IF THE MANHATTAN PROJECT
WORKED LIKE MY COLLEGE
GROUP PROJECTS DO.
- - - -
INT. UNIVERSITY FOOD COURT. SUNDAY AFTERNOON. JULY 15TH, 1945.
HANS BETHE, EDWARD TELLER, and ROBERT SERBER sit at a table. There are notebooks, laptops, and expensive coffees arranged on the table. All three wear hoodies, basketball shorts, and flip flops. Serber is texting on his Blackberry Storm. Teller checks his own cell phone for the time.
EDWARD TELLER: Where's Oppenheimer?
HANS BETHE: I've got Chapter at six.
TELLER: Serber.
ROBERT SERBER: (keeps texting) Yo?
TELLER: Did you hear anything from Oppenheimer?
SERBER: (keeps texting) Nah.
BETHE: He said five o'clock on Sunday. I can't believe he's not here.
Teller checks his e-mail.
BETHE: And I'm the Social Chair, so I have to be at Chapter early.
TELLER: Serber.
SERBER: Yo?
TELLER: Text Oppenheimer. See where he is.
SERBER: Okay.
Serber continues texting. Teller rifles through a folder.
BETHE: (to Teller) Have you got the sheet?
TELLER: (looking through papers) Dammit.
BETHE: You don't have it?
Teller stops looking.
TELLER: I mean, we pretty much know what we have to do, right?
BETHE: Something about building an atomic bomb.
TELLER: (looking at own laptop screen) So there's some plutonium, and—dammit, the Jets are losing.
Bethe leans over to look at Teller's laptop. Serber keeps texting.
BETHE: Did they get the extra point?
TELLER: Not yet.
BETHE: Refresh it.
Teller clicks "Refresh" every few seconds. Serber stands up, and keeps texting.
SERBER: (keeps texting) I'm getting an Egg and Cheese from Dunkin' Donuts.
Serber walks away, texting. Teller stops clicking "Refresh".
BETHE: Yep. They got it.
TELLER: Right. So, yeah, we split the plutonium atom I guess. And make a weapon out of it.
BETHE: When is this due anyway?
TELLER: I think tomorrow.
BETHE: What?!?!
TELLER: I know, right? I mean we shouldn't have put it off, but ... still sucks.
BETHE: I have another class with one of the Soviets, and he says theirs isn't due until 1949.
TELLER: 1949?!?!
BETHE: I know, right?
TELLER: I knew we took the wrong section. And no wonder the Russkies were out last night.
BETHE: I mean so were we.
TELLER: I know, right? My head feels like...
Teller collects himself.
TELLER: Okay, seriously, we have to do this. There's a lot at stake here.
BETHE: There is?
TELLER: Yeah, my parents are up my ass about med school. I can't mess up on this A-bomb thing, it's like 100% of our class grade.
Serber returns, eating an Egg and Cheese on an everything bagel.
SERBER: Oppenheimer just texted me.
Serber shows Teller and Bethe the screen of his Blackberry Storm.
TELLER: (reading from screen) "Sry dudes totes wanted to come but had to deal with sumthng at the house. hows shit for FDR going?"
Serber sits down, continues to eat, and texts between every bite.
Teller and Bethe say nothing for a moment.
BETHE: I already missed Chapter last week and—
TELLER: Dammit, this is the only time everybody said they could meet!
BETHE: No, I know, I just figured we were gonna bang this out or whatever.
Bethe packs up his stuff.
TELLER: Okay, fine, just, everybody do part of it, and I'll put it together tonight.
BETHE: Sure, sure. Gotta go though.
Bethe leaves. Serber has finished eating and is just texting.
TELLER: Serber.
SERBER: (keeps texting) Yo?
TELLER: Are you gonna send me your part?
SERBER: (keeps texting) Yeah.
TELLER: So you'll send me your stuff?
SERBER: (keeps texting) Yeah.
TELLER: Serber!
Serber stops texting.
SERBER: Dude, it's just a Powerpoint. Enn-bee-dee.
Serber packs up his stuff. Teller packs up too. They both leave.
- - - -
OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:
- - - -
If the Manhattan Project Worked Like My College Group Projects Do By Alex Schmidt
Selections from the Glossary to the 1911 Writer's Market (Bierce, ed.) By Matthew David Brozik
Imagining U2's Next Stage By Dan Kennedy
Standards for Grading the Life of an Adjunct Composition Professor By Amy L. Clark
The Police Blotter Shakespeare By Burke Hilsabeck
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