Chapter 187: A Nerd's Night In
Ethan pushed open the door and stepped into his apartment.
Everyone was home.
The four of them sat around the coffee table in a lopsided circle, leaning forward with pencils and notepads in hand, scribbling furiously with complete concentration.
The table was cluttered with notebooks, pencils, index cards, small boxes, dice—and a book whose cover boldly read:
Star Trek: The Klingon Language Guide.
Ethan immediately recognized what they were doing.
They were playing a Klingon vocabulary game.
He knew the rules well.
He had simply never been interested in joining.
Each player drew a random set of letters and had a limited amount of time to write down as many valid Klingon words as possible.
The catch was that originality mattered more than quantity.
If you came up with a word no one else had thought of, you scored the most points.
If everyone wrote the same word, it was worth almost nothing.
The objective wasn't to write more words—
It was to write the most obscure ones.
Ethan walked over, dropped onto the couch, and quietly watched.
He had always believed the strongest evidence that he wasn't a nerd was his complete lack of interest in Klingon.
Learning English had already been traumatic enough.
Verb tenses and irregular conjugations had nearly driven him insane.
Ever since then, he'd developed an instinctive aversion to learning new languages.
Every new language meant more suffering.
And Klingon...
...was suffering doubled.
"Time's up."
Sheldon suddenly looked up and, like a judge delivering a verdict, announced solemnly,
"All right, fellow Klingon enthusiasts. Pencils down."
Everyone stopped writing at the same time and looked over their notes.
Leonard spoke first.
"Okay, I've got pokh, potl, and pukhpa'."
He looked around the room.
"Anyone else?"
"I've got that one."
"Same here."
"Me too."
Three merciless confirmations echoed around the room.
Leonard let out a defeated sigh and closed his notebook. Every single word he'd written had been duplicated by everyone else. There was no question he'd finished dead last.
Howard cleared his throat dramatically.
"I've got chorrr, Nekhmakh, and kreplach."
Raj immediately looked up.
"Hold on. Kreplach?"
"That's right," Howard replied confidently.
"That's not Klingon," Raj frowned. "It's a Yiddish word for dumplings."
Howard refused to back down.
"It's also a Klingon word."
"Oh really?" Leonard challenged. "Then define it."
Howard thought for a moment before answering with complete seriousness.
"Kreplach... a delicious Klingon..."
He paused for dramatic effect before finishing,
"...dumpling."
Silence filled the room.
Raj slowly turned toward Sheldon.
"Judge?"
Without a second's hesitation, Sheldon raised his thumb...
...and pointed it straight down.
"Bilurrrbe. Rejected."
With the round over, everyone finally turned their attention to Ethan.
Leonard looked him over.
"You've been gone for two nights in a row."
"So... new girlfriend?"
Ethan shook his head.
"No."
"Very well," Sheldon immediately said. "If that changes, and the two of you intend to cohabitate here, please notify me in advance. I'll need to revise the roommate agreement."
Ethan sighed.
"I'll let you know."
Satisfied, Sheldon nodded before extending an invitation.
"Ethan, would you like to join the next round?"
Ethan instinctively shook his head.
"No thanks. I'm terrible at this."
"It's not an ability issue," Sheldon corrected. "It's an attitude issue."
"You simply refuse to try."
"You're absolutely right."
Ethan admitted it without the slightest embarrassment.
Leonard couldn't help stepping in.
"Seriously, Sheldon, don't force him."
"Ethan isn't even interested in Elvish from The Lord of the Rings."
"That's because Elvish lacks structural aggression," Sheldon said with obvious dissatisfaction.
"Klingon, on the other hand, is a language forged for battle."
Leaning back against the couch, Ethan smiled.
"I'd rather not measure my combat ability through linguistics."
Just then, the apartment door opened.
Penny hurried inside and made a beeline for the television.
"Guys, I need to borrow your TV."
Sheldon looked up.
"What happened to yours?"
"No idea," Penny replied while grabbing the remote.
"It's nothing but static."
Howard asked,
"Did you pay your cable bill?"
Penny shot him an annoyed look.
"Wow."
"You sound exactly like the cable company."
The television flickered to life.
