The Price of...

The Price of Genius
By Jill Blanche

I believe that everyone should have something to live for. Some people live for their families. Some people live to make the world better. That’s what Bob Barker does. Not only does he better the lives of domesticated dogs and cats, but he has bettered my life. I’ve never actually been on The Price is Right, but I have watched it every single day for most of my life. Thank Bob for the VCR!

Today’s episode is good, but not as good as Saturday night when CBS ran a College Special The Price is Right! It was the best show ever! I taped it and I have it saved on one of my special The Price is Right tapes. Once they get full, I make sure to take the security tab off so that no one can tape over them.

My annoyingly ignorant roommate, Kandi (“with an ‘i’”) just called me on her cell phone again. She just got done with Economics. What a cake class. I guess she’s flunking it...again. I can just ignore her while she complains about how much her professor hates her or something like that.

Right now, there is this old lady playing Plinko. Old ladies never do very well at Plinko because they think too much about it. What they need to do is just drop it and not even worry about where it goes. For one of my psych classes I researched the most successful Plinko players, and they all said that they didn’t think too much about where they dropped the chip.

Oh, commercial. Since I have class at 10 o’clock everyday, I have to tape The Price is Right. It’s kind of a disappointing because I like to research prices of household items from the internet during the commercial breaks, but I figure since I save time watching the show by fast forwarding that I can spend a little while longer checking prices.

“Hey, Jess!”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, what?” I reply. Stupid idiot. I suppose that I can say something to her as long as I’m only fast-forwarding.

“Oh, you got a D- on a test? That sucks.” Actually, it’s an improvement for Kandi.

Oh, The Price is Right is starting again! Shut up, Kandi, shut up! Oh my gosh. The guy they just called to “Come on down!” needs to get a clue. I mean, that particular model of Maytag washing machine is worth so much more than $150. He’s never going to get up on stage, just like it’s quite possible that Kandi will never quit talking. Even if I tried to listen to her now it wouldn’t help because she talks so fast that she’s probably five stories past the whole flunking class one.

“Jess! Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listenin,’” I murmur as I watch the cute blonde Marine trying to win a new car on “Hole in One...or Two.”

“Okay, good.” And Kandi continues to blather on as I get drawn back into the second putt that Mr. Cute Marine Man tries to make. He does and all is right with the world. Didn’t I say that Bob Barker makes the world better?

Suddenly, I hear a huge thump come from wherever Kandi is and she shuts up finally. She quit talking entirely. What’s going on with that?

I ask, “Hello? HELLO? Are you there?”

The Price of Failure
By Lindsay Craig

Just because he has a doctorate, it does not make him King Shit. Now where’s my damn cell phone? I can never find anything in this Louis Vatton bag. You would think for fifteen hundred dollars the thing would come with a cell phone carrier. Let’s get one thing straight. I have never been a failure at anything. Even in high school I passed the swim test— of course that WAS only after a little explaining to Mr. Smith that I never intended to do anything but lay out anyway. Besides, there was no ocean anywhere near Lake Forest, right?

I’m calling Jess. I picked up my pace a little, but it’s just so hard to walk any faster in these stilettos. Jess’s number was right near the top of my frequent contact list. Come on, you lazy ass. Get up from the couch and answer your cell.

“Hi, Kandi.” Jess answered. I didn’t ask about her day—after all, it was way more important that I get out what I had been rehearsing to say since I first laid eyes on the big fat 61% right next to my ID number on the sheet of test scores.

“Jesus, you won’t believe what Dr. Gill did. I get myself out of bed every afternoon to get to his stupid class to listen to him mumble on and on about some boring economy stories and this is how he repays me. I try way harder in that class this time than I ever did last year—and even then I got a freakin D-. Just because he has no sense of style and put that stupid 1962 bowtie on too tight, it does not give him the right to give me an F. And then—he has the nerve to tell us today that we are having a test next Friday. That’s only a week—I mean it’s not like I’m going to study anyway, but we could totally boycott. Even if we did want to learn about supply and demand, seven days it not enough time to cover the information. Why do we have to listen to lectures about that anyway? The bottom line is if I want it, I’m buying it. How’s that for supply and demand? I’m, going to the head of the depar—Jess? JESS? Are you listening to me? This is important!”

“Yeah.” Jess mumbled.

I bet that fat slob is just lying around fantasizing about Bob Barker again. Pathetic. She wastes so much time obsessing about that stupid show. Time that could be much more wisely spent doing my economics homework. I know she got like a 210% last year.

