Self presentation: The act of expressing oneself and behaving in ways designed to create a favorable impression or an impression that corresponds to one's ideals.

And with that nod, Blaine finally knew that he was completely and utterly alone. He slammed the door behind him, breathing hard against the tears that were already welling in his throat. Where could he go? He needed somewhere to think. Finally an idea occurred to him. The Lima Bean.

Kurt stepped into the refreshing chill of the Lima Bean, feeling instantly more alert at the scent of espresso beans. He'd studiously avoided drinking coffee throughout high school, as his extremely obsessive and thorough skin care regimen called for avoiding anything that could cause a breakout. But New York ran on coffee, and between the early morning courses and late night rehearsals, Kurt was lucky if he managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. He'd gone from a coffee virgin to a coffee addict in the span of weeks. So naturally, working at a coffee shop seemed like a pretty good fit.

Kurt surveyed the shop, trying to get a sense of the environment. There were only two people working when he entered, one behind the cash register and the other manning the espresso machine. The guy behind the cash register seemed to be about Kurt's age and was relatively attractive. Better still was the lack of hideous polyester uniforms to wear. Instead, the employees wore a simple black apron and a small nametag. So far, so good.

“Hi,” Kurt called, sidling up to the cute guy at the register with a smile. “I saw your sign in the window that said you were hiring. Can I get an application?”

“Sure, they’re on the far table next to the bulletin board. We're only looking for someone to help out for the rest of the summer rush though. We've got two full-time staff people coming back once the fall semester starts up.”

“Oh no, that's perfect. I'm headed back to New York in a few weeks anyway. I just need to make a little quick cash before then,” Kurt replied, noticing the cute guy's dimples as he smiled.

“New York, huh? That's awesome. So if you want to fill out the application now and hand it to me, I'll make sure it ends up at the top of pile. Just let me know if you have any other questions.”

“Thanks,” Kurt replied before walking over to the table to grab a blank application. His eyes scanned the bulletin board overhead, taking in the usual assortment of lost pets, rooms for rent, and music lessons. However, as he stooped down to grab a pen, one advertisement caught his eye.

Male College Students needed for Psychological Study on Prison Life
$15 per day for 1-2 weeks, beginning July 14. Paid volunteers will be randomly assigned to play the role of either prisoner or guard. Food and accommodations for all participants will be provided. All participants will agree to have their behavior observed and may be asked to give interviews or take psychological tests. For further information or to apply, come to Room 248 Windsor Hall, Dalton Academy.

“Interesting,” Kurt thought. Fifteen dollars a day plus room and board wasn't bad for a few weeks work. But what really appealed to him was getting paid to play a role. It wasn't exactly starring in a Broadway show, but it was something. A start. Plus, how many times had he cursed his tame, conservative small town upbringing? So many people at NYADA had these fascinating former lives to draw on. They could bring gritty realism to a scene about drug addiction, for example, when the only truly emotional experiences Kurt could draw on were about being bullied in high school. With a shrug, Kurt flipped over the Lima Bean application and quickly copied down the information about the study and where to go to sign up. He glanced at his watch, confirming that he could make it to Dalton before 5 PM if he hurried.

Blaine downed the last of his third cup of coffee, his hands shaking with a combination of anxiety and overcaffeination. His thoughts were racing, and it was taking every ounce of his focus to keep from replaying the whole sordid scene with his father for the millionth time in the last few hours. Where could he go? What should he do next? What now? The questions tumbled from his brain in a seemingly endless stream, but so far, no solutions had appeared. Blaine stood, intending to deposit his empty coffee cup in the trash. As he dropped it into the bin, his eyes scanned the bulletin board, taking in the various offers of rooms for rent. All were above his current budget which was currently limited to the forty four dollars and change in his pocket. After that was gone, Blaine was completely on his own.

Blaine was about to give up on the bulletin board and try to hunt down a newspaper so he could scour the want ads section when a flyer caught his eye. “Hmm, study on prison life?” Blaine thought. “That's random.” But as Blaine read on, an overwhelming feeling of relief washed over him. Because this weird ad just might be solution to all his problems...at least temporarily. Full room and board for one to two weeks? That would give Blaine plenty of time to find a more permanent living situation. Not to mention that he'd get paid for signing up for the study. Blaine did some mental calculations. If he did the full two weeks, he could make just over $200 by the end of the study. That should be enough to get a room at a cheap motel or pay a month's rent on a shitty apartment. He scanned the text of the ad, anxious to sign up for the study before all the spots were filled. He jotted down the address and room number for Dalton's campus. If he hurried, he just might make it there before the experimenter left for the day.

Kurt sighed as he filled out the seemingly endless paperwork in front of him. Did he really need to tell the researcher that he'd had his tonsils out at age 7? How did that have anything to do with prison life? Kurt rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page.

