When there were no customers, he thought about geometry. He tried to perform the Pythagorean Theorem on the light fixture above him, given his estimate of its circumference, but he failed. He wanted to be good at math. But he just wasn’t. He wanted so badly for the math club to accept him, but to them he was a loser. During rush week they battered him blue with yard sticks; they tied him to a table naked and made him prove problems involving half circles before a huge swinging protractor cut him in half; they forced him to continually calculate the remaining volume of the kegs he had to drink, working it out by hand as he was held upside down. After he didn’t get in the club, they had started ganging up on him every day, sticking his head in the toilet and stealing his lunch money. Business was slow at the moment, and he thought about ending his life in the kitchen appliance aisle.