly as he had hoped. Being around young men that attended the same school he had graduated from made him anxious. Even so, he attempted to swallow his nervous fear and interview the males in front of him.

"So," he started with a thin smile, "what made you three come in today?"

Tyler and Donald sat behind a large desk. On the other side were, from left to right, Joshua, Harry, and Awsten.

Joshua sneered. "The cash, obviously."

Harry nodded with a light laugh. Awsten, the boy with brown roots and bleach blonde dyed tips, flicked a tuft of hair out of his line of sight. His voice was light when he spoke.

"Yeah, I - uh, I'm only able to go to this school with my scholarship. I don't really have much money for recreational use."

Tyler nodded, taking note of all three boys and their demeanors. "How old are you all? And what grade?"

"I'm 19," Joshua offered first. "And I'm a freshman."

"20," chimed Harry. "Sophomore."

"Same as him." Awsten nodded to Harry. "20. Sophomore."

Tyler looked down at his list of questions. "How might your friends describe you? Limit yourself to one word, if that's possible."

"Thrillin'," Joshua supplied with a smirk.

"Chipper," was Harry's answer.

"Easygoing, maybe?" Awsten suggested.

Tyler looked over to Donald, who had an eyebrow raised in amusement.

. . .

"19. Freshman," Otto answered Tyler.

"21. Junior." This was Jack.

"22, and I'm a senior," Vic responded.

"Okay," Tyler said, filling in his notes. "Any of you have any addictions we should know about?"

"Nah, I'm clean," Otto replied. He wore a bandana around his head and reeked of pot. Donald let out a laugh at his reply, adjusting the collar on his bright red suit jacket (his pants matched in pigment).

"Sure," he muttered. "What about you two?"

"No," Jack and Vic replied simultaneously.

. . .

Brendon cleared his throat. "I'm a sophomore and I'm 20."

"Hi, I'm Geoff - wait, that wasn't the question. What was the question?"

Donald scoffed. "Just looking for your age and grade, Geoff."

"Oh, yeah, right. Got it. I'm 17 and I'm a freshman."

Tyler's eyes flicked up. "I'm sorry, did you - did you say seventeen?"

Geoff let out an airy, nervous laugh. "Yeah, I - well I graduated at 16. I skipped 5th and 9th grade."

Donald wolf whistled. "Goddamn," he drawled.

Zack cleared his throat uneasily. "I'm 21," he volunteered. "I'm a junior."

. . .

The final five students were in the cramped office in front of Tyler and Donald. Pete and Alex stood behind the three chairs that were occupied by Kellin, Jon, and Spencer.

Pete was the only Afro-American that had volunteered, Tyler noticed. He wondered why that was and decided to make a quick note of it.

Sure, the number of black Stanford students was low. But that was mainly because of those trendy black colleges. Most black students were being pushed by their parents and by their peers to go to HBCUs, forgoing a quality education and instead following a trend. In the rare case that an Afro-American would have the brains to go to a decent college, Tyler hoped that they would at least have the drive to advance psychology and therefore the world. Apparently there was only one black boy in all of Harvard that had the intelligence that measured up to that of the rest of the school's population.

And Tyler obviously wasn't racist; Donald was very black and very much his colleague, after all, but fact was simply that: fact. The fact was that Donald and Pete were two of few black men to be blessed by God with decency.

After obtaining their ages and grades (sophomores: Spencer and Alex; Pete as the sole junior, and Kellin and Jon finishing their college career), Tyler and Donald asked their series of questions. The final question was the same one as it had been for all the other groups:

"Would you rather be a prisoner or a guard?"

The question was arbitrary, of course, since the guards and prisoners would be chosen literally by the flip of a coin, but Tyler just loved to hear their responses.

Pete spoke first. "Honestly? I dunno, being a prisoner sounds fun, I guess. Fair warning: I might lead an escape plot." The room laughed lightly. Tyler decided he liked Pete. Hell, if God had gifted him with such intelligence and likability, who was Tyler to deny him?

"I think I'd rather be a prisoner, too," Kellin chimed in. "I just can't see myself bossing people around."

"I say guard. But only if there's donuts." This was from Jon. More laughter.

"Yeah," Alex said with a grin. "I think I'd be a good guard."

Spencer only shrugged. "Both of them seem like they'd be okay. If I had to choose? Maybe a prisoner."

"Well, that wraps it up, fellas," Donald said with a tired sigh.

"We'll get into contact with you here in the next week. Good luck, boys."

Tyler's binder flipped shut. Another phase of the Stanford Prison Experiment was complete.