Tell me about your family life.

“Hmm, that's more like it,” Kurt thought. This is what Psychology was supposed to be like...all obsessed with whether or not Kurt wanted to sleep with his mother. “Ooh, just wait until they find out she's dead,” Kurt thought morbidly.

Blaine let out an involuntary snort as he read the next question. The researcher gave Blaine an odd look, so Blaine quickly tried to cover the noise with a fake cough. But really, it was fucking poetic that they'd ask about his family life not twenty-four hours after his father had unceremoniously thrown him out of the house. But Blaine was desperate to be chosen for the study, so he decided to leave out most of the gory details.

My family is fine, but we aren't that close. They're not a big part of my life, to be honest. It was just my mom, dad, and I growing up (I'm an only child).

Hopefully that would be good enough. Blaine flipped to the next page, involuntarily groaning at the pages of surveys still to be completed. But really, where else did Blaine have to be at the moment? So he pressed on, trying to make himself sound like a perfect potential prisoner or guard.

Have you ever been convicted of a crime?

“Umm, this is supposed to be a simulation on prison life, right?” Kurt thought. He was all for the acting challenge, but he wasn't down with being locked up with a bunch of real hardened criminals. Or worse still, having to corral them as a prison guard. “Whatever,” he assured himself. “They probably just have to make sure I don't have any previous prison experience.” He circled “no” and moved on to the next question, trying to ignore the slightly uneasy feeling that was settling over him. It would be fine.

Any history of mental illness? Any history of mental illness in your immediate family?

Finally, a question that Blaine could answer honestly. No mental illnesses to speak of for him unless you wanted to count the mental breakdown that Blaine knew was probably coming at some point. Maybe if he could stay moving, stay busy until classes started up again, he could stave off his eventual collapse. It took everything in Blaine's power not to give a snarky reply about mental illness in the family. Hmm, is asshole an officially recognized disorder? How about pathological narcissism with a side of anger management problems? Would that adequately cover his dad? But Blaine fought hard to push aside his rage for now, because he couldn't afford to not be chosen for the study. He filled in a quick “no” both questions and moved on to the next one.

Please read each sentence and shade your response on the provided sheet using the directions below.

Shade N if the sentence never describes you or how you feel.
Shade S if the sentence sometimes describes you or how you feel.
Shade O if the sentence often describes you or how you feel.
Shade A if the sentence almost always describes you or how you feel.

Kurt scanned the list of nearly two hundred questions. “God, would this ever end?” he wondered. But he'd already wasted nearly two hours filling out the forms, so he was determined to see it through at this point.

My parents are proud of me.

Almost always.

People say bad things to me.

Often.

I wonder why I am going to school.

“Never,” Kurt bubbled in automatically since he'd never felt more at home than he did at NYADA. After years of struggle, he'd finally found a place where he belonged.

I get nervous when things do not go the right way for me.

“Sometimes,” Kurt bubbled in after some deliberation. Especially when he didn't get a call back after an audition. Was there anything worse than the waiting and not knowing?

Blaine flipped the page. Only two more pages to go. He quickly scanned the directions. Respond with never, sometimes, often, or almost always. He nodded to himself and moved to the first question. It seemed simple enough.

My parents are proud of me.

“Fuck,” thought Blaine as he felt tears prick his eyes. Did that really have to be the first question on today of all days? He decided to skip over it for now and move on to some of the (hopefully) more innocuous questions. He'd deal with it later.

I worry when I go to bed at night.

Sometimes.

I feel like I have to get up and move around.

Almost always. Blaine wondered if the researcher had noticed how much he was fidgeting as he answered the multitudes of surveys. Sitting still for two hours was a stretch for him, especially when he was worked up or angry. Speaking of which...

When I get angry, I want to break something.

“Yeah..like my dad's face for instance?” Blaine thought darkly. He settled for bubbling in sometimes. Close enough.

I drink alcohol to feel better.

“No, but that's not a bad idea. Maybe I should start?” Blaine thought as he bubbled in “never” on his survey.

I am someone you can rely on.

Finally, something that Blaine felt accurately described him. He'd always been the friend that other people came to for help or advice. He bubbled in “almost always.” Almost done.

“Finished!” Kurt exclaimed, handing the thick folder of paperwork over to the researcher sitting at the desk. Thank goodness that was finally done.

“Great,” said the researcher. “If you want to have a seat, I'm just going to review your
paperwork really quickly and then I've got one more form for you to read and sign.”

Kurt barely managed to stifle a groan. More paperwork?

“I know, I know...” said the researcher. “Trust me; I hate it just as much as you. Stupid university rules and all that. But you're almost done, I promise.”

Kurt smiled weakly, impatient to get home. He was starving and he was pretty sure he was developing carpal tunnel syndrome from all the writing.

