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The Principal's Office

by Michael Lawrence


"Class, can anyone tell me Newton's Third Law?" my incredibly boring physics teacher asked the class. His eyes shot about the classroom hoping to spot someone who at least looked like they knew the answer more specifically, someone who was actually awake. I was in an entirely different mode of thought that day, however, so I wasn't paying attention to the teacher nor sleeping. Jessica, the hottest babe on the planet to ever take physics, was sleeping in the desk right next to me. Perhaps, I contemplated, I could put my arm around her so when she wakes up and gazes into my eyes, she'll realize that we were meant to be or at least that I was meant to be punched in the face. Either way, we would be making some pretty intimate contact. I started to place my arm around her when...

"Yes, Steven," my incredibly boring physics teacher said apparently thinking I had raised my hand. I jumped. I picked a thread off Jessica's shoulder.

"I was just picking this hideous thread off Jessica's absolutely bodacious shoulder, sir," I said, removing an imaginary thread from the sleeping beauty's shoulder.

"What is Newton's Third Law?" my incredibly boring physics teacher said.

Law?

"This is physics class, isn't it? I don't see what this has anything to do with law," I said.

"Right," my incredibly boring physics teacher said, ignoring Steve. "For every action, there is an opposite but equal reaction."

"Oh," I said. "So if I put my arm around Jessica she will react by instantly falling in love with me?" I placed my arm around her shoulder. She woke up and lovingly slapped me on the face. Oh rapture! I will never wash that cheek again ... or at least until it starts to stink.

"Not exactly," my incredibly boring physics teacher said. "However, if you interrupt my class, you will go to the principal's office." He pointed his finger out the door.

"Not exactly," I intellectually retaliated. "Your class is sleeping therefore there is nothing to disturb." The dreary students, somehow receiving some kind of signal from dreamland, sensed that something non-boring was actually occurring in physics class and wearily began to open their eyelids.

"Nevertheless," my incredibly boring physics teacher exclaimed. "Out!"

"Okay, but one day I will rise and conquer this class! Viva la Steven!" I screamed as I got up from my desk and walked out the door. I heard a few claps from other students, but I'm not sure they knew why they were clapping.

***

I walked in the principal's office and approached a completely amazing woman - the secretary. She isn't hot or anything, but by the mere sound of my walk, she is able to correctly identify who I am without looking.

"Hello, Steven," she said keeping her eyes fixed on her computer terminal while busily typing something. "Please have a seat. The principal will be with you shortly." (On second thought, based on the frequency of my visits to the principal's office, she has about a 73 percent chance of getting it right.)

***

When Principal Radlace showed me into the office, I thought he was going to sit behind his little desk and ramble on about how naughty boys like me never make it in this world. (But I always point out that I plan on running for the United States Senate, and that's usually the end of the conversation.) However, this time, it was slightly different on several accounts. For one, he was standing. For two, he was screaming with his palms pressed to his forehead.

"Steven!" the principal screamed. His face was red. For the first time, I actually felt a little frightened by this man. Unlike the general stereotype, principals are not that scary people. Ever since underage drinking has been on the rise, most principals nowadays want to be your friend. Anyway, I couldn't come up with much of a witty response.

"Yes?" I squeaked.

"This is the second time today you were sent here!" he yelled. "What's the matter with you!" He's never exploded like this before. Could it be that I have finally gotten under his skin? Wow. This is almost better than being slapped in the face by the hottest babe to ever take physics!

"I'm sorry, mister principal, but the day is still young yet," I said. The principal began to pant. He removed his palms from his forehead and sat down. He counted to ten.

"I have no doubts that you're an intelligent man, Steven," the principal said huffing, "but when will you grow up?"

"I don't know. You can never tell with these teenage hormones," I responded. The principal sighed.

"Steven. Now I want you to listen to me good," he said. "People like you don't make it in this world."

"But you see, Mr. Principal, I'm planning on running for-"

"I know what you're about to say, but please don't," the principal interrupted. He pulled out an old-fashioned, analog movie projection unit. "I'm going to put this to you plainly. If you don't behave in high school, you will die an unhappy man." Principal Ratface flipped on the projector. He got up from his seat and turned off the lights. What appeared on the screen was an old film of Thomas Edison playing with an old movie camera.

"This is Thomas Edison," the principal said. "He liked to goof off in high school like you, Steve." The film turned to a really old Thomas Edison lying in bed. "This is Thomas Edison dying. No family, no friends just a lot of people who think he's a jerk and stick around him because they want control of his patents." Ratface paused and let the film flicker for a little while. "This is an unhappy man." Then the film turned to Albert Einstein making goofy faces.

"This is Albert Einstein," the principal said. "He also liked to goof off in high school." The film turned to a picture of Albert Einstein writing weird symbols on a chalkboard. "But he spent his final days in solitary deriving such complicated math that the average person can only fathom it as a waste of chalk. Few could understand him, and he died an unhappy man." Then the film turned to John D. Rockefeller sniffing flowers.

"This is John D. Rockefeller," the principal said. "He too goofed off in high school. In the years before he died, he had to pay public relations people millions of dollars just to say they like him." The principal paused and let this information sink in. "He died an unhappy man." The principal sighed and turned off the projector.

"So you see, Steven," the principal said. "Goofing off in high school simply doesn't pay."

"Yeah it does," I responded. "All those people you just showed me had money up to their nostrils."

"Yes, but unlike what you might think, Steven, money cannot buy happiness," the principal said.

"Well, it's much better than sitting in the principal's office showing old films to students who misbehave," I said. "If you ask me, that's pretty sick."

The principal then roared like a mad hen. As long as we both shall live, he will never get through to me. (Except maybe with a lance, but I think I'll keep that a secret.)

All stories are copyright by Michael Lawrence. I'm serious. They really are.