Penny immediately sat down on the couch—right beside Ethan.
"Everybody quiet!"
She said excitedly.
"Tyra Banks is about to eliminate somebody on America's Next Top Model."
Holding a pair of dice, Sheldon began,
"Sorry, Penny, we're—"
Leonard instantly panicked.
"Don't tell her!"
Ignoring him completely, Sheldon finished,
"—playing Klingon Scrabble."
Leonard buried his face in his hands.
"Oh no..."
Howard looked at him.
"Why 'oh no'? It's not like she doesn't already know we're nerds."
"If you're going to watch television," Sheldon said, "please mute it and use subtitles."
"Fine."
Penny muted the TV before turning to Ethan.
"Hey."
"Hey."
It was the first time they'd sat side by side since the night she got drunk.
Surprisingly...
It wasn't nearly as awkward as either of them had expected.
"All right, word warriors—begin."
Sheldon lowered his head and immediately immersed himself in the next round.
The instant the show started, Howard, Leonard, and Raj completely forgot about the game.
Even Ethan found himself unconsciously leaning forward.
Cool white lights flooded the runway.
The camera slowly pushed in from a wide shot.
One supermodel after another stepped onto the catwalk.
Their tall, slender figures carved elegant silhouettes beneath the lights—straight shoulders, toned waists, impossibly long legs.
As the camera zoomed closer, flawless faces stared directly into the lens without the slightest hesitation.
High cheekbones.
Sharp jawlines.
Cold confidence.
Howard whispered in awe,
"Just look at them..."
"They're absolutely stunning," Leonard murmured.
Raj was completely mesmerized, staring at the screen without even blinking.
Only Sheldon remained focused on his notebook.
"Worf isn't a bad word," he commented.
"But using a proper noun feels wasteful."
"Do these girls ever eat?" Ethan asked, watching their impossibly slim figures.
Without thinking, he compared them to the women he knew.
Even Caroline—who already seemed incredibly thin to him—would probably look almost curvy standing beside these supermodels.
"Of course they eat," Penny answered matter-of-factly.
"They just don't eat like normal people."
She casually explained.
"Their diets are customized."
"During shoots it's basically grilled chicken, protein shakes, and salad."
"No dressing."
"About two weeks before runway shows, they cut almost all carbohydrates."
"Bread, pasta, desserts..."
"Gone."
"The day before a shoot, some of them only drink water."
"Some don't even drink that."
Ethan frowned.
"That doesn't sound healthy."
"It isn't," Penny shrugged.
"But they're used to it."
"Every day they're weighed."
"Every day they're looking in mirrors."
"And every day someone tells them, 'You look great... but you'd look even better if you were a little thinner.'"
She paused.
"Actually, that's one of the better situations."
"At least those girls have nutritionists and doctors making sure they don't completely wreck themselves."
"I used to know someone..."
"She dieted until she passed out on the sidewalk."
"The doctor said if she'd arrived any later, her heart could've been in serious trouble."
Ethan fell silent.
Penny looked at him before returning to her usual lighthearted tone.
"So don't let television fool you."
"They probably take more pills than they eat meals."
She turned back toward the screen and muttered,
"If I had to live like that, I'd rather stay a waitress."
"I agree," Ethan nodded.
"From a doctor's perspective..."
"...it's honestly difficult to watch."
"Chronic starvation and long-term energy deficiency aren't discipline."
"They're chronic medical risk."
"But people obviously love watching it."
He glanced at the three men completely transfixed by the television.
"Otherwise the show wouldn't be such a hit."
"Look at her!" Howard suddenly pointed excitedly.
"That's the future Mrs. Wolowitz!"
"...Wait, no—that one!"
"The one with the headpiece!"
"She's definitely the one!"
"They can both move in with you and your mother," Leonard replied without missing a beat.
"The current Mrs. Wolowitz would understand."
Howard nodded thoughtfully.
"The current Mrs. Wolowitz is very understanding."
"Is qochbe' pronounced with the mouth or the throat?"
Sheldon suddenly interrupted, completely serious.
No one answered.
"Wait," Howard continued without taking his eyes off the television.
"Why is Future Mrs. Wolowitz crying?"
