Half-way down the aisle, you notice something odd; your T.A.’s name, Melodie Seibert, is spelled wrong at the top of your test. How likely would it be that your T.A., who wrote the exam, would spell her own name wrong?
This point of evidence becomes a catalyst for action. You turn on your heel and begin to sprint up the aisle and out the door of the lecture hall. Your legs pump harder as you dart past random people in the halls and run along Church Street.
Winded, you slam open the front doors of Pillsbury Hall and come to an abrupt stop. Now that you’re here, you’re slightly confused as to what’s next.
“I’m going crazy. I have hit the stress breaking-point and now I’m having a nervous break-down. So, this is what it feels like …”
The dirty and awkward looks you are receiving from passing students make you realize that you’re talking to yourself. Nonchalantly, you continue walking down the hall and find an empty study room where you can establish a game plan.
Maybe you need to sit down somewhere and collect your thoughts.
But, your line of thought is interrupted by the feeling that someone is watching you. Slowly and inconspicuously, you turn your head to the door, only to have it met by a large Student Book Store plastic bag, filled with four or five texts. The bag and its contents smack your head with a hollow thump.
As though someone briefly unplugged a television screen, your mind switches to complete blackness and slowly re-focuses, with the image of a dark figure running away.
“The man … the man has my ticket to happiness … the man …” Your surroundings become crisper as you drift in and out of consciousness.
Your eyes open a final time to see three black-clad and shaven-head students kneeling beside you. The female of the clan is stroking your forehead as you focus on her “Womyn Together Now!” button.
“Dude, are you ok? We passed by the room and saw you lying on the floor,” said one of the young men.
“Yes … uh, no. I need to get the man …”
The woman stroking your head helps you up. “Did the man do this to you?” she asks. “Because we can help you. We’re out to get the man ourselves and we’re having a rally in a few minutes to let other people at the University know about the man.”
She hands you her black and red business card that has the words, “DISGRUNTLED STUDENTS IN ACTION” stretched across the top. You’ve heard about this group before — they’re notorious for rallies and sit-ins on campus and although they seem willing to help, you find it hard to believe that you’re talking about the same man.
Your mind flashes to last image you saw before you were clubbed with the bag of books. Would anyone at the bookstore be able to tell you if a strange man had been in the building lately?

If you decide to follow the student protesters to the rally … See THE MAN FROM NOWHERE LAND page 21
If you choose to go to the Student Book Store … See BAG O’ SMACK IN THE FACE page 8