His own throat constricted, his stomach queasy, his legs weak. Mister Carlton saw eyes widen, mouths open, faces blanch.
#Diogenes featherless biped drivers
The first responders arrived en masse, both drivers and passengers silent now, doing their best to move out of the way. More horns sounded, melding with the approaching sirens. Previously jammed cars turned nervously from the congested entrance onto the road’s shoulder, some cars taking the opportunity to U-turn and retreat entirely, knocking over cones and digging grooves into the Garden Club’s plantings at the entrance to the school. Mister Carlton tried to decipher between the jargon and the euphemisms in the principal’s email, trying to discern what was really happening. ||Attention faculty and staff, an incident has been reported. Why not just ask: Is this kid a generally decent featherless biped? Apparently, Plato told Socrates that man was “a featherless biped,” whereupon Diogenes brought a plucked chicken to Plato’s Academy, calling out, “Behold! A Man!” Mister Carlton remembered his Western Civ class.
Why not? What did that even mean? Why not just ask: Is this kid a generally decent human being? Mister Carlton clicked on a link, secretly thrilled the TEACHER INPUT response was just a ranking and not a written one. It’s attached now Thx for telling them about my POTENTIAL FOR GROWHT.|| ||Mster Carltoon, I really this Form attached with my Scholarship APP|| Music blared when their doors opened up, trash rolled out, smoke billowed. Occasionally there were shouts from the seniors’ cars, as teenagers crawled in and out of each other’s vehicles-screaming with laughter for no reason. Moms blankly stared ahead while their children dozed in the back, happy for a reprieve from sitting in cold metal desks all day. Mister Carlton texted a colleague: ĭads-in-ties got out of the Lexuses, hands on hips, looking for someone with an ID badge to complain to. pdf, and submitted it to the high school’s Common App interface by 7:57 a.m. He quickly pulled up his Microsoft Word files and selected “College Rec Template for NonAssholes.” When it opened, he made a copy, search-and-replaced the student’s name, downloaded the document to a. Mister Carlton pulled out his laptop, placing it on the dashboard, keying in credentials. It wasn’t like his seniors didn’t have all summer to fill out college applications. ||OMG MISTER C I NEED A LETTER OF REC FOR MY COLLEGE BY 8:00 A.M. He would smile sheepishly and give a jaunty salute.Īt 7:52 a.m., his coffee was still too hot to drink. If the principal had said anything, Mister Carlton would respond by saying, “30,000 public school teachers quit in September!” But he would never do that. Students were just warehoused in the Media Center or Cafeteria. There were no substitute teachers to call this year. He would have to skulk by the principal, who, in truth, was simply glad another teacher had shown up for the day. Late again, Mister Carlton knew he would have to park in the visitor lot. Several others beeped and tooted, responding by being longer and louder. But customer service at the Dunkin’ Donut drive thru ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. If Mister Carlton had arrived at 7:43 a.m., he would have made it to his first period class on time. Even the bloated busses sat, impotent, lolling like orange elephants at the congested entrance to the school. What his father was really asking was: How much longer are you planning to live at home? Shouldn’t a man your age be able to provide for himself? Couldn’t you have selected a better major in college?Īt 7:49 a.m., the traffic had not budged. His father had asked him a question at dinner the previous evening: What kind of man wants to teach high school?
It had been his mother’s, a car he inherited when he graduated from college with a teaching degree in social studies and more student loan debt than his entire first year salary. Mister Carlton angrily tapped the steering wheel of his 2000 Toyota Tercel. The morning traffic jam at the high school peaked at 7:47 a.m., short tempered fathers slowing down to jettison their surly sons, mothers asking their daughters if they wanted to take an umbrella just in case, seniors cutting off all other cars to drive diagonally through the parking lot.
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