One
I
Jack felt splatters of hot grease creep up his oversized arms. Cries rang out throughout the food preparation space in the McDonalds. It was lunch rush yet again. Flesh crowded up against fabric in the form of size forty black slacks and a double extra large black polyester shirt. His company hat hung somewhat loosely on the top of his head. His brown eyes were focused on the eight patties he had before him. Into the fire again. Another splitch of grease fell on his arm. He pulled his arm out of the grill contraption to silently curse and shake his arm free of the errant, boiling juice. It was a painful experience, though one he was used to. He finally flipped the eight patties then closed the automatic cover on top of the mass of sizzling meat. Grease spilled out the sides of the awkward contraption.
Jack then rushed off to make some fries. He supposed the only good thing about working in a McDonalds’ kitchen was the free food and lack of windows. Time seemed to compress while he was in the backrooms, filling up various machines for McFlurries and McCafes. He could easily enter the place when it was early morning, enter into the weird time vortex that was the kitchen, and bam--he’d be done with the day before he could even think about his situation. The pay was miserable--16.50 an hour--but at least he had something to do with his time.
So when Jack was finally done with his shift, and he was standing outside in the winter air, smelling of burger and fry grease, he really did want to go back in there. It was a kind of mind destroying oblivion, McDonalds’ work. The relatively simple tasks created a rhythm that you could get lost in for hours on end. Food prep, cleaning, saying “How can I help you?” to yet another customer. He knew that the work was shitty. He knew that he was never going to get paid above minimum wage. And yet it gave a sense of meaning, however minute, in comparison to the mass of unstructured time before him when he got home.
He started his march home in the frigid weather. It was thirty something, and his sweater barely did anything to keep out the cold. At least it was only a half mile before he reached home. He could remember the frustration of having to search for a job near his home, given that he didn’t even have a car. He tried everything. Fast food places, retail stores, receptionist desk work. Turned down again and again until he went to an open interview offered by McDonald’s. He was hired on the spot. He supposed that his college degree wasn’t that impressive, after all.
The trek was short. Pine trees shook wearily in the wind. The Hilton hotel near his house glistened in the dark. He took a short jaunt down Indigo lane and turned near the “Watch for Bicyclists” sign, and there he was, his parents’ house. The whole thing was a manufactured home built in the early 2000s. The house had a shade of sun-bleached beige on it, and was surrounded by a painted-brown wooden fence. Jack always wondered why his parents liked brown and its derivatives for the house so much. The front window was lit up with a yellow tinge, indicating there was someone in the dining room. A sidewalk ran up to the porch, and Jack safely ignored that, stepping over the multicolored, igneous rock that made up the front’s landscaping to the porch. He bounded up the steps and went into the house. Opening the door, he felt a rush of warm air greet him.
Inside was Jack’s mother, Titiana, watching some sort of telenovela on her tablet. She had curly hair, and wore a black vest with a white button up shirt beneath. She was in her leggings, hunched over, completely engrossed by the images on her screen. She had brown eyes and brown hair, just like Jack. She was only slightly rotund. She turned her head when Jack came in, revealing a face without any makeup on. She must’ve gotten back from school a while ago.
“Hello! Just got back from work?”
“Yep.”
Jack entered the room, and closed the door behind him. Inside was a table with no tablecloth on it. A vase of turgid flowers and a tissue box lay among the mess of scattered papers and knick knacks which made up the true surface of the desk. Four chairs surrounded the desk. A similar mess lined the windowsill. A few plants lay here and there, to spruce up the space occupied by supplement bottles and out of date mail. A filing cabinet occupied the corner space, where lay against it a single mop, unused.
“Did you wear your jacket?” Sergei, Jack’s father, called out from the next room over.
“No.” The green-gray jacket in question lay glumly on the coat rack near the door.
“I told you to wear your jacket.”
