Note: Take the dinky to campus

The Monrovia Character Assessment.

My professor won’t like that - naming it after myself.

I’ve been at it for a month. I still have another one before Christmas and one more in the spring. I have my calendar in the bathroom. I drew it on the wall across from my shower with a black magic marker. I just painted over the first month, but not before taking a picture first. The new month is up, but the days are blank. I look at it when I brush my teeth.

At first, I put post-it notes on my wall calendar but they fell off when I took a shower. Now I keep them like yellow feathers on a big pad on my dining room table. I memorize each day’s post-it over coffee so I don’t get lost. I unstick the one for today.

MCA: Sharing. Not a very technical term, but I’ll think of a better one when I write my report.

Schools: Princeton University, Mercer Community College. The same schools I went to exactly a month ago.

Trains - NJ Transit. The Northeast Corridor Line to Princeton Junction. I add: Take the dinky to campus.

The train out of Penn Station is full of reverse commuters and my ears pop as I look at my notes from last month. The characteristic I tested last time was helpfulness.

Subjects: 8 males, 15 females. Total: 23

Female #5: Sophomore, age 19. Morris Plains, NJ. Altruism Survey Score: 7/10. Notes: Hesitated before helping to pick up my dropped papers.

Female #8: Freshman, age 17. Palo Alto, CA. Altruism Survey Score: 9/10. Notes: Was walking behind me; started small talk.

Male #3: Junior, age 21. New York, NY. Altruism Survey Score: 6/10. Notes: Watched me drop folder; kept walking; apologized after taking the survey, saying he did not want to patronize me (?).

I step off the train and note my arrival time: 10:43am. On one corner is a convenience store. On the other, a dorm. I go to get some coffee before starting my research - my second cup of the morning. Before going back to the dinky stop, I turn my cell phone off.

Two students are on the platform when I return. I put my backpack on and loiter, close enough for them to notice me. Note: males. One in collar shirt and jeans, the other in pajama pants. I wait two minutes before approaching.

“Excuse me, may I borrow your phone to make a quick call? I’m supposed to meet someone here but I forgot my cell.”

They hear me, then look at each other. Note: stalling. Pajama Pants gets his phone out. “Yeah okay. Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I dial my number and press Send, planning what I’ll say to my own voicemail. But as the phone makes the connection, my own name shows up on the screen. I’m in the phonebook. I look at Pajama Pants again. He looks at me.

“Monrovia! Kevin Monrovia! Jesus, what are you doing here?”

“He-ey,” I stammer. Dammit, I don’t remember this kid.

“Oh wow, I haven’t seen you in ages! It’s funny you asked me for my phone. This may sound weird, but I’ve started a personal experiment after my internship with Amnesty International this summer. I told myself I would be nice to all strangers. All of them. But I guess you’re not a stranger. You won’t believe the kind of responses I’m getting.”

Flares and sirens are going off in my head. “Hey, er, do you want some coffee? Or maybe we can meet up later? I’ll be around all day. Yeah, um, I’ve got so many things to ask you, you have no idea.”