Tales of the Hangover

His name was Rough Tactics.

If you attended the premier university of the land, and you never heard of this Titan of Economics, then you missed. You really missed.

Rough Tactics was the epitome of applied principles. He wore a tie and a pair of overly ironed trousers, and his shoes were never dirty, even after a long day. He had a hairstyle that is elusive to describe, except that it gave him an austere look. He walked with his head slightly tilted upward, clean-shaven and his belt, halfway across his torso. He was spot on with time. He was crazy about precision.

He lectured in Economics. It was said that he applied economics to the minutest detail of his life. He slept on half of his bed, reserving the other half for when he would need to buy another. He had the prices of all food products in his diary, adjusted periodically for inflation, and gave his long-suffering wife the exact amount she needed, down to the last penny for housekeeping.

His class was just as tense and intense. If you laughed out of turn at his jokes, you walk out! If you over-laughed, you walk out! If you couldn’t answer a question, you walk out! If you wore an attire that was not economically balanced – like that guy who was in sunglasses and a cap during his lecture – you walk out! If you’re late by a second, you don’t bother coming. This was no café!

He was of the firmest belief that the university intake was a jam-pack. That Economics was not for connoisseurs and pundits – it was a religion that had prophets(Nobel Laureates), monasteries(Wall Street) and gospels(recessions and rare success stories). He believed that an intake of more than fifty economics students in his class was an adulturation of sorts, a strain on functional resources, and he sought to cleanse this. Every year, for the last five years, at least twenty-five students from his Level 200 class had repeated! Shocking but true. The dean had, on several occasions, tried but failed to stop him. That was how he earned the name he loved so much…Rough Tactics.

Montana, Doe-chie, and Rhino were three of the most popular students on campus. The trio emerged from the same high school, and moved about campus, spreading their fame for one reason or another.

Montana was brainy. Very. He had been nominated for a national excellence award in high school, and was on the dean’s honour list. Doe-chie was rich. He had used a different colour of convertible every semester since he arrived. Rhino (aka No-Size) was a leader. He was standing for JCR president. He had no match on the ballot sheet.

The trio complemented each other in various ways. They had moved from class to class without incident. But Rough Tactics, it seemed, was going to prove a hard knot to untie.

This Sunday was Rhino’s birthday jamboree… at the Miklin Hotel! They had planned it so well and for so long that they couldn’t postpone it for Monday’s Economics test with Rough Tactics.

And what a party it proved to be. Concoctions and titrations of the finest alcohol and the naughtiest blokes, paid dancers and classy DJs. The noise could bring the house down. Surely, Rhino had sealed his popularity votes tonight.

Montana was the first to wake up to the realities of a hangover the following morning. Rhino had not left the hotel the previous night. Doe-chie refused to attend Monday Economics. The headache was too bad and the vomiting even worse.

Montana regretted attending. Rough Tactics did not show up. He sent a teaching assistant, who administered a small test, not worth the hype of Rough Tactics. Of course, Montana filled the register for the other two.

All was well. Until the following Monday.

This time Rough Tactics was there. The class was like a cemetery. He spoke on the works of John Adams, the versatility of George Soros, the fallacy of le Chatelier’s principle and the deeds of Newton in currency establishment. It was at the end of his lecture that the tone was set…

“Last week, I beguiled the whole class by my absence. If you did not attend last Monday’s lecture, consider yourself repeated. If you attended, and you refused to take the test my teaching assistant administered, consider yourself repeated!”, he said, with his chin up and chest out, standing tiptoed, and with a dismissive and cocky aura, “If you took the test and you did not score above eighty per cent, consider yourself repeated!”, with his eyes half closed.

A pen could be heard fall. One student cleared her throat.

“Who dare punctuate my proclamation with that rancid and atavistic instinct?” He paused, looked across the hall and pointed at the young lady,”You, walk out!”

People could hear themselves breathing, hearts beating.

He continued,”If the register contained the same handwriting for a set of names, consider yourselves repeated!”…

The trio stared at each other; tears welling up in Montana’s eyes, as he tried to keep still; Rhino clenching his jaws, with his eyes staring intently in disbelief; and Doe-chie squirming in his seat, as though stung by a bee.

He marched out of the class in his characteristic militaristic style. His numerous teaching assistants marched after him, in a single file, just as he had trained them to.

The trio, once at the zenith of university achievement, now had the devil to pay.

 

– Tales of the Hangover

-A case study : Obsessive Compulsive Personality Trait

-inspired by a true story.