-I've got nowhere to go, he lamented. Nobody wants me. I can't get in anywhere. My grades are so messed up. My test scores are in the toilet. None of my top five schools will accept me...I've got no scholarship...No offers...What have I done? What have I done, Mr. G.? Why didn't somebody tell me two years ago that I'd have no chance. Now all I can do is go to a stupid on-line school...
Girello leaned back in his chair slowly, calmly, rocking back and forth, staring at the wall behind the his visitor with a look of confident, masculine, self-satisfaction. Here at last was the mighty Trav Sharpie, humbled, abased, brought low - the same insolent wunderkind who so joyfully had wreaked havoc with teachers and administrators for years at a time, the one who knew how to violate the dress code in every particular, the one who had so gleefully destroyed computer equipment, trashed cafeterias, subverted bus rides, made a point of sliding down stair railings and raiding faculty lounges just to spite the administration; the cad who wrote graffiti on bathroom walls and left odd paraphernalia like cactus plants and blow-up dolls in other people's lockers, the unruly derelict who made a point of always mocking his English teachers relentlessly for their frumpy, frilly attire and needlessly unimaginative hair, the oaf who cursed in mock Spanish, mock Russian or mock Mandarin during math exams to confuse his instructors, the provocateur who filibustered for non-existent constiutional rights or defended the great villains of history until his teachers sent him out, the wise-guy who broke test tubes and depleted fire extinguishers during science lab, who fake vomitted and feigned panic attacks during midterms and finals week - he was finally walking out the door - but he would not be holding his head up high. Nothing pleased Mr. Girello more than the sight of this now overripe hooligan - bumping up against the hard wall of adult responsibility. This was cosmic justice at work. Cases like this served to clarify - if nothing else- that cosmic justice did in fact exist.
- I'm sure you'll figure this out as time goes on, Trav...It's not like we didn't try to warn you.
- Yeah - sure - you people said this and that - but you didn't stop me from crashing and burning like this!
- Well - like I say, I'm very sorry that it has come to this - but sometimes (like they say) you have to hit rock bottom to get yourself on a better path. I hate to say I told you so...
- I've got nothing Mr. G. I'm done. Just stick a fork in me!
- Now don't say that. There are plenty of things you can do in life - it's just going to take you a few years longer than everyone else (heh, heh, heh) to get straighted out, that's all. You're going to need some adult ed and remedial classes at a local community college - maybe some personal counseling. You know it's still only February - I can give you some referrals...
And with that big, bad, annoying Travis began sobbing uncontrollably while the sound carried out into the large waiting area. The other students were incredulous - with big smiles appearing on their faces. This was one of those I-can't-believe-I-was-there-in-the-same-room-when-it-happened experiences that they would doubtless tell or text their friends about. The "incident" would spread like wildfire. T.S. would never live it down. And with that Girello glanced outside - somewhat annoyed by the smiles and giggles. His mood changed back to one of grim determination....
- I'm very sorry Tad...Travis that is...but I've got some other customers waiting...
It was oddly cathartic and entirely customary for him to watch, year in and year out, as various seniors, one by one, virtually crawled out of his office - realizing their mistakes and missteps - after four years of naysaying and resisting his advice. Soon afterwards, Mr. Girello could be seen frenetically pacing back and forth, while Ham Palumbo sat sullenly, staring at the college posters on the wall - all of happy undergrads on idyllic campuses, comfortably ensconced into newly formed peer groups, surrounded by stately brick buildings, immaculate walkways and lush vegetation. Ham was another one of those typical sophomores at a deceptive crossroad in life, having to make a big decision on whether to "get serious" about his future or continue on a path of aimless drifting and "creative destructive" lethargy.
-I'm looking at a set of statistics that I want you to hear....
-Okay.
-What if I were to tell you that taking everything we know about you, your background, your family situation, your peer group, your test scores, and your progress in school thus far - we could predict just about everything that is bound to happen to you over the next 30 years....You'd say I was crazy. Am I right?
-No offense, Mr. G. You're a smart man and all, but that does sound a little far-fetched.
-Good. Good. I knew you wouldn't like what I'm saying, but just listen for a second. Just listen.
Ham could see Mr. Girello grabbing his clipboard and scanning the paperwork for salient numbers; it was at such times, that he reached for a comment totally off-topic just because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.
