He kept the pedal to the metal until the Whistler on the dash began to chirp and then toned it down to speeds most drivers would consider only somewhat reckless. The chirps faded and the pedal, again, hit the metal.
Bojargis pulled into the school parking lot and ambled inside.
"Bojarg! What the hell are you doing? Did you just get here?" Russ the vice principal inquired.
"Yeah, why don't you cut me some slack" Bojargis replied.
"It's 11:15!" At that moment, Russ rounded a corner in the hallway into an unexpected mess. One of the students had the flu and had gotten sick in the hallway, seemingly without telling anyone.
Strain as they might, the textured rubber soles of Russ' Nunn Bush Camerons were no match for the slippery, slidy cocktail of gastric fluids and buttery grits that spread from wall to wall.
Russ quickly picked himself up from the floor. "Fuck!" he shrieked in great dismay, "would you look at this -- all over my pants; shit."
Bojargis smirked but continued to his classroom where most of his students were assembled waiting for their daily English lesson.
"Kids, listen up. Take your seats, shut your mouths. Change of plans -- today we're watching Seinfeld. Randy, get the Season 3 DVD from the movie shelf and hit it."
It would take several minutes for Randy to complete this simple task. The TV was designed so that whenever it was turned on, the input would be incorrectly selected and no less than three normal people would have to play with the remote to get it to render the desired images properly. Bojargis was patient and did not fret over Randy's A/V incompetence.
