A disheveled Mr.
Sweeny hurries into the Social Studies room moments after the bell rings - late as usual.
"Happy Hump Day!" the class yells.
Patrick Sweeny has been teaching Social Studies for thirteen years now.
You would think he would have gotten the routine down, but tardiness is no stranger to Mr.
Sweeny.
He is usually found darting through the halls, in a constant state of disarray - a pile of books under one arm, a briefcase under the other, coffee in one hand, a brown bag sack lunch in the other.
Style, on the other hand, is foreign language to him - it went extinct with dinosaurs as far as Patrick Sweeny is concerned.
One might think his wardrobe was similar to that of a superhero's closet, consisting of multiple pairs of the same outfit, but the remnants of chalk dust and pit stains allude to a different, less exciting story.
"Hump day.
I wish...
" mumbles Mr.
Sweeny softly under his breathe.
Poor ole Sweeny boy hasn't enjoyed the company of a woman in years, maybe decades.
But can you blame him?Receding hairlines and bad hygiene aren't exactly in style these days; well, maybe bad hygiene.
"Hey Mr.
Sweeny, what are we learning about today?" asked Samantha Wilcott, a future valedictorian.
"Why don't we start by going over last night's homework?Everyone please take it out-" "Sweeny, I want to see you out in the hall," boomed Principle Harrison's deep voice.
He had the perfect voice for a principle.
His vocal chords had the power to send chills down a freshman's spine, the power to break up a fist fight, the power to sing "Chocolate Rain.
" The kids in the classroom could hear the bass from Principle Harrison's voice echoing, "Sweeny, do you have any idea how many times you've been late this year?" Sweeny start to stammer, "Well...
I uh...
Can't recall the exact -" "38!38 gosh dern days.
If you were a student you'd be held back.
If you were my kid you'd be grounded.
Heck, if this were taxes, you'd be arrested!" Sweeny just stood there with his head hanging, finally noticing the chalk dust covering his shirt.
"Point taken Greg.
"Greg was Principal Harrison's first name.
"I don't mean to come down you, but you need to make it here on time.
If you can't, I will find someone who can.
" "I know Greg, it's just the traffic..
" "Sweeny! I don't want to hear it.
I don't care if you drive down the street blasting air horn, yelling 'Get out my way!Just get here on time.
" Sweeny nodded and returned to the classroom.
He wasn't in the mood for teaching anymore, or talking at all for that matter.
So he passed out a quiz and sat as his desk in silence.
The problem isn't that he is lazy.
The problem is that he is extremely disorganized.
From the moment he wakes up, Mr.
Sweeny is constantly playing catch up.
Today he was out of toothpaste.
If it's not toothpaste he's out of, it's milk, or ink for his printer, or something else.
He then has to drive over to the market to get his supplies and ends up being late for work.
Hmmm, Mr.
Sweeny silently pondered ways of beating traffic while his class completed the quiz.
"An air horn is just ridiculous," thought Sweeny.
A loud horn would be bit obnoxious as well.
At that time, gazing out the window, Sweeny spotted Brock Landing flying into the parking lot in his suped up 'stang.
The car's growl excited something in the melancholy teacher.
He felt alive.
And it hit him like Babe Ruth knocking one out of the park.
He needed something, like Principle Harrison's voice, that would let people know that he was coming and they better watch out.
So that day, he went over to his local auto body shop and had them install the loudest, most bad-A exhaust they had.
When they were done, Sweeny got behind the wheel and fired her up.
Vrooooom.
Wow, that's loud.
The next day, as Sweeny drove down the road every car politely moved onto the shoulder to get out of way for Sweeny's screaming machine.
He made it class on time and every day after that.