"That's Anais," Penny said with obvious amusement.
"The other girls in the house don't like her."
Howard blinked.
"House?"
"They all live together."
Penny explained.
"Where?"
"I'm not sure."
"Somewhere in New York."
"They're filming this season here."
Howard slowly sat upright.
"Wait..."
He spoke each word with exaggerated care.
"You mean..."
"...I only need to drive somewhere..."
"...and I'll arrive at a house full of ambitious supermodels?"
"Yeah."
Penny thought about it.
"I guess so."
Howard's breathing visibly quickened.
"They all live together."
"They shower together."
"And have naked pillow fights."
Without saying another word, Penny stood up.
"Where are you going?" Leonard asked.
"To pay my cable bill."
She never looked back.
"Very well. Pencils down."
Sheldon looked up again, completely oblivious to everything that had happened.
"I've got lokh, makh, and cherrrkh."
"Anyone else?"
He looked around the room.
Everyone was staring at the television.
Their notebooks were completely blank.
And just like that...
The Klingon vocabulary game ended with a spectacular whimper.
For Sheldon, the list of things he couldn't understand about humanity had grown by one more item.
Why were these people so hopelessly fascinated by a reality TV show?
---
Over the following weeks, everyone except Sheldon—including the four nerds, Penny, and Ethan—became completely hooked on America's Next Top Model.
Originally, Ethan's understanding of shows like this had been extremely superficial.
Pretty women.
That was all.
But after sitting through an entire episode, he finally realized why it had remained popular for so many years.
Good looks alone couldn't explain it.
At its core, the show was an incredibly dense machine built to generate emotional stimulation.
Workplace competition.
Beauty standards.
Reality TV drama.
Brutal eliminations.
All compressed into forty-five relentless minutes.
Every episode featured someone crying.
Someone breaking down.
Someone being sent home.
The most basic source of satisfaction came from one simple promise the show made at the very beginning:
Someone will be eliminated today.
Above that was something even more compelling—
Watching people's personalities fracture under relentless pressure.
The show never avoided stress.
If anything, it manufactured it deliberately.
Confident contestants suddenly fell apart emotionally.
"Best friends" stabbed each other in the back.
Some questioned their own worth.
Others became increasingly aggressive.
Whether it was scripted or not, Ethan couldn't say.
But it certainly looked like ordinary people slowly being pushed to their breaking points.
The judging panel was perhaps the show's most addictive design.
They possessed three powers.
They defined what counted as beauty.
They defined what counted as professionalism.
And they decided who deserved to remain.
Meanwhile, the contestants had no choice but to stand in a line...
Be judged one by one...
Remain silent...
And accept the verdict.
It was an enormous imbalance of power.
And the audience was automatically seated alongside the judges.
Then there was the makeover episode—
Perhaps reality television's most irresistible spectacle.
On America's Next Top Model, it had an even simpler name:
Makeover.
On the surface, it was about changing someone's appearance.
But that wasn't what truly mattered.
It was about systematic reconstruction.
A living person was treated like raw material.
Before the cameras, her appearance, identity, and even self-perception were rewritten.
The audience was invited to witness every second of it.
The makeover wasn't optional.
It didn't matter whether you wanted the haircut.
What mattered was that they had decided you needed one.
The cruelest part wasn't the haircut itself.
It was the constant message that followed:
The old you wasn't professional.
This version is.
Learn to like it.
If you cried...
It wasn't because someone had violated your boundaries.
It simply meant...
"You weren't ready to become a model."
Ethan instinctively rejected that entire philosophy.
Isn't this just American-style psychological manipulation?
What made it even more absurd was realizing the show had first aired back in 2003.
So America has been ahead of the curve in this department for decades...
The show's cruelest—and perhaps most honest—lesson was simple.
Some people gave everything...
...and were still eliminated.
Others performed only adequately...
...and stayed.
Some advanced purely because they had "potential."
It created a complicated, strangely compelling feeling.
The world wasn't fair.
And it never pretended to be.
Only later did Ethan realize the show wasn't merely entertaining its audience.
In many ways, it was training people to accept a particular belief:
If you want something badly enough, your body should obey—and your sense of self is entirely expendable.
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