This is the campus. CMTU. No, it doesn't stand for Central Massachusetts Technical University. It stands for Can't Make This Up. There are 20,000 spoiled brats crammed into 100 sq acres here. And that's not counting the faculty. Unlike most universities, you don't have the campus community hunkered down in fear of the surrounding town. Here, the town lives in fear of the campus.
That's where I come in. I wear a badge. I'm a campus cop.
I was working the day shift when the call came in on the radio.
"Joe, put down the donut and get over to the Karl Marx building. Report of a macro-aggression."
"10-4. Request back-up."
Throwing on my red light and siren, I sped over to the Marx Building. Fortunately, it was right across the street. Already, there was a big crowd gathering. People were chanting and they looked plenty mad.
Getting out of my cruiser, I spotted a long-haired hippy freak with a blonde pony tail rushing toward me. I immediately recognized him.
"Do your duty, Pig," he told me.
"And just what is my duty, Professor?" I replied.
"Talk to that woman over there. She's a victim of a macro-aggression."
I walked over to the woman who appeared hysterical. I recognized her too. She was a law student. Every time I saw her she was hysterical.
"What's the problem, Miss?"
"Officer. I was standing here exercising my right of free speech when this guy asked me if I had ever heard of the US Constitution."
Pulling out my notepad, I replied, "And what did you tell him- No?"
"No, I told him I had and that he was setting off a trigger warning by bringing it up. Then I told him I considered the Constitution to be an oppressive document."
Stifling a yawn, I wrote down her comments. I looked over at my cruiser. The long-haired hippy puke professor was jumping up and down on the roof and leading the growing mob in a chant:
"What do we want?"
"Justice!"
"When do we want it?"
"Now!"
I turned back to the student eager to finish taking her report and get back to my cruiser.
"What else did he say, Miss?"
"He said America was the land of opportunity. At that point, I started hyperventilating and decided to call 9-11."
"Really? So what did he look like?"
"He was a privileged white male," she said.
I checked the box on my report form: "Privileged white male".
"OK. Any further description?"
The girl looked at me in stunned surprise.
"Isn't that enough? Just go round up the usual suspects. Isn't that what you always do?"
"Not really," I responded.
I cast a worried look at my cruiser. The long-haired hippy professor was still jumping up and down on the roof. A young reporter from the student newspaper was videotaping the whole scene. At that point, an asst. journalism professor ran over to him and demanded he stop filming. Something about the 4th Amendment.
And still my back-up hadn't arrived. The situation was getting out of hand. Just another day at CMTU.
"Alright, Lady. I'll get on it."
Walking back to my cruiser, I reached up and grabbed the long-haired hippy professor by his pony tail and yanked him off the roof of my car hurling him into the crowd.
"Macro-aggression!" he cried as he landed with a thud.
Ignoring him, I grabbed my radio and called in my report.
"Put out an all points bulletin for a privileged white male."
"10-4."
As I climbed into my cruiser, I called out to the hysterical student:
"OK, Lady. Are you happy now? I assume you're willing to testify in court, right?"
Her face got red-even redder than it already was.
"What the hell difference does it make? They'll just let him plead it down to a micro-aggression."
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