“So anyway, as I was saying, what is it with pompous professors thinking they know stuff about you? How the hell does Dr. Fish Gill know how smart I am? Jesus, I scored in the 90’s percentile on Cosmo’s ‘How Smart Are You’ quiz.”

What’s that? BOOM! Oh my God. Where did that car come from? Was that a car or a hunk of metal? Why am I on the ground? Oh shit, where’s my purse? If I broke a nail I swear to God—even worse, what if somebody saw me? I’m ruined. I can see the headlines now: UNI’s most beautiful student has reputation ruined after being hit by a monstrous half truck half caddy piece of crap. Oh God. Please nobody see me. I’m going to get up and get out of here before I’m found out. Wait a second… Oh my God. Not him! If I am going to be publicly mortified in such a way, Captain Fish Crap owes me something. I turned to look him in the eyes. Without a thought, I did it. I want an A. The words felt like a million dollars as they rolled out of my gorgeous, perfectly in tact mouth. Now I’ve got him. Nothing comes without a price.

“Hello? HELLO? Are you there?” Jess muttered on the other end of the phone. I figured I better think of something before she figured out what had happened.

The Price of Happy Hour
By John Vorwald

In the parking lot was the El-Camino that would be my salvation. I was oblivious to anything but my ride to the Panther Lounge. Shortly it would take me to a nice stiff drink, just the motivation to keep my feet moving. God, any drink to help me forget the week I just had.

I grimaced as I reached for the door of the car. I put up with their disrespect every class. Damnit, I’m tenured! My diploma doesn’t say Mac Gill, Ph. D. for nothing. At least we all share the same distaste for class. It was a cell that we all have to endure. I hold the power and can take no more. It’s within my power to dismiss class early. I do have somewhere else to be after all.

Looking up as I unlocked the car door, I saw one of the biggest reasons to end class early: Kandi Carson. Probably walking to her own car and talking on her cell phone deep in conversation. She’d been perpetually failing class all semester. There hadn‘t been a day she’d come to class on time, nor did she ever stay awake for long. I shook my head as I ducked into the car and slid the key into the ignition. She had managed a “D” on the latest test, her best grade to date.

I started the car and forced Kandi from my mind. Over my shoulder, I watched and waited as other cars blocked my path. I sighed when I finally found a chance to back out. Just another frustration, another reason for a drink. Hitting the accelerator I headed for the exit, only to find a line of cars stretching from the nearby stoplight. The line was getting worse, more cars came down the street, and those leaving the parking lot had to carefully deal with the traffic.

After waiting, I finally approached the stop sign. The distance between the bumper and the faded white line on the pavement marked the slim remains of my patience. Tired of waiting, and hearing the Panther Lounge calling me, I mentally turned my doctorate into a stunt driver’s permit. I glanced left and right. Synapses fired messages at light speed. I saw my opportunity! The car lurched forward, and, as deftly as an El-Camino can, I slipped between traffic.

“No, no, no!” I chanted as my heart stopped beating. The mantra being uttered, a whispered prayer to make my foot move faster to the brake pedal only made it slower. I hadn’t thought to look out for people! Only inches away from my right fender was Kandi, still talking on her phone and completely unaware of car about to hit her.

Foot finally on the brakes, I hoped for a miracle that would stop the car short of actually hitting Kandi. No brake pad in the world could stop what physics controlled. I could only watch helplessly as the El-Camino lurched to an abrupt stop. I caught sight of Kandi’s body being thrown forward just as my head did the same from whiplash. I put the car in park and got out. I had to check to see if she was okay.

Stopped and blocking traffic, I slowly moved around the car at the empty space where Kandi had been. God, I could see the headlines: “Professor Hits Student.” But those thoughts quickly vanished as Kandi reappeared. She looked okay, popping up like a jack in the box with cell phone in hand. Her eyes darted around as if embarrassed. Then she saw me and glared. She brought her phone to her ear again and continued to pierce me with her eyes.

Now I was sure my life, career, everything was over. She would call campus security. They would arrest me for nearly killing her, or worse. I didn’t hear the honking of the other cars anymore. I was paralyzed, waiting for her next action. Then, without a word she mouthed the words, “I want an A.” Then she turned and walked away, going back to whatever conversation she was having before the incident. I sat there for a long moment later; she was smarter than she looked. I climbed back into my car. It was definitely time for happy hour.

