RA has tried to smooth things at a troubled womens' house on a midwestern campus. Each woman there has particular issues and needs, the RA working hard to satisfy.
Thursday morning
I got up early, beat everybody. I could hear folks shuffling around upstairs as I snagged some portable breakfast.
Today was my last chance for test prep - the teaching-assistant kind, not the student kind. Writing the problems, not studying them.
It was inorganic, my specialty, and I had 5 years worth of tests to crib from. No question should be identical but that just meant changing the measurement and reaction times.
I wasn't one of those progressively-harder-questions kind of test writers. I covered the topics carefully and wrote questions about each section, more than one if space permitted.
You either had kept up, knew the stuff or you didn't. I wasn't trying to filter anybody out, flunk anybody. Just motivate them to cover all the material for the final, leave nothing out.
Lunch at my desk, my prof coming in to look over my shoulder and make meddling remarks about the test. I nodded and smiled, and changed nothing.
Over to my lab for some reagent deliveries, set up some equipment for tomorrow, and back to my desk for a final stab at it.
I had to write the answer key too. In this subject I waffled on that. If I wrote the answer sheet now, somebody might see it and cheat. I could always solve the problems after the test was over.
But they wanted grades reported, results posted quickly and I didn't want to work over the weekend. So I wrote the answer key, locked it in my filing cabinet. Didn't give a copy to my absent-minded prof even though he'd requested it - he'd likely leave it out on his desk for anybody to see, leave his office unlocked. He'd done all that before.
Shadows were getting long by the time I'd gone back to my lab, started reactions I needed to run overnight for tomorrows trials, turned the lights out and locked up.
Stopped at a Chinese hole in the wall, Kung Pao Shrimp with fried rice in a takeout bag. Thursdays we were on our own for dinner.
Walking home(!) was a pleasure - through quiet leafy lanes and peaceful residential streets, an occasional dog barking or car downshifting on the highway half a mile away.
Lights were on when I turned in our lane. I stopped to just look at the place - warm glow from two stories, the third of course the windows were blanked, Slut's plants tucked safely inside with their grow-lamps.
Happy sounds inside, some friend over by the sound of it. I hoped Adam; he was cool and funny.
I pushed open the old oaken door, ajar as usual, came in and left it the same way. The smell of something Mexican was strong - cumin, pork, maybe cilantro! Have to ask where that came from - I didn't know any local Mexican joints.
Midterms early next week. Homework was forbidden the three days leading up, by long University tradition. So I expected folks to hit the books, maybe a study group.
I wasn't disappointed. The card table was set up, fast-food containers strewn over it in various states of pillage.
The shag rug in front of the fireplace was piled with books, stacks of papers, notes and packs. Preppy and Kitty were laying face to face, books propped, laughing about something, pencils in hands, notebooks open.
What possible class could they have in common? A Quant finance wonk and a media major? This was a new one on me.
I heard GG in the kitchen with somebody, not Butch. I stuck my head in, said Hi!
It wasn't Adam, more's the pity. Another pre-med stud?
Looking again I saw the short hair, slight build, strong shoulders and big hands belonged to a female. I think, from the way her t-shirt lumped when she turned to be introduced.
"Dick - this is Leon! Leon - Dick!" GG seemed happy today, relaxed, comfortable in her own home. A big change, her previous days' tension noticeable now for its absence.
Still unsure of Leon's sex - house names could come from anything I imagined, gender regardless. Anyway, not really my business.
I shook Leon's hand, the one not holding a beer.
"Pleased to meet you!"
I opened a cupboard, found a leftover paper plate, a cup.
Disgorging my Chinese bag on the counter I dished myself a good helping from the takeout carton, peeled the chopstick paper open, tore open the hot mustard packets and dumped them on.
Steaming pile of shrimp and rice, my saliva started flowing. I was hungry!
Rooting around I found the dregs of wine in a bottle by the toaster, drained it into my cup, tossed the bottle in a recycle bin.
"Some Kung Pao up for grabs!" I waved my chopsticks at the half-full paper carton.
"If you're sure?" Leon brightened, hopeful.
"Go for it!" I left them to it, went and plopped on the couch.
Kung Pao Shrimp and hot Chinese mustard - my idea of heaven. Savory, carbs galore, hot as a firecracker.
Just chowing down for a while I tuned out the world. I could hear Kitty was explaining something about a tv show - Monty Hall? Preppy was having none of it.
But I didn't actually hear the words; my mind was riveted on the tender bay shrimps coated in hot mustard and soy. My god this stuff was genius!
When I couldn't pick up another grain of rice with my chopsticks I set the plate down, burped, apologized and surveyed the room. As the carbs and protein hit my blood I could feel my awareness expand to include the people and conversation.
"We don't have any more information, so the probability distribution doesn't change."
"How can two doors have a 2:1 probability? There are two options; it seems like a coin flip now, 1:1."
"It's like a weighted coin, that lands on heads more often. "
Preppy digested this, finally shook her head.
"Sometimes it helps to extrapolate. If Monty had 100 doors and opened 98 of them, would you still think you had an even chance? Remember he knows where the prize is, so if he has it which is very, very likely, then he can always keep that door closed."
Light dawned. "Opening doors doesn't change where the prize is, or who has it! The chances are not changed because we didn't actually get any more information!"
"Yes!"
Preppy went back to her notebook, began re-reading, writing notes, crossing things out, underlining. Kitty went back to her textbook, began sketching a graph of some sort, stopping frequently to mark the axes or plot a data point.
Leon breezed through just then, on her(?) way out. Preppy, Kitty looked up, gave a "Bye Leon!" and got a bye in return, and Leon was gone.
GG came in sipping a beer, nibbling a French fry.
This all left me bewildered. Who's Monty? Monty Python? Doors? A band? I gave up trying to understand. There was one question I could get answered.
Quietly, so as not to interrupt the study session, "GG? Who's Leon?"
She plonked down next to me, offered me a sip which I declined, considered.
"Leon is Butch's friend, but they quit having any classes in common any more so they rarely socialize. By that time Leon was in with our house, and sort of stuck around."
"Physio?" I knew that was Butch's bailiwick.
No. "Childhood development and trauma. Primary special education, stuff like that."
"So....Leon Trotsky? Leon Focault?"
