Work Text:
You never would have thought that an architect could get lost in a building, but there he was, lost in an empty university after hours that he didn’t even work at. The only things lighting his way were his phone’s flashlight, the illuminated exit signs, and the occasional motion activated light of a hallway. He was called in to give a lecture because he was highly renowned for his work, but that didn’t change the fact that it was not his school and it was dark and thundering.
All of his years of learning the typical layouts and storing information on how buildings had to stand, this school was full of arches and flora, so even his basic knowledge of common layouts could not help him find an exit, much less his car. Having been two hours since the storm had begun, he was already habituated to the sound of the rain heavily pounding on the roof, so he paid no mind to it. At this point he encountered the science department but had yet to find a map of the school’s layout.
He wandered into the classrooms that were left unlocked in hopes of finding really anything that could help him find his way home. One of them had a closet that was leaking a warm, orange light onto the group so he went and opened it but immediately dropped his phone and stepped back when he saw multiple glass containers with live snakes. Of course his fear of snakes was generalized since he couldn’t tell any species apart and didn’t plan on learning them, science and species were his fennec descended friend’s specialty after all. If they were long with no legs and could bite, he was scared.
The architect quickly composed himself and left the room and decided to try and find a different subject’s department. He wandered near a flight of stairs next to a hall that seemed to connect the music and science buildings, and the closest room was an orchestra room, so he wandered in and he started reminiscing about his college days.
The room was on the fourth floor of the school and two walls were entirely glass overlooking the campus, slightly obstructed by a rack of classical string instruments.
Much to his dismay, he started to get hungry. Curse this spontaneous recovery. You see, when he was in college, his orchestra class was right before lunch so his acquisition of feeling hungry at the sight and feeling of being in the orchestra classroom was because of that, even if it wasn’t the same orchestra room. His unconditioned response (that was later made to be a conditioned response) was simply feeling hungry, his unconditioned stimulus would be smelling a kitchen with cookies baking in the oven or a sight of a delicious meal in a movie, like most any person. But alas, having been in that class for two years, his conditioned stimulus was the sight of an orchestra room.
His friend who shared the class period, having noticed this unintentional classical conditioning, wanted to see if the future architect would also get hungry at the sight of simply string instruments or classical music. This experiment of higher-order conditioning gave few results, seeing as mere instruments were weaker compared to the related feeling of a room, so his friend dropped it, not that he ever knew he was her guinea pig to begin with. He was at least lucky that his stimulus was a discriminative stimulus and that he didn’t get hungry in the math classes he had before lunch his last two years, just orchestra rooms.
After mourning the broken streak of his extinction relating to orchestra and lunch, he made his way out of the room and back to the staircase. He headed for the first floor, but the door leading out of the staircase was locked, so he had to exit from the second floor. How could one be so unlucky? He wondered, but much to his surprise, on the floor near the last stair lay a white, plastic card on a lanyard. He thought he might be able to open the exit doors with it, but they required a pair of keys rather than a tapping keycard.
Once again despaired, he sighed and figured that if someone was careless enough to leave it here, he might as well take it and return it to the Acting Headmaster. He wandered out into the hallway which, much like the orchestra room, had a wall entirely made of glass. He looked down into the parking lot now in his view and saw his car. He kept looking out, his eyes scaling the walls and courtyards, trying to find any door that could have connected him to somewhere could reach and the outside world. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a red digital clock in a lower level classroom. He squinted and tried to see his best through the rain, but it shone brightly seeing as the only other light there was either from his phone or the occasional lightning strike. It read 1:34.
Great. It would take about four more hours for anyone to even show up at the school. His only source of comfort was the fact that his lecture was on a Wednesday, so he wouldn’t be stuck here all weekend. He turned and slid his back down the cool, glass wall and stared at the lockers for a bit. Besides getting out, another objective of his was now finding the cafeteria or a vending machine, but for now he moped. That wasn’t learned helplessness, he told himself, he was merely thinking up a game plan, not purposefully not applying his adaptive and cognitive skills.
As he stared at the lockers, he noticed the hall light up with a flash of light. Being 34 years old, he had long since learned that when there was lightning, thunder would soon follow, so he was not at all surprised or startled when there was a loud roar a few seconds later. His associative learning of what thunder brought eliminated his respondent behavior of flinching at the roar of the crying sky.
Once he stood up again, he checked the faraway clock before continuing his journey. 2:08. At least he killed some time, he thought, and continued down the long narrow hallway, mindful of staying near his left, now knowing where his car was and where he’d need to go.