	The Price of... Jill Blanche, Lindsay Craig, John Vorwald
	As Fate Would Have It Split Proposal Heat Wave The Price of... Begging for Quarters Return to Intro Page	The Price of Genius By Jill Blanche I believe that everyone should have something to live for. Some people live for their families. Some people live to make the world better. That’s what Bob Barker does. Not only does he better the lives of domesticated dogs and cats, but he has bettered my life. I’ve never actually been on The Price is Right, but I have watched it every single day for most of my life. Thank Bob for the VCR! Today’s episode is good, but not as good as Saturday night when CBS ran a College Special The Price is Right! It was the best show ever! I taped it and I have it saved on one of my special The Price is Right tapes. Once they get full, I make sure to take the security tab off so that no one can tape over them. My annoyingly ignorant roommate, Kandi (“with an ‘i’”) just called me on her cell phone again. She just got done with Economics. What a cake class. I guess she’s flunking it...again. I can just ignore her while she complains about how much her professor hates her or something like that. Right now, there is this old lady playing Plinko. Old ladies never do very well at Plinko because they think too much about it. What they need to do is just drop it and not even worry about where it goes. For one of my psych classes I researched the most successful Plinko players, and they all said that they didn’t think too much about where they dropped the chip. Oh, commercial. Since I have class at 10 o’clock everyday, I have to tape The Price is Right. It’s kind of a disappointing because I like to research prices of household items from the internet during the commercial breaks, but I figure since I save time watching the show by fast forwarding that I can spend a little while longer checking prices. “Hey, Jess!” “Huh? Oh, yeah, what?” I reply. Stupid idiot. I suppose that I can say something to her as long as I’m only fast-forwarding. “Oh, you got a D- on a test? That sucks.” Actually, it’s an improvement for Kandi. Oh, The Price is Right is starting again! Shut up, Kandi, shut up! Oh my gosh. The guy they just called to “Come on down!” needs to get a clue. I mean, that particular model of Maytag washing machine is worth so much more than $150. He’s never going to get up on stage, just like it’s quite possible that Kandi will never quit talking. Even if I tried to listen to her now it wouldn’t help because she talks so fast that she’s probably five stories past the whole flunking class one. “Jess! Are you listening to me?” “Yeah, I’m listenin,’” I murmur as I watch the cute blonde Marine trying to win a new car on “Hole in One...or Two.” “Okay, good.” And Kandi continues to blather on as I get drawn back into the second putt that Mr. Cute Marine Man tries to make. He does and all is right with the world. Didn’t I say that Bob Barker makes the world better? Suddenly, I hear a huge thump come from wherever Kandi is and she shuts up finally. She quit talking entirely. What’s going on with that? I ask, “Hello? HELLO? Are you there?” The Price of Failure By Lindsay Craig Just because he has a doctorate, it does not make him King Shit. Now where’s my damn cell phone? I can never find anything in this Louis Vatton bag. You would think for fifteen hundred dollars the thing would come with a cell phone carrier. Let’s get one thing straight. I have never been a failure at anything. Even in high school I passed the swim test— of course that WAS only after a little explaining to Mr. Smith that I never intended to do anything but lay out anyway. Besides, there was no ocean anywhere near Lake Forest, right? I’m calling Jess. I picked up my pace a little, but it’s just so hard to walk any faster in these stilettos. Jess’s number was right near the top of my frequent contact list. Come on, you lazy ass. Get up from the couch and answer your cell. “Hi, Kandi.” Jess answered. I didn’t ask about her day—after all, it was way more important that I get out what I had been rehearsing to say since I first laid eyes on the big fat 61% right next to my ID number on the sheet of test scores. “Jesus, you won’t believe what Dr. Gill did. I get myself out of bed every afternoon to get to his stupid class to listen to him mumble on and on about some boring economy stories and this is how he repays me. I try way harder in that class this time than I ever did last year—and even then I got a freakin D-. Just because he has no sense of style and put that stupid 1962 bowtie on too tight, it does not give him the right to give me an F. And then—he has the nerve to tell us today that we are having a test next Friday. That’s only a week—I mean it’s not like I’m going to study anyway, but we could totally boycott. Even if we did want to learn about supply and demand, seven days it not enough time to cover the information. Why do we have to listen to lectures about that anyway? The bottom line is if I want it, I’m buying it. How’s that for supply and demand? I’m, going to the head of the depar—Jess? JESS? Are you listening to me? This is important!” “Yeah.” Jess mumbled. I bet that fat slob is just lying around fantasizing about