“Yo, this one’s easy!” cried Gordon from his seat at the upper end of the lecture hall.

“Easy peasy! You know it’s 2πr if there’s a circumference involved!” I yelled in response.

“That’s it!” cried Dr. Phillips. “My office, after class!”

“Man, it’s not my fault I’m excited about math all of a sudden,” I said, sullenly, waiting for another student to exit Dr. Phillips’ office after class.

“It’s not like it was the wrong answer,” said Gordon. “He can’t do anything to take down your mad mathin’ skillz.”

“Next!” cried Phillips, as the other student–a female Dean’s Lister–took their leave.

“Look,” the professor said once Gordon and I had seated ourselves. “I can’t have outbursts like that from you in class anymore. It’s disrupting the learning process for everyone.”

“I got the right answer!” I said. “Is it my fault that I’ve suddenly got enthusiasm for math, after years of hating its filthy guts?”

“Right on!” said Gordon. “Preach it!”

“Disrupting class isn’t just about the right answer, Paul,” said Phillips.

“What about Gordon?” I said. “Why is this always just about me?”

The professor looked at me askance. “Gordon?” he said. “I don’t have a Gordon this semester.”

Suddenly, I had the shock of blinding revelation–no one had ever spoken to Gordon other than me, my replies had always had the right answer in them, and everything I’d said in public had been ambiguous enough to refer to myself without the need for a third party present. My hatred for mathematics had been so strong that I had created Gordon just to help get me through it.

“Crap,” I said. “I just pulled a Tyler Durden.”

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