Jack cleared a space for himself and took a seat at the aforementioned table. He sat in silence as in the next room over, Sergei watched television. Jack overheard voices talking about a financial crash. Then the People’s Republic of China’s fiscal policy. Then a war in the middle east. Sergei was bent over in the single recliner the house had, also engrossed by the screen in front of him. His hair, unlike both Jack’s and Titiana’s, was a dull gray. His face had wrinkles which dropped a bit, especially when watching television. His blue eyes reflected the various news stories that flashed across the screen. He was also rotund, but not as much as Jack, who claimed the dubious title of largest member of the Ulyanov household. His polo shirt and jeans reflected no creases or unsightly stains--Sergei ironed them every week, despite being retired. In the house, the three of them sat briefly in dead silence, nothing filling up the air besides soap opera Spanish and the droning tone of the news reporter. Jack then opened up the fridge in the kitchen, looking for something to eat.
Sergei gave Jack a dirty look. “Hey. Didn’t you already eat at work?”
	“Yeah, but I had nothing for dinner.”
“You’re already two hundred and forty pounds. Give it a break, would you? Also, where’s the rent money for this month?”
“I paid mom last week.”
“Ah.”
“Is there anything good in here?”
	“Well, I have some leftovers from yesterday.”
Jack took out a container filled with a mix of vegetables, rice, and meat. “You mean this?”
“Yep. You can put it in the microwave and eat it.”
Jack promptly did just that. The mix was too unruly to really be called anything but a mix of things. Sergei would make these dishes while Jack and his mother were at work, these dishes of whatever was left in the fridge after he bought what was on sale at the store. Jack had offered to help with the groceries, and Sergei quickly refused, stating that the four hundred dollars they received per month from Jack in terms of rent money was enough. So Jack ate the motley blend of on sale food. There was carrot, sausage, a bit of coleslaw, brown rice, and chicken. After eating it all, Jack excused himself to take a shower, before entering his room.
  The floor was mostly clear, but the desk and the top of the dresser were lined with clothes, a mixture of work and leisure. A few good button up shirts and slacks lay in the closet. A single bookshelf decorated the room. On it lay books of history, from the Tanzimat reforms in the Ottoman Empire to diatribes about the Cold War and the consequences of the fall of the USSR. He had read them forever ago, when he was young and still had a future. He wondered about what he really should’ve done with college. A thousand possibilities raced through his mind as he lay down in bed, exhausted from yet another day’s work.  At least it was the weekend tomorrow.

II

The sun glinted over the palm trees. It was the final event of the second of four orientation days--after this, they would be let go to go back with their parents to whatever locale they came from. Jack stood, shifting his weight back and forth between his two legs. It was ninety four degrees out, and he was sweating profusely through his gray cotton shirt. His sweatpants weren’t helping either. The crowd of fellow freshmen around him waited anxiously in the heat for directions. Some of them were conversing with each other. Others, like Jack, clung onto their University of Arizona orientation folders, hoping that someone would get them into an air conditioned space soon. They had already called in groups A-H and I-S to get their CatCards done. Jack was wondering when his turn to wait in some climate controlled room for a square piece of plastic would come, given that it was so damn hot outside.
The tour went as expected for the first half of the day. Breakfast in the student union, then following around various tour guides to the buildings or departments Jack wanted to see. Jack was particularly interested in the Math department. He was going to major in Applied Statistics, and make lots of money as a data analyst. So he looked around there, first. He met some folks, shook some hands, and everyone seemed nice enough. Afterwards, he went on a tour of the entire campus along with twenty or so curious eighteen year olds before he ended up in the crowd in front of the student union. He even met some people from the group, too. Peter, Madison, and Clark. All were aspiring math or statistics majors, just like him. They swapped high school war stories and how each had taken the Calculus AB or BC exams. Jack himself had only taken the Calculus AB exam, but had passed with a four. This left him within the upper half of mathematics students that he had talked to--so he had his confidence boosted right at the start.
The campus was filled with buildings with no particular style whatsoever, save for Old Main. The buildings were usually one story save for the gargantuan student union, which stood out like a sore thumb amongst the uninspired architecture. It was a similarly bland building, but it was large enough to be an imposing presence to those who stood upon the grass outside. Other multistory buildings, such as the engineering building, the physics building, and the biology building lacked the commodification and stature that the mighty student union had. It was not a morose collection of classrooms, but rather, a dull collection of shops and administrative buildings which showed the captive students that tuition was not nearly enough for the full college experience.
