In the morning, Dr. White was sitting in Hammermeister’s chair reading through Hammermeister’s thesis when Harold came in. He looked up at the Canadian and said, “We’ll pay your salary through the year, but don’t ask for any job recommendations. You aren’t gonna want my recommendation. I’m sorry for you, huh-huh-huh-Harold. There are people of cuh-cuh-cuh-color out there who can dance circles around your qualifications. It’s my fault for letting you buh-buh-buh-bullshit me during the interview. I wanted to hire a white man. I wanted some diversity. I wanted you to succeed, but you’re a buh-buh-buh-bad person!”

“I didn’t bullshit you. I can do this job. I can do this job!” Hammermeister began to spill his guts about the janitors, his beating and abduction. Dr. White drew his head back in alarm.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Hammermeister shouted. He pulled down his pants and showed the man the burn on his ass and the bruises on his legs. “It looks like Kaposki’s or whatever they call it.” Hammermeister began to spin his theory that the custodians—Duffy and Cline, the weight lifter—had beaten him, gang bangers had stabbed his spiders…and so on.

“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. For one thing, those spiders were ridiculous, and for another, Duffy has been with us for ten years and I’ve never heard a single buh-buh-buh-bad word—”

“Bullshit! He’s an alcoholic! He’s a drunk! Everybody knows it. Where have you been?”

“He hasn’t taken a sick day in the whole ten years,” the principal said incredulously. “The buh-buh-buh-best attendance record in the district, sh-sh-sh-short of my own.”

“Alcoholics are like that. With their low self-esteem, they overcompensate at work. Have you ever read The Nigger of the Narcissus, Sidney? Do you know the character Waite? That piss-and-moan, do-nothing crybaby! Well, that’s who Duffy is. Duffy is Johnny Waite! And if you haven’t read the book—judging by that vacant look on your face, I dare say you haven’t—then by God you should!”

“Harold. I don’t know what happened to your legs or how you got that burn, but the alcohol fumes in here are bad enough to knock a person down. I think you should check yourself into…a facility! The district has a progressive policy—”

“Duffy and that burrhead in the gym, Cline—that’s what you call a bad nigger.”

“That’s it! I’ve heard enough—you’ve got fifteen minutes before I call the police!” Dr. White said, standing up. “Puh-puh-puh-pack your stuff and get out.”

“Fine,” Hammermeister said. “Fifteen minutes. That’s just fine. ‘The custodians are a little trouble spot,’ remember? ‘They seem to defy our coping skills,’ remember? Shit, why did I have to be born white! It’s a curse!”

The principal walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.