Bob Barker again. Pathetic. She wastes so much time obsessing about that stupid show. Time that could be much more wisely spent doing my economics homework. I know she got like a 210% last year. “So anyway, as I was saying, what is it with pompous professors thinking they know stuff about you? How the hell does Dr. Fish Gill know how smart I am? Jesus, I scored in the 90’s percentile on Cosmo’s ‘How Smart Are You’ quiz.” What’s that? BOOM! Oh my God. Where did that car come from? Was that a car or a hunk of metal? Why am I on the ground? Oh shit, where’s my purse? If I broke a nail I swear to God—even worse, what if somebody saw me? I’m ruined. I can see the headlines now: UNI’s most beautiful student has reputation ruined after being hit by a monstrous half truck half caddy piece of crap. Oh God. Please nobody see me. I’m going to get up and get out of here before I’m found out. Wait a second… Oh my God. Not him! If I am going to be publicly mortified in such a way, Captain Fish Crap owes me something. I turned to look him in the eyes. Without a thought, I did it. I want an A. The words felt like a million dollars as they rolled out of my gorgeous, perfectly in tact mouth. Now I’ve got him. Nothing comes without a price. “Hello? HELLO? Are you there?” Jess muttered on the other end of the phone. I figured I better think of something before she figured out what had happened. The Price of Happy Hour By John Vorwald In the parking lot was the El-Camino that would be my salvation. I was oblivious to anything but my ride to the Panther Lounge. Shortly it would take me to a nice stiff drink, just the motivation to keep my feet moving. God, any drink to help me forget the week I just had. I grimaced as I reached for the door of the car. I put up with their disrespect every class. Damnit, I’m tenured! My diploma doesn’t say Mac Gill, Ph. D. for nothing. At least we all share the same distaste for class. It was a cell that we all have to endure. I hold the power and can take no more. It’s within my power to dismiss class early. I do have somewhere else to be after all. Looking up as I unlocked the car door, I saw one of the biggest reasons to end class early: Kandi Carson. Probably walking to her own car and talking on her cell phone deep in conversation. She’d been perpetually failing class all semester. There hadn‘t been a day she’d come to class on time, nor did she ever stay awake for long. I shook my head as I ducked into the car and slid the key into the ignition. She had managed a “D” on the latest test, her best grade to date. I started the car and forced Kandi from my mind. Over my shoulder, I watched and waited as other cars blocked my path. I sighed when I finally found a chance to back out. Just another frustration, another reason for a drink. Hitting the accelerator I headed for the exit, only to find a line of cars stretching from the nearby stoplight. The line was getting worse, more cars came down the street, and those leaving the parking lot had to carefully deal with the traffic. After waiting, I finally approached the stop sign. The distance between the bumper and the faded white line on the pavement marked the slim remains of my patience. Tired of waiting, and hearing the Panther Lounge calling me, I mentally turned my doctorate into a stunt driver’s permit. I glanced left and right. Synapses fired messages at light speed. I saw my opportunity! The car lurched forward, and, as deftly as an El-Camino can, I slipped between traffic. “No, no, no!” I chanted as my heart stopped beating. The mantra being uttered, a whispered prayer to make my foot move faster to the brake pedal only made it slower. I hadn’t thought to look out for people! Only inches away from my right fender was Kandi, still talking on her phone and completely unaware of car about to hit her. Foot finally on the brakes, I hoped for a miracle that would stop the car short of actually hitting Kandi. No brake pad in the world could stop what physics controlled. I could only watch helplessly as the El-Camino lurched to an abrupt stop. I caught sight of Kandi’s body being thrown forward just as my head did the same from whiplash. I put the car in park and got out. I had to check to see if she was okay. Stopped and blocking traffic, I slowly moved around the car at the empty space where Kandi had been. God, I could see the headlines: “Professor Hits Student.” But those thoughts quickly vanished as Kandi reappeared. She looked okay, popping up like a jack in the box with cell phone in hand. Her eyes darted around as if embarrassed. Then she saw me and glared. She brought her phone to her ear again and continued to pierce me with her eyes. Now I was sure my life, career, everything was over. She would call campus security. They would arrest me for nearly killing her, or worse. I didn’t hear the honking of the other cars anymore. I was paralyzed, waiting for her next action. Then, without a word she mouthed the words, “I want an A.” Then she turned and walked away, going back to whatever conversation she was having before the incident. I sat there for a long moment later; she was smarter than she looked. I climbed back into my car. It was definitely time for happy hour. Comments for the Authors?