Mr. Z

 

The power from within is inexorable.  Try as one might, it is impossible to extricate.  We lost a lot of good men during this campaign, but truth be told, I am optimistic.  If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have believe it.  The legend of the magical core is true! 

Magical.  That’s what they call it.  What a bunch of horseshit.  The power from within the sphere is immeasurable, but it for certain is not magical.  It is alien.  And it is ancient.  My scientists tell me they have never seen anything like it.  You should have seen the giddy looks on their faces when they made their initial report.  They were like a bunch of 12 year old boys that had just discovered a nudey mag under their older brother’s mattress. 

“The findings are off the charts, Mr. Z!  The power within the sphere is measuring at”

“Ah ah ah.  Layman’s terms please, Dr. Grustaph”

“The core is more powerful than 10 trillion atomic bombs.  And if we could harness this power, we could change life on Earth as we know it!  There would be no need for electric companies anymore.  Forget about fossil fuels!  We could…”

“Calm yourself Dr. Grustaph.  First we need to harness the power, then we can talk about saving the world.”

“Yes, sir.  You’re right.  There’s just one thing.”

“Oh, what is that?”

“There’s a strange inscription on the doorway of the antechamber leading to the sphere.  It would be advisable to decode it prior to fumbling with something of this magnitude.  As much as I’d hate to say it.  It might be prudent to delay further testing until we know exactly what we are dealing with.”

“I appreciate your concern Doctor, and believe you me, I share your apprehension. Nevertheless the President does not share the same sentiment.  I will attempt to persuade him to order a postponement of scientific experimentation and analysis until a linguist can get here, but let’s not kid ourselves.  You know exactly what the President wants to do with this thing and he isn’t about to put his plans on hold for a foreign language geek.”

“So, shall we continue our work then?”

“Why don’t you and the other coats take a break?  We have food and refreshments in the game room with your name on it.  You and your team have earned it.”

“Well thanks, Mr. Z!  We have been working nonstop around the clock.  A little respite is exactly what we need to recharge our batteries!  Get it?  Batteries?  Because, we are working on the most powerful battery known to mankind?”

“Brilliant and funny!  You’re the best Dr. G.  Now go get your team and take the day off.  I’ll call the President about your concerns, and let you know what he says.”

 

That was the last time I saw Dr. Grustaph.  He was a brilliant man.  No so much funny, but brilliant.  It’s a shame I had to kill him and has crew.

Another day, another class

The teacher sits at his desk, blankly staring at the clock on the wall.  Is the second hand even moving?  Its only 9am, but he´s already been at school for two and half hours.  The Honor Society, for which he is the advisor, had their monthly meeting in the gymnasium at 7AM, twenty minutes before 0 hour.  What the hell is zero hour anyway he wonders.  How can there be classes before school officially starts?  Does that mean these classes aren´t real?  Well, technically they are electives, but the students at his school are obliged to select either a morning or afternoon elective, thus there isn´t much of an election.  In addition, the students are also graded on their performance in the classes, which begs to question, are these classes electives or actual classes?  

The teacher´s muings come to an abrupt end as the strident school bell sounds, indicating the beginning of  the second hour, technically the third hour class.  ´´Hola chicos.  ¡Bienvenidos a la clase de español!´´ he cheerfully greets his students, as they shuffle their feet into the Spanish classroom.  A giant smile is flashed acrossed the teachers face and his body language is jovial and he exudes energy, though he is silently dying inside.  -How did I end up here - he wonders to himself  - and how much longer am I going to do this?-

This is Profe Feliciano´s tenth year as a Spanish teacher, and though he has more good days than bad, the daily routine and perfunctory life he has created for himself has started to drag his spirits down.  Ten years ago he would spend almost every waking hour thinking about his students and classes, planning and conjuring up ways to make his lessons enjoyable, magical, and relatable.  He hardly used the textbook, opting to create his own lessons and projects based on the personalities and preferences of his students.  Did it require more work?  Of course it did.  Did he mind?  Not at all.  He prided himself on being a creative teacher.  He devoured articles and books pertaining to the latest teaching strategies and techniques.  He picked the brains of veteran teachers and would scour the internet for classroom grants and scholarships for his students.  He lived and breathed being a teacher.  When someone would inquire on how he made a living, he would proudly proclaim ´´I´m an educator´´.  

Ten years later, he feels trapped.  - I love teaching - he tells himself, half convincingly.  I don´t mind they don´t pay me well.  I make enough for what I do.  Afterall, I get to listen to music, watch movies, and read while at work.  Also, how about all that vacation time!  Fall break, winter break, spring break and of course summers off.  Can´t complain about that!  

Of course, what he finds himself complaining about, even if the words aren´t spoken into being, is the mandane daily grind.  Grind?  Hardly.  He´s lacking challenge.  There´s no skin in the game.  There are no reprucussions.  His work doesn´t matter and his effort is for naught.  That is what is irking the teacher, the realization that what he is doing means absolutly nothing.  

Ten years ago, Profe Feliciano was in his early thirties and newly married.  Now, he has a mortgage, a cranky wife, two kids under the age of ten, and he´s balding.  Worse yet, the second hand on his classroom clock isn´t working.  It still says 9AM, although the bell rang five minutes ago.  

´´Okey chicos, saquen sus cuadernos.  Vamos a empezar la clase de español.  Perdónenme, el reloj no funciona...´´