The researcher flipped through the pages quickly, nodding in satisfaction that they were all completed. “Okay, everything looks good here, Kurt. So, the last thing we need you to do is to complete a consent form. But first, let me tell you what happens from here.”

Blaine smiled back at the researcher, relieved when he confirmed that Blaine's paperwork was complete and in order.

“One last thing and then you can be on your way,” the researcher spoke. “I guess I should start by formally introducing myself. My name is Jason and I'm a graduate research assistant in Dr. Cohen's lab. He's a professor here at Dalton and the lead investigator for this study. As you read in the advertisement, this study looks at prison life. Specifically, we're interested in seeing how average college students adapt to the environment and roles of prisoners or guards. We'll be selecting eight to ten male students for the study on the basis of the surveys and tests you just filled out. After you sign the consent forms, you'll be compensated $15 for your participation today.”

“Just to review,” Jason continued, “in order to be eligible for the study, you have to be available twenty four hours a day starting July 14th and ending July 28th. You'll be provided with housing and three meals a day. You will be randomly assigned to either fill the role of a prisoner or guard and will be expected to follow certain rules in accordance with your role. Your behavior will be observed and filmed twenty four hours a day for the entire time you participate in the study. The video or audio recordings will be used for research and teaching purposes. If you agree to this intrusion of your privacy, I'll need you to initial this statement here on the consent form.”

Blaine swallowed hard. The study was sounding weirder by the moment. It had a distinct Big Brother atmosphere, but honestly what choice did he have? It was either this or sleep in his car. He quickly initialed the statement and looked up expectantly. What was next?

“Okay Kurt, I just need you to initial one more spot, sign and date the bottom, and you are officially done. As I was saying just a second ago, you're expected to participate for the full two weeks if selected. When you initial here, it acknowledges the conditions for being removed from the study. Basically, the researchers reserve the right to remove you from the study at any time if we have reason to believe you've lied on your surveys or broken any of the rules of the study. However, once you begin the study, you can only quit if you have a valid medical excuse. If you decide you need to leave because of an illness or injury, you will let Dr. Cohen know and he'll have a doctor evaluate you to determine whether or not you need to leave the study or if you can safely continue. Similarly, any other need to leave will be considered and decided at Dr. Cohen's discretion. If he thinks you are just bored or want to quit for a trivial reason, he can tell you that you have to continue. That's really the biggest thing. Basically, you should think of this like a contract for a job. So take a minute, look it over, and make sure you don't have any questions before initialing.”

Kurt grabbed the pen from the desk and quickly scanned the text before scrawling his initials. He was only half listening by this point, his mind occupied with rehearsing his monologue for an upcoming audition. He'd listened to this researcher drone on for hours now. Seriously, it's not like he was donating a kidney. He was basically playing dress up and role-playing prison in someone's basement. Kurt was pretty sure he could handle two weeks of that. He looked back to the researcher. “And then I just need to sign and date here?” he asked.

“Yes, that's all. Just make sure you put today's date. July 13th, 1971.”

“Great,” Kurt said. “Whew! All done, right? So when will I know if I made it into the study?”

“You are our second to last interview, I believe, so we'll decide sometime tomorrow. You'll get a phone call from us tomorrow afternoon and then the study will start first thing Sunday morning.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt said, standing and shaking the graduate student's hand. “Hopefully I'll get to do the study. I'm actually an actor from New York, so I'm sure I'd be really good at playing prisoner or guard.”

Jason chuckled at the overly eager student. “Ahh youth,” he couldn't help thinking. Kurt seemed naïve, but sweet. He'd probably make a model prisoner. “Oh great, I'll be sure to let Dr. Cohen know that. Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” trilled Kurt, already halfway out the door. He took a deep breath as he walked out into the open air. “Free at last. At least until Sunday, that is,” he thought with amusement.

Blaine was still mostly asleep when he heard the phone ring. He struggled off the couch, displacing a heavy quilt covering his lap and nearly tripping over Wes' laconic golden retriever, managing to dodge her paws and only clip the edge of her bushy tail with his foot. “Whoops, sorry, Pavarotti,” Blaine mumbled as he stumbled toward the ringing phone in the kitchen. He'd nearly reached the receiver when the answering machine turned on. “Hi, you've reached the Montgomery residence. Please leave a message after the beep.”

Before Blaine could figure out how to stop the answering machine so that he could answer, he heard a girl's voice, high and slightly confused, come over the machine. It was clear that she was reading from a script, but she still stumbled over her words, sounding perky but also a bit lost.