He wished he had paid more attention when his guide was showing him to his lecture hall, instead he absentmindedly nodded and ‘mhm’d his way through the conversation. Another thing he learned growing up, when someone tells you something, you acknowledge it, even if you weren’t paying attention, because mostly that would only end up hurting you. He thought about that operant conditioning and how his parents would punish him if he weren’t to respond to things he was told. One thing was for sure, he was glad that current operant behavior in classes was to raise their hands instead of yelling yay or nay like people once did.
He kind of wished he was in some sick, human operant chamber or Skinner Box, so that at least he’d get some rewards out of this instead of some humiliating story and a confused Acting Headmaster opening up his supposedly empty school to some guest lecturer from the day prior. Humiliation aside, his wandering brought him to his next destination, the English hall.
He was never a huge fan of learning how language worked, even if there was some creativity in how romanticists could shape and manipulate words, but he was more a fan of visual and performing arts. He loved watching stories as told by actions, not reading based on one’s feelings, he could see why behaviorism thought so much of mere actions instead of the cognitive stuff, but he still knew that the mind and the body are related and this “cognitive stuff” was just as important if not more.
Anyway, as he wandered into another classroom in vain hopes of any clues on escaping, he had encountered a snake stuffed animal lining the teacher’s desk. Its exaggerated fuzziness and the fact that it had a Roman armor-type get up meant that he was not scared of this snake. Call it discrimination, he didn’t care, it was of no importance to him.
After checking his phone and being blinded by its screen, he knew it was 3:32. He had long since wandered down a few more halls and, unknowingly, studied the architectural choices of the school. He had gotten sick of searching and had also lost track of where his car was, so when he stumbled across the library he made his way to the door. It was locked, but he remembered the card around his neck and pressed it to the lock. It opened! The card was completely blank except for a name at the bottom.
He checked the librarian’s desk and the nameplate didn’t match, so he figured this must be an administrative key. After having searched for a vending machine and a way out, which gave him expected but still disappointing results, he left and closed the door behind him. He wandered back up to the third floor seeing as the end of the hall was a lone staircase and he figured that walking on new ground was better than going back.
He walked through a long connecting hall into a new building and after another flight of stairs he had started another round of reminiscing, but what else was he supposed to do in a situation like this? He thought about how, when he realized he wanted to be an architect, he worked hard on shaping his skills. He’d rewarded himself intermittently as he got closer to his desired goals and expectations.
He wanted to get better study habits, so he slowly worked for longer increments of time and he shaped himself as he wanted himself to be. After befriending an intelligent and distinctive linguistics student, his study habits and general quality of life had improved significantly. That was until their falling out, but other than that, he was proud of who he had become. He had a strong legacy as an accomplished architect, his magnum opus being a vacation home for a famous billionaire.
Unfortunately, his dreams were out of his budget and he was left in unspeakable debt, but only he and his roommate knew that, to everyone else, he was like a light of architectural genius. The guilt still ate away at him though.
At this point it was nearing 5 am and all the architect wanted to do was go home to his roommate and his bed and his designs. In the new building, he was lucky enough to find the administration’s office, so he used his key card to get in and then left it on the desk he was met with upon entering the office. He took in the boring layout of the room, nothing brought from home other than a few trinkets he bought or made for the Acting Headmaster. He got himself situated on the chair behind the desk and waited for someone to clock into work.
Not long after, he heard a distant door open, heavy footsteps, the rattling of keys, and the beeping of an automated lock. He sat up in the chair, awaiting who he would meet face to face with. The keys jangle. The handle twist. The door opens.
“Kaveh, I was wondering why you didn’t come home last night.” Much to the architect’s chagrin and also overwhelming relief was his roommate, the Acting Headmaster.
“Well, I was planning to, but I was locked in! I was trapped all night in your poorly run establishment.” The Acting Headmaster pays no mind to his comment and merely walks by him to set his bag and coat down.
“How can you possibly be locked in a school?”
“I, uhhh, fell asleep in an empty classroom after my lecture. When I woke up it was way past hours.”
“I thought you left because I didn’t see your car, but I suppose you parked in the student parking and not in the staff parking lot.”
A short pause.
“I’m glad you’re okay, I was worried.”
“I’m sorry to have worried you, I’ll head home now. See you tonight.”
“Of course, and here.” The architect’s roommate hands him a warm container of leftovers. He smiles softly after a swift but genuine thanks, and makes his way to his car. He thinks about his predicament but how it ended with a warm encounter and even warmer food.
Even after all of his mess ups, he was still met with negative reinforcement from his roommate. Even though he should avoid being stuck in a school once more, the law of effect states that consequences shape behavior, and if his consequences are a tender moment with the Acting Headmaster, maybe Kaveh wouldn’t mind giving a few more lectures in the future.