BY SEROLF FLORES
SEMINARY—In the immediate aftermath of a numerical countoff to determine the composition of discussion groups for the rest of the class period, members of Groups 1, 3, 4, 5, and 6 are exuberantly celebrating their escape from being assigned to the same group that That One Guy is in.
Members of those groups were seen heaving huge sighs, grinning foolishly, and exchanging friendly smiles as they drew their chairs together in anticipation of a friendly, inclusive discussion without the long-winded, self-glorifying promulgations that That One Guy is infamous for.
“Wow, we have a great group,” exclaimed Sarah Stills, a member of Group 4, before quietly expressing pity toward Group 2.
Tensions began building in Dr. Danko's Principles of Church Management class the instant he announced group discussion time, and stated that the groups would be determined by an oral countoff from “one” through “six.”
“My first reaction was to shift seats,” said Ben Rogers. “But then I thought, what if, by shifting seats, I end up counting off the same number as That One Guy? So I stayed put, prayed, and did my best to trust God's providence. And here I am, in Group 1 to testify that God does work.”
Other members of the class reported similar feelings.
“I had a class with That One Guy last semester,” said Brenda Peterson, who ended in Group 3. “He'd show up late all the time, spend all class laughing with his pals at the back, then dominate any discussion with long recollections of how he marvelously handled similar situations during his student undergrad internship at so-and so-church. Lord, the thought that I could have ended up in a group with him--”
As a student, That One Guy is a perplexing phenomenon. He is in at least one class in everyone's schedule in any given semester. During lectures, he is known for surfing espn.com on his laptop and playing top-down shooter games on his iPhone constantly, except when he raises his hand to instruct the professor or share with other students from his infinite storehouses of knowledge and expertise. In the commons, he can be seen reclining in a central couch, legs kicked out, hands behind his head or extended over the backs of the seat as he expounds his opinions and experiences with eyes half-shut. In between classes, his voice is frequently heard greeting other students in familiar tones, often accompanying the Hey STAAANNNley! with a firm grab of both shoulders from behind. On the sports field, That One Guy is known for his vocabulary and his creative interpretation of governing rules.
In cases when That One Guy is married, he provides classmates with endless speculation on how he managed to accomplish such a feat. When That One Guy is single, he provides classmates with the reason why Seminarians have a creepy reputation among undergrad girls, given his fondness of long, full-front hugs, and his propensity to hit on anything with the ability to bear children.
“You should have seen him at Field School,” said Victor Bailey, who served with That One Guy in California two semesters ago. “He went rutting after the girls in the church like a boar in mating season, a parade of flash and show and sweet talk, never you mind any work that he had to do, that we eventually had to cover for. The weird thing is that some girls are attracted to his particular combination of empty confidence, at least in the beginning.”
At last witness, That One Guy could be seen directing and determining who got permission to speak in Group 2, moderating and qualifying any comment in terms of his personal experience. Other members of Group 2 expressed personal dismay at the current situation, but took solace in the bigger picture.
“That One Guy'll probably be Conference President some day,” said Carl Menken, a member of that group. “Then we'll all suffer equally.”
