The principal complimented him often about how well he handled the whole arena of discipline, but when Hammermeister asked for more responsibilities, Dr. White put him off.

“Not just yet. Why don’t you settle in for a while, huh-huh-huh-Harold? Don’t want to burn out, do you? Meltdown by May. That happens to the best of us, you know, even when things are guh-guh-guh-going well.”

Christ, you could stand there for an hour to hear the motherfucker deliver one complete sentence.

“Seriously, Dr. White, I want to learn everything I can. I want to know this school inside and out. I’m part of the team, and I don’t like sitting on the bench.”

“Okay then. There is one little trouble spot that seems to duh-duh-duh-defy our coping skills: the cuh-cuh-cuh-custodians. They’re yuh-yuh-yuh-yours.”

Hammermeister quickly scheduled a meeting with all thirteen of the men. He had pizza brought in to foster conviviality, but instead of the friendly get-together he envisioned, all thirteen janitors started in on him at once: the year had never been off to a worse start! It was terrible! There was a group of squirrely freshmen, and they were carrying food to all ends of the building—spilling pop on the rugs, spitting chew, sunflower seeds, and peanut shells. A particular bone of contention was a type of hot pink, new-wave chewing gum. This stuff didn’t freeze when you applied aerosol-propelled gum hardener to it—freeze it so you could smack it to pieces with a putty knife, pick up the cold little broken shards, and throw them in the trash.