Controlling Time: Book 2

Chapter 1: Introduction

Controlling Time 1: Introductory Chapter

IF ROGER WILCON ever got his hands on a time machine, invariably he would use it.

The frustration showed on his face the moon he finished his lecture.  He could sense it on the faces of the students present that it had not gone the way he had foreseen.  It took a few minutes for boredom to arise, and then withdrawal, which of course, inevitably led to apathy.  For the final twenty minutes it felt like Roger had been talking to himself in class.  He didn’t bother asking if anyone had any questions, because he could predict no one raising their hand.

If he could have foreseen how teaching physics to freshmen and sophomore students would have turned out, he would have chosen an altogether different vocation. 

He brushed past the students in the hallways, ignoring each and every one of them.  Sincerely, he tried his best in class.  Why couldn’t he find a way to resonate with the ensemble?  He found his field interesting, and at times, exciting, but simply could not convey his enthusiasm to anyone listening.  Maybe it is due to their inexperience, he thought.  He had recently acquired his doctorate in physics, and as such, obtained a position at the university.  He had hoped he could focus his efforts on experimentation and furthering his career, but instead he had to dedicate time and effort (apparently not enough of the latter) on teaching a variety of classes a week.

He has only been teaching three weeks, and already he feels like a failure.  He sighed as he trotted up the stairs, opened the faculty door and marched towards his office.  Check that: more like closet, which he shared with another academic.  Professors should have a more dignified place to further their knowledge, rather than a shoebox.  At times it felt like a prison cell.  He had considered complaining to the dean, but knew that his associates had something similar.  It would take years to move up to something better.  There is simply not enough space available to accommodate everyone wanting a larger room.

Dr. Roger Wilcon—he liked how that sounded—opened his office door and slithered in.  His roommate was already there, one Stanley Burgess; himself another physics instructor.  He has been teaching at this university for half a dozen years and had learned to cope with his surroundings.  Roger set his class notes down on his cluttered desk, sat in his chair and sighed.

“Class went well?” Professor Burgess inquired, not making the effort to look up from his notes.  Even though it appeared to look important, Roger suspected that his roommate was instead doing the daily crossword puzzle.

“To be honest,” Roger answered, “no.”  His fingers flipped through his pages of notes he made prior to the beginning of class.  He foolishly thought they would sufficient.  Turns out, he isn’t the best soothsayer in the world.

“You’ll get better,” his associate replied.  “It takes a few months to work out the kinks in a curriculum.”

Roger glanced up at his calendar and felt dismayed by all the dates he had circled.  Written all over the place were post it notes.  Roger didn’t fancy the idea of how much paperwork he needed to finish within the next few weeks.  He hadn’t even started no his midterm exam, which he needed to submit to the assistant dean first, before he could even distribute it to the students.  With no one seemingly paying attention in class, he had his doubts anyone would pass.  That’s the problem, however.  If no one passes his course, it’s him and not the students who look bad.  There needed to be a grading curve, indicating that at least some of them had absorbed the material.  Roger had to wonder if his colleagues were experiencing similar hassles?