“Hi, this is Brittany calling from Dr. Cohen's lab at Dalton Academy. This message is for Blaine Anderson. Umm...congrat-you...er... Umm, good job on being selected to participate in the study. You've been randomly assigned to play to the role of a guard. We'll need you to come for orientation before the study starts tomorrow morning. You should report to Windsor Hall at Dalton Academy at 6 PM this evening. Please bring toiletries and enough socks, underwear....umm.” The girl's voice wavered for a second and Blaine could just barely make out a hysterical giggle. Was this girl for real?

“Umm right, so bring like underwear and undershirts and stuff. Enough for two weeks. You'll be provided with your uniform. So yeah, we’ll see you at 6 PM! Should be awesome. Please be on time. Okay...bye bye!”

Blaine felt a flood of relief. The good news is that he had a place to stay for the next two weeks. He was grateful that Wes had welcomed into his home, but he couldn't sleep on the couch for weeks at a time. Plus, Blaine needed money in the worst way and as long as he didn't fuck it up, he would leave the study two weeks later and two hundred dollars richer. But there was that anxiety again. Guard? When Blaine had been told about the study, he'd really only imagined himself as a prisoner. He wasn't sure if he was up to the challenge of bossing a bunch of fellow college students around. It just wasn't his style. But Blaine knew his options were incredibly limited, so he tried to see this as an opportunity rather than a burden. “At least I’ve learned enough about bossing people around from my dad to last a lifetime,” Blaine mumbled under his breath as he began to pack a bag.

Kurt had been stalking the phone all morning. He'd tried to be subtle, but Burt finally asked him why he was tackling everyone to be the first to answer the phone.

“Got a hot date or something kid?” Burt had asked, half-joking, but secretly a little curious.

“No....god no, in Lima? Could you imagine? What...a hot date to Breadstix? No, I'm just waiting to hear back about a job.”

“Yeah? You decided to work at the Lima Bean?” Burt asked as he washed the last of the dishes from breakfast, Kurt automatically moving in behind him to dry the dishes and put them away as was their routine.

“No...I thought about it but I ended up hearing about a two week acting gig so I...auditioned for it instead. They're supposed to call today to let me know if I got the job.”

“Oh cool...an acting gig in little old Lima, huh? And I thought you said Ohio had no culture,” Burt teased affectionately.

“Haha very funny, Dad. It's no New York though, okay?”

“Fair enough, kid. Alright, well I'm going to go meet Carole down at the garage for a bit. We need to get some new tires for her car. See you this afternoon?”

“Yeah, sounds good. See ya, Dad,” Kurt said, relieved that his Dad hadn't given him the full inquisition on the possible “job.” It would be kind of hard to explain...and he had a feeling that his dad wouldn't be sold on the whole prison thing.

Kurt settled onto the couch and entertained himself watching a Sound Of Music rerun on television. He'd just about dozed off when he heard the phone ring. He immediately jumped up and dove for the phone.

“Hello?” he said, his voice still a little sleepy.

“Um, hi! Is this Kurt?” chirped a girl slightly too loudly. Kurt winced and held the phone slightly away from his ear.

“Yeah, that's me,” he replied. “Who's calling?”

“Super! This is Brittany calling from Dr. Cohen's lab at Dalton Academy. Way to go on being selected to participate in the study! You've been randomly assigned to play to the role of a prisoner. You should...”

“So I'm in?” Kurt said with amusement.

“Um yeah? I think that's what I just said. Are you super excited?” she asked innocently.

“Sure? Let's go with super excited. Why not,” Kurt answered. What was with this girl?

“Anyways, you were saying?” he prompted after a slightly awkward pause.

“Oh yeah, just need to find my place. Umm, you’ve been randomly assigned to play the role of prisoner. You should be ready to be picked up at 9 AM tomorrow morning at your house. Is the address you put on your form the best place for us to come arrest you?”

Arrest me? Kurt thought. Damn, these people are Method. “Umm yeah, the address I put on the form is good.”

“Okay, so be ready at 9 AM. You don’t need to bring anything with you. Any personal items with be complicated...wait...” Kurt brought the phone closer to his ear and made out a muffled whisper. “Oh okay,” she mumbled. “Sorry...your stuff will be confiscated. Okay? So that's it. Awesome! Bye bye!”

Before Kurt could process or respond, the line went dead. Right. Well, this was getting weirder by the second. But honestly, this whole thing was sounding more and more like a joke. Who knows? Kurt was starting to suspect that the job wouldn't be good for gritty realism, but perhaps it could inspire some stand-up comedy material? If nothing else, it would make for a great story to tell Rachel over a bottle of wine once he made it back to New York.

Kurt glanced at the clock, noticing that it was just after 2 PM. He had the rest of the day to prepare for his role as prisoner. First things first: he needed the right wardrobe. Something prison chic. He needed to look...dangerous for his arrest. Maybe leather? A little Marlon Brando and a bit James Dean? Oooh and stripes? He chuckled to himself, his mind already racing with possible outfit combinations as he headed upstairs to his closet.