-That girl in the poster. Did she go here? I think I know her sister.
-What? Now just listen for a second. Forget that girl in the poster. She's been on this wall for the past 10 years. What I want to tell you Ham is that we know all about what will happen to you after you walk out of this building. Can you wrap your mind about that for a second? We know what will most likely happen to you.
This had Ham laughing: "No you don't - heh, heh, heh."
-Yes. As a matter of fact, we do.
-What do you know really?
-Ever heard of Leibniz, Travis. The famous German philosopher? 13th chapter of the Discourses on Metaphysics? Ever hear of Baron d'Holbach (ha, ha, ha) or Spinoza or B.F. Skinner or any of those other great determinists from years gone by?
-Huh?
-No - of course you haven't. If I had more time, I'd show you this book I bought on those guys...Oh...Why do I even bother with such extra-curriculuars? What I want to mention is this guy Leibniz who had this notion that if we understood enough about what defined a given person, place or thing or an event - we could predict with certainty everything that would ever happen in the future to that same entity. Do you believe that?
"Do I believe what?
-Do you believe me when I tell you that we can predict the future?
-My future? That would be awesome if you could - but - do you see - like good things happening to me?
-If I were to tell you that with 95% accuracy we already know the following about you and your life story...That unfortunately, as things stand now, you will not be famous, you will not earn over a million dollars a year at any time of your life, or anything approaching a million dollars, that you will not earn a college degree, you will not become a professional of any kind, or join a country club or win awards, or be interviewed by the media or appear on television or radio or create your own website, that you will never live in a large house or a mansion....
-Whoa there Mr. G. You're really laying it on thick.
-Just listen for a second. You are about to walk out of here, thinking of yourself as a totally free entity who can create your own reality at the snap of your fingers. But the truth is that: A.) You will walk out of hear in three years time and will apply to a local community college program. B.) After one-year you will drop out and take a low-paying job with some local box store or outlet, based on a friend's recommendation. C.) A year after dead-end career path, you will find yourself co-habitating with your girlfriend, someone you have met on the job. D.) One year after that you will find yourself a parent-in-waiting, although no marriage plans have been set.
-Wait. Wait. Wait. Mr. G. This is weird, okay. That's not me. You can't sit here and tell me that my life is going to pan out just like that.
-Oh but I can. The statistics tell the story. The door is closing shut on your life, my man, unless you act now to reverse the situation.
Still distracted by various external stimuli including the fake flowers on the table, the bowl of mints and the mysterious stack of red files, Ham suddenly blurted out yet another seeming non sequitor:
- Hey, Mr. G. Wouldn't it be neat...If you could like...go back... say 40, 50, 60 years... and just sort of, like find a person who went to this school...and see how they did and what happened to them after high school and then go find out if they had children or not, and see how those kids turned out and if they had kids...look at what happened to them. You know like track certain families and follow them from one generation to the next. That would be cool - wouldn't it?
Suddenly Mr. Girello's face broke out into a loud and sustained grin, accompanied by a rapid nod of the head in the affirmative direction, a clasp of the hands together and an low-pitched, but unmistakable grunt of joy.
- Ham, my friend, you have just put your finger on my life's work. I am in the process of doing this very thing you speak of - on a scale that has never been attempted at this school at least, something that no guidance counselor has ever done before.
- Because like - after you had traced things back a couple of generations - you could like - make predictions - it would be all scientific - I guess - Wouldn't it?
- Ex-act-ly! Exactly! Exactly.
Girello was on top of the world to have found a student who actually got him talking about the one topic he enjoyed more than anything - the mapping out of necessity as it applied to human beings and human behavior - what some might call sociobiology via statistics. He was on a high of sorts for the next several hours. He decided to eat his favorite tuna salad sandwich with extra crunchy potato chips at 11:00 a.m. instead of noon. He even allowed himself a strawberry soda from the vending machine. His first visitor, after lunch, unfortunately, was not so receptive to his big ideas. Fiona Webber - a troubled sophomore who wore a dark cloak and ruby red shoes was having none of it. It was one of those "don't even try to get near to me" cases. Don't try to know me. Don't offer any help or advice. Don't waste your time.... She was already chanting such lines before Mr. G. even had a chance to over-awe her with his macho inflections.
