You sigh as you wait in line at the university bookstore, looking at the long line of students purchasing their textbooks in dismay. Why the hell did everyone decide to buy their books today, of all days?

"Excuse me,"

says a polite voice. You turn. Behind you is a young man: a tweed blazer, tie, sandy blonde hair. Wealthy liberal arts student type, you figure. He's relaxed, holding a couple of small texts.

"Long line, isn't it? How about we pass the time with a conversation? My name is Alec. So..."

He appraises you, his cool eyes scanning you up and down like a pawnbroker evaluating an heirloom, trying to decide if it's trash or treasure.

"...what are you majoring in?"