Suddenly, a woman stepped forth from the overarching network of cafes and administrative offices. She wore a University of Arizona polo, khaki shorts, and sunglasses. She too held a folder, but it was unlike those of the bushy-tailed freshman which stood before her. She took a brief survey of the crowd before she spoke.
“Group T-Z, please come in. We will be assigning your CatCards now.”
Jack breathed a sigh of relief as the similarly last-named students crowded around in a single file line. They all marched behind the singular lady and went down into the student union. Downstairs from the main plaza, they had entered into the bookshop, where a photo booth was set up. Group I-S was still finishing up, in their own little line filled with would be freshmen college students. So they still had time before receiving their allotted rectangular identification cards. Jack was minding his own business when a voice came to him over his shoulder.
“Hey.”
Jack turned around. Standing in front of him was a tall freshman with glasses. He had blue eyes and brown hair. His lanky arms cradled his University of Arizona folder carefully. Jack must’ve gotten sweat all over his folder. Jack waddled up towards him before continuing the conversation.
“Hey.”
“So what’s your name?”
	“Jack.”
	“Mine’s Sebastian. What’s your major?”
	“Er… Applied Statistics.”
	“Wow! I was never very good at math. You must be some kind of genius or something.”
	“Oh, wow, uh, thanks. What’s your major?”
“I’m still undecided. I’m choosing between anthropology and sociology.”
“Huh. What are you planning to do with that?”
	“Oh, become a professor.”
“That’s interesting. I hope you will do well in your classes.”
	“Yeah, me too. I think I’m just going to try and make some friends before everyone gets settled, you know? Do you wanna swap numbers?”
Jack quickly exchanged numbers with the taller boy. Huh. So that was how you made friends in college. Jack turned away from Sebastian and turned towards the girl in front of him. The girl was shorter than Jack, and was chubby. Her face had some serious acne upon it. Jack thought that the relative unattractiveness of the girl would make for easier talking. Jack was relatively inexperienced with interfacing with women.
“Uh. Hey.”
The girl turned towards Jack, revealing hazel eyes. Her hair was vaguely coffee colored, with streaks of orange in it. It wasn’t a very good look, which only further boosted Jack’s lagging confidence.
“Oh. Hello.”
“What’s your name?”
	“Isla, like island, but without the n and d. What’s yours?”
“Jack.”
	“Oooh, simple. I like it.”
“Uh, thanks. Your name seems a bit rarer than mine, heh. What’s your major?”
	“Oh, I’m majoring in Biology. Cells and all that really interest me. I was thinking about Biochemistry, but I’m no good at math. What about you?”
	“Applied Statistics.”
“Wow! You must be really good at math. It was my least favorite subject in high school.”
“Thanks. What are you planning to do with your degree?”
“Probably work at some kind of lab or something. I’m not entirely sure yet!”
	“That’s fine. I’m sure things will work out in the end. Oh, by the way, can I have your number?”
Jack and Isla quickly exchanged numbers. Not even twenty minutes had passed, and Jack had made two new friends. Jack wondered about this--was making new friends always this easy, or did college provide enough social lubricant in terms of being young and dumb that everyone was open to this formulaic conversation. He decided to try it a third time, with the person in front of Isla.
“Hey…”

III
Jack was on break, chowing down on a quarter pound burger with cheese. He had added fries to the burger, so there was a little bit of crunch with the overall saltiness of the burger. It was delicious, although this was only in comparison to the dishes his father made, which didn’t exactly set a high bar for cuisine. As he licked his fingers free from grease and salt, he took out his phone and flipped through the list of contacts. He supposed that right now was a perfect time to delete some of the old contacts in his phone.
He flipped past old relatives, his manager, and his parents to find the ungodly list of names he could no longer remember or put a place to. Some of them, like Myra, stirred listless feelings of longing from his chest, whereas others, like Clay, only stirred feelings of regret and embarrassment. He deleted both from his phone. On the other hand, there were names he couldn’t exactly put a time and a place to. People like Penelope, Max, Logan. He wondered who exactly they were and what they were doing on his phone. The conversations he had with them were relatively simple. He wondered if the female names were people he was trying to get with back in the day. He had very little luck, except for Myra, who he wanted to never talk to again, given his situation.
