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Jun. 23, 2007 Marlon Ferrar arrived at the George Washington Middle School early on Monday morning, like he always did every school day. He had taken it upon himself to make the first pot of coffee each morning in the teacher’s lounge, using a special, secret ingredient he relished in adding “to start the day off right”.
Sometimes, when he had the time and the inkling, he added that special ingredient to the pickle jar, salad dressing bottles, relish, and thermoses left in the two refrigerators overnight. He took great pride in dispensing his ingredient and hoped he was present to witness the consumption.
Marlon did not begin his teaching career aspiring to such low road antics…but he quickly learned to adapt in order to survive in an environment that he felt was clearly dominated by incompetence, cowardice, bitterness, and stupidity.
“I really need a cigarette,” Marlon said. He decided to use the boys’ room and have a quick smoke. No one would catch him at that hour, and if anyone later did smell smoke, it could easily be presumed that a youngster had been responsible for the crime.
He lit up and sat on the faded white cement ledge by the windowsill. He caught a glimpse of himself in the cloudy mirror. His thick dark brown hair was spotted with a streak of gray and it contrasted sharply with his pale skin. He stood three inches over six feet, and his thin, muscular frame and black suit made him appear even taller.
Women were especially fond of Mr. Ferrar; yet, he was not taken with himself or them enough to exploit it. He was madly consumed with a former substitute there, and his growing obsession with her was what prompted the rekindling of his “food terrorism skills”, long since mastered during his table-waiting days in college.
Ciara O’Brian, the now former substitute, had been let go for failing to follow instructions in the principal’s “Morning Greeting”. The young woman had forgotten to print it out and read it on a day when there was to be a fire drill where only two exits were to exclusively be used. Her class exited out of the wrong side of the building and this caused a colossal uproar from supervisors and the principal.
Marlon tossed the cigarette butt into the toilet and flushed it away. He was slowly making his way back to the teacher’s lounge when he heard his name called.
“Marlon, did you read my ‘Morning Greeting’ yet?” Mr. Joseph Deluca, the principal, asked. He was a short, balding male in his forties, who always spoke five decibels too loud. He stared at Marlon suspiciously; though, this was how he looked at most of his employees and students. Mr. Deluca never had a true conversation with Marlon. He always appeared to be dictating instructions/orders to him and Marlon usually found himself fighting to silence his inner laughter and contempt for this man.
“No, I can’t say that I have, Joe.” Marlon shrugged. Mr. Deluca’s “Morning Greeting” was to be printed from the computer each morning by all teachers at the school. In it, he mostly shared his interpretations of current events, preparations for holiday parties, school lunch changes, fire drills, assembly instructions, and little else. Marlon’s problem with it was that Mr. Deluca required every teacher to print it out each morning. He felt it was a clear waste of paper, not to mention a waste of time to read. “Why couldn’t a few copies be printed and shared amongst the teachers and staff?” Marlon once asked the principal during an employee meeting. He was told it was “for accountability purposes” and the subject was abruptly changed. Marlon resented that this man dribbled these things out every single school day with no relief in sight.
“I suggest that you do ASAP. In it, you find my instructions for our assembly this morning.” Mr. Deluca curtly informed Marlon. He then quickly walked away.
“Good morning to you, too,” Marlon sniped. He slowly made his way back to the lounge.
****
“Ah, I see the coffee’s been made. Excellent.” Principal Deluca poured himself a large mug full and added the sugar and light cream.
Marlon smiled. “Excellent indeed.”
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