Vice Principal Hill and P.E. Department Head Logan scribble on their multi-paged interview forms in their laps. Jim Brightman, in his crisp suit and red-white spackled tie, tries to see what they write but can't quite see past Hill's big fountain pen and nails, nor Logan's hairy knuckles.
Vice Principal Hill straightens her glasses under her blond bobby-cut hair as she reads aloud from her paper, "The P.E. instructor position requires you to work a good deal of weekends, especially in the months that you'll coach your sports. You could expect to work anywhere from twelve to sixteen hour days during certain times of the year."
"Not a problem! Only sixteen?!" he jokes with an optimistic laugh, subconsciously rubbing the corners of his optimistically yellow folder. "When I was a student teacher I'd be there eighteen, nineteen sometimes!" Hill and Logan glance at each other for a brief moment. The young man smiles, "Are there any coaching opportunities for the baseball teams? That's what I played at KSU. Pitcher and shortstop."
Vice Principal Hill purses her lips. "We'll tell you that if-and-or when we hire you, Mr. Brightman. Now, if you were hired, you'd have to sign a waiver of liability for the school due to the physical nature of the job, submit your proof of citizenship and medical history, and of course we do require that you grow a strange mustache and-or beard."
Brightman nods. "Wait, what?"
"Yes, Mr. Brightman," Logan says, "And by the codes of the school board it will have to be one of the following; wiry, unkempt, patchy, jagged, oddly-shaped, or as deuschy-looking, or perverted-looking as possible. Looking is the key word there. We do not tolerate any inappropriate teacher-student relations."
"This is actually how we prepel it," mentions Vice President Hill, trailing off a bit. "In addition, Brightman, you will be expected to gain substantial weight, and-or incur diabetes type one and-or two. And if you want to take up smoking, we can look the other way."
"What?!"
Hill blinks. "Mr. Brightman, your resume says you attended an American high school, you coached and student-taught at physical education departments in the area - You should know by now these are standard measures for phys. ed. in public high schools!"
"But why?"
"Why are trees brown? Why are coyotes territorial?" Hill muses. "Why are attractive gym teachers a sex-scandal liability? It's just is the way life is."
Department Head Logan clears his throat. "Now of course if you don't want to gain the body and general lifestyle of a modern biker, there may be another to qualify."
The candidate perks up. "What's that?"
"Could you provide documentation of mental illness?" Hill asks. "We'd even accept forms of severe emotional damages that could affect your behavior, as evidenced by a psychologist or personal reference." She gets ready to grab her pen again. Logan looks hopefully at the candidate's folder in front of him.
"My knee flairs up once in a while... " Brightman says. "It gets me all out of sorts..." Hill puts her hand back on her lap. Logan sighs and leans in, in a fatherly way.
"Anger issues? Trauma? Do you even carry a chip on your shoulder?"
"Yeah, you know what?" Brightman says, puffing out his chest. "I think I do sometimes! I think I do have some issues, and could be a P.E. teacher!"
Logan leans back and shakes his head. "Sorry, son. The correct answer to a question like that would be more like, 'What the hell do you mean, do I got a chip on my shoulder, asshole?' or 'What are you saying, I have a small dick?' or something similar. You see the problem, buddy?"
Brightman nods. With a sigh, he stands and scrapes up the now tauntingly yellow folder from the desk. The faculty also stand and Hill extends her hand out, diplomatically, and shakes the young man's hand as she says, "It was great to meet you, Mr. Brightman, but unfortunately you lack the disgustingness, psychological damages, or emotional instability needed for a P.E. teacher at North Highlands... It's too bad that you didn't study History Education at KSU, because we really could use a Geography teacher with your chutzpah, determination, and personal pride. Best of luck."
A bit dazed, he turns around and heads out past the oak door. The faculty sit down and in walks the next candidate: A balding man, with a mushroom-shaped belly and ketchup stains still around his neck. His unbuttoned collared shirt was so wrinkled it looked like it would probably break the iron that tried to straighten it, and a certain odor came from the man, like sea-salt mixed with dying shit.
"I'm here for the job interview but first I need a friggin' Gatorade, where you people got the damn soda machines? I looked everywhere up this freakin' place. Disrespeccful!"
Hill and Logan light up. "Down the hall, near the cafeteria, and when can you start?"
No comments:
Post a Comment