Two names stuck out to him, and he decided to do a little web-digging. Isla and Sebastian. He first looked at the chat logs between them and him. The last messages were about four years ago, talking about vague things like how they were doing and what they were doing. Last he heard, Sebastian dropped out of college. Isla was supposedly doing well in her biology courses. He hadn’t talked to them during the break, so that was a relief, at least. He only managed to make a massive fool of himself to his friends and family, not to these relative strangers. He went online and searched each of their names.
Isla had a LinkedIn profile. Supposedly, she was getting her masters in ecology right about now. She had a smattering of experience across national parks and research labs. She had a glowing review from a former supervisor on both her work ethic and experience. Several contacts with the biotechnology sphere. So she seemed to be doing just fine. Jack burned with jealousy. If only it was him in fancy technical internships, if only it was him with a career, success, friends, and prestige. Those things were not meant for him, though, and he decided to look up Sebastian’s name instead. Maybe a fellow failure at life would cheer him up some.
Well, according to his instagram, after Sebastian flunked out, he decided to take up an internship as an electrician somewhere down in Tucson. After graduating from Pima Community College with an associates' degree in Electrical Technology, he had seemingly gone into an apprenticeship program, and was now happily employed as an electrician. Jack was happy for him, he guessed. An apprentice electrician made roughly the same as him working at McDonalds’. The only difference was that the electrician had career progression, something Jack sorely lacked.
It was pointless, Jack supposed. An apprenticeship would set him back four more years of his life before he made a decent wage. The only benefits would be that it was cheaper than a college degree. And he heard terrible things about what it did to one’s body. Still, Jack felt a certain temptation to go into the trades. He was already a master at mind numbing work--perhaps self-destructive work would also be similarly mind numbing. In high school, he had a 1460 SAT with a 3.7 GPA. No one had thought that Jack was going to be a failure. And yet here he was, flipping burgers at McDonald’s.
There was no sense to it. Why was he doing this when people with less than stellar high school records were running circles around him in the job market. Perhaps he should’ve majored in something he was more passionate about. But all of his passions were useless in the job market. History would’ve probably just had him end up here, with the same worries, and the same future anxieties about rent and his place among the world. But at least he wouldn’t have cheated. So in a perverse way, he really did wish he did the useless degree. Maybe it would’ve ended up differently. With a higher GPA, he could look at getting a Masters’ degree. Though, academia was dying, and it wasn’t like one more humanities PhD in the mix would’ve altered anything.
Jack didn’t know what to do. He knew he wasn’t good enough to really earnestly get the degree he ended up receiving, but what else was there? He couldn’t code, and he couldn’t do proof-based mathematics. Of course, he had found this out far too late within the program, when it was too late to change to what he really wanted to do with those four years of precious time. Did he just not have the brains to be fiscally secure in this world? Was it fate, dooming him to be on the lower end of the income distribution?
Jack looked at his phone. It read 2:28. A heavyset mestizo coworker entered the room. In her hands was a tray that contained a Big Mac with yet another large fries. Jack silently acknowledged her as he got up and prepared to go back to work. Another four and a half hours until he could get off of his shift.


IV
Jack was early for his psychometrician’s appointment. He had already taken the IQ test--and had been confirmed as above average. Now all that remained was the final test for ADHD. He sat inside the office, vaguely skimming over some of the articles within Psychology Today, since that was all that was on the tables in the place. There were pieces of all kinds, ranging from attachment theory to opinion pieces on medicinal treatment. Jack lazily perused the articles, skimming them with the half-interest of someone with nothing to do. A recommendation here, a new pet theory there. It wasn’t that interesting to Jack, who preferred history to idle conversations about how the human mind worked.
“Jack Ulyanov? Am I pronouncing that correctly?”
“You are.”
“Dr. Jackman will see you now.”
Jack picked up his backpack, and entered into the section of the building cordoned off from the rest of the office. Dr. Jackman was waiting, pen in hand.
“Hello. How are you?”
	“Good. Let’s get this over with.”
“Most certainly.”
Jack was brought back into a room filled with all sorts of psychometric instruments. IQ tests were stacked on top of one table. Blocks on another. There were errant piles of questionnaires for depression, anxiety, autism, scattered on a different table. Computers lined the wall on the far edge of the room, where Jack was being taken.
“So sit down here and begin the test.”