- This office is quite dumpy. I don't see the jar full of lollipops for your compliant drones. -
- Alright there Fiona. Let's get to know each other a little better. I've pulled your file as you may know. I'm looking at your most recent test scores here. Oh yes...Well, well, the grades have been slipping...Oh dear. I see that you are a quick-witted girl...an opinionated young lady who doesn't appear to suffer fools gladly... The good news is that I'm here to offer you some helpful advice...Ya see, I've actually been around the block a few times. I can offer you some, good, solid pointers if you'd only put your 'rebel pose' on hold for a second.
- Don't bother. You might as well cut to the chase. How do you propose to bribe me into submission? You: the male overlord using not-so-subtle weapons to intimidate a young girl...
- Now. Now. Let's not get melodramatic all of a sudden.
- My apologies to your sensitive ego and all... it's just that I don't believe in your world, your guidance, your system of morality, your brand of rationality...Your decidedly old school MALE view of the world...that permeates the hallways around here, the very air we breathe... Your staff along with all the teachers here are not role models for ME...they do not have anything of value to impart aside from dreary anecdotes from their narrow lives.
- Young lady...I'm going to put 90% of the rhetoric you've been spewing on hold for a sec - just to ask you a simple question:Were you listening to what just happened in here in this office of mine? Did you see that overgrown little tadpole, Trav Sharper crying his eyes out and moaning with regret? And now you're going to tell me that I don't have a leg to stand on, that I don't have the right to call YOU out on some of your glaring deficiencies?
- STOP RIGHT THERE! Fiona was shouting and pulling on her hair.
- Am I going to have to watch you break down and cry two years from now? C'mon Fiona. You've got TIME to turn this thing around. Are you just gonna sit here with that ridiculous smirk on your face and try and defend you sorry record here thus far?
- Stop, she said, this time more calmly. Don't try to reach me. I don't want your help.
- Fiona. Look. You're grades are slipping. Your mannerisms are becoming more and more eccentric based on what your peers have been telling me.
- Spies. Narcs. Great. That's just wonderful of you to conduct surveillance on us helpless sophomores!
- Fiona. We need to make an intervention with you - before it's too late. You may not believe it - but we want you to be happy. Yes, happy.
- You and I are as far removed as two species of space aliens. What would someone of your ilk know about MY HAPPINESS?
- Well - actually - I have files and cabinets full of DATA on what makes for a happy and successful life after people leave this place. So - YEAH - I know a thing or two about your happiness.
- You know nothing about what happiness is for me or for others like me. What you call happiness is something I would shun like the plague. Not everyone pursues the same goals in life, I mean, isn't that obvious?
- I hate to rain on your diversity parade - young lady - but I happen to know for a fact that most of us humans share the same goals in common....
- Happiness differs like DNA. Don't talk to me about MY HAPPINESS. It has nothing to do with you!
-Just listen for a second. You can rant and rave all you want, but I've got the stats on this...Most people rate the following as necessary ingredients of true satisfaction: love or companionship, a family with children, productive work, a good career, friends, health, financial stability, a senses of community in that order...
I'm going to scream. Look Mr. G. Everyone pours something different into those categories. Okay? Those words mean different things to different people! You want some kind of wretched, cookie-cutter, one-size-fits-all mode of contentment. It's not real.
Oh but IT IS REAL, young lady. I build my career on.... I stake my reputation on these facts and figures. I am right and you are .... you are young and inexperienced in these matters.
- You are a SLIMY Trog! I dismiss you. Begone. You do not EXIST! You are detritus, white noise!
- What did you call me? What did you just call me?
- You are a Trog - just like all the other Trogs in this building. And if you don't let me out of here, I'm going to scream! -
Girello momentarily stunned by the unexpected and indecipherable insult he had received was caught off guard, unsure whether to laugh or retaliate. But by then Fiona had begun to scream. And scream. And scream. The fish in the fish tank outside swam haphazardly around the tank. Agnes, the guidance secretary rushed over to see what was wrong, but Mr. G. just waved her off.
- Okay. Whatever. You may leave, Fiona. Get out. I'm done with you. We'll talk down the road... I have no doubt... I'll get the kleenex ready...
****
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