Achmed Hussein Muhammad adjusted his cheap polyester uniform and took a deep breath. He needed this.
Grievance Studies was a surprisingly difficult major. There was just so much bullshit to learn. Every “fact” was contradicted by some other “fact” and none of them were objectively true. In the end, his grade was determined by his level of obeisance toward Dr. Simone Moonglow Lenin Rothchild; who was not only a shrieking harpy, but hated him for being unforgivably male. Even worse, Achmed’s visa required him to continue his studies or return to his home country.
Achmed shuddered, returning home was unthinkable! There were an unknown number of little Achmeds running around. Each was correlated with a very angry young lady: Each young lady had at her disposal several brothers and cousins.
When shit got serious Achmed made a break for it. It had been a close call. He’d boarded a plane and took flight literally minutes before a horde descended on the airport. From his tiny window on the ten-seat plane, he watched the crowd burn his town’s small rural airport to the ground.
He definitely was not going back!
Karma, however, cannot be denied. Despite making a natural 20 on the real life saving throw of the airport incident, things hadn’t worked out. He’d pushed his luck by trying for an “easy” major when he’d filed for refugee status in the States. He deeply regretted choosing Grievance Studies over something much less mind-bending; like nuclear physics. Thus, for his sins, Achmed was sentenced to a baccalaureate in contradictory beliefs and groveling. He shrugged, compared to the fate awaiting him back home, it was a fair deal.
Achmed’s mental release valve was his job. Four nights a week he manned a convenience store. It was the furthest thing possible from bickering nitwits at the campus. Aside from a few drunks, he would spend the next several hours in a completely unremarkable setting. He was looking forward to a restful shift.
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