Attn: Mister William Peterson
Let me tell you something, Peterson -- though my knowledge of your trade is limited, I can you tell that I know a two day suspension is a ludicrously light tap on the wrist. I can also tell you what would go down if I were Principal of Dreagan Elementary. I'd expell that little S.O.B., flat out, no questions asked. Sure, in a few days you'd have the parents trotting in here, and then you let him back in, but you let him know, hey, you're back in because I let you in. And if I almost expelled you this time, imagine, just imagine what's going to go down when you pull this shit again. Armageddon, motherf*cker.
Does my choice of words upset you, Peterson? I imagine they do. I know you, Peterson. I've watched Principals come and go, eight of them, to be precise, and all of them, just like you, were assembled down at the local dickhead factory. You wheel in here in your Suburban every morning in your ironed pants and your cool jacket. And for the record, I could go out and buy myself a cool jacket, I could, I found the store where you bought that, and I've thought about buying it to just to stick it to you. I bet you didn't think a janitor could afford a jacket like yours, huh? Now you might say that I can't afford those fancy leather shoes you wear, and you'd be right, I've checked those out, too, and they're demanding a pretty hefty price. But try scaling up the water drain that runs up the northwest corner of the school in those prissy little numbers and then you'll realize why I think I'll stick to my black runners. People don't look at your shoes, anyways, when you're trotting around in a cool jacket. But I guess you know that.
You don't care, and I know why. I'm just the guy that waxes the floors and disinfects the shower rooms. You know that. As the only staff member in the school to get their own private bathroom, you better goddamn know it. When you spatter the tiles with your piss, I wipe it up at the end of the day while you trot home to the wife and the hi-fi. You probably don't know the first thing about your stereo, I'll bet. You probably just trot into the local Save-Mart and take the first big old stereo with an antenae. Probably got it up against the wall under all of your awards and certificates, next to your big screen tv. What does a Principal watch on tv? He watches the six o'clock news every night and he never misses the Wednesday Night Movie on channel six. You can learn a lot about a man with a Hi-8 camera with 360x zoom lens.
I probably shouldn't have mentioned that, and maybe I've had my share of liquer tonight, but it feels pretty good letting you know how I feel. I've wanted to put you in your place for months, Peterson, ever since that assembly where you went up there in your cool jacket and told all those stupid jokes. Oh, everybody was laughing, sure, hell, even I was laughing. If it's cool to be the principal and having everybody thinking you're so cool, then fine then mister cool guy principal, fine then. But you had to take it too far. You had to make the crack about Janitor Dan, oh sure, we all love Janitor Dan, he just loves it when you poke fun at Danny and his Star Wars. That's what my Mom calls it, too -- 'Danny and his Star Wars'. Well, Danny and his Star Wars don't appreciate your sense of humour, Principal Peterson. What was the joke? You said you caught me trying to use the Force to unclog a toilet. That was it. Very funny. The school thought it was funny, didn't they? And then you pointed over at me and you said: "Aw, I'm just kidding, buddy."
I'm just kidding, buddy.
Well I'm not your buddy, Peterson. And I don't know if you actually witnessed me trying to use the force to unclog a toilet, or someone else witnessed it and told you about it, or if you just assumed it and got lucky, I don't know, but I don't need that kind of thing brought to the attention of the student body. You know what the kids call me now? Yoda. They call me Yoda and it isn't because I wear a diecast replica of Yoda's lightsaber on my belt, and no it isn't because I actually quoted Yoda directly from Empire Strikes Back -- you don't even know what I'm referring to, do you? At the assembly. After you made your little joke. The whole place looks at me, snickering, so I stood up and in my best Yoda-voice proclaimed: "When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not." You all looked at me like I'd just ate a plate of dog crap. I figured I'd play along, compliment your little joke with an amusing Yoda reference, when I should have known none of you wouldn't catch a Star Wars reference if I showed up to school in a goddamn land speeder. You all just stared at me for awhile, and then you went back to your stupid jokes. So yeah, I made the Yoda comment, and yeah, I wear a Yoda lightsaber on my toolbelt, but I get called Yoda for an entirely different reason -- because of my ears. I've got big ears, and those cruel little monsters have drawn attention to them using my love of Star Wars as a slingshot. So thanks for keeping that alive.
You should have expelled that smarmy bastard. I would have. He made me look like idiot. And if I wasn't trying to get people to forget about it, I'd have him up on charges of sexual harrasment. Have you ever been 'pantsed'? That's what they call it, the kids, 'pantsing'. Pantsing is when you walk up behind some unsuspecting victim and yank his joggers down to his ankles. Of course you know, you were there. You were all there. The cafeteria is a happening place at noon hour. You were there, Mister Cool Principal Peterson, telling jokes with the kids -- what kind of high school kids hang out with their Principal? Losers, that's what we used to call them back when I was in school. And now the whole goddamn school is looking like a bunch of losers to me, the way they trot around giggling at your jokes and giving you hi-fives. Maybe I'd like a hi-five once in a while. A pat on the back, a 'nice work Danny', a smile from that new french teacher, Mr Tucker. Yeah, I'm a little bit gay, too, why don't you make a joke about that? Go ahead, tell all of your buddies, Mr Reardon and Mr Killpatrick, and all of those other jerks you chum around with. Did it ever occur to you to ask Janitor Dan to join the Draegan Elementary Teacher's Hockey Team? It was guys like you that wouldn't let me play as a kid. It was guys like you that would steal my clothes everyday at the swimming pool while I was in the showers. It got to the point where my Mother had to ask the lifeguards to monitor me while I took my shower. What do you think that did to my reputation once that one got around the schools? Turned out it was the goddamn lifeguards stealing my clothes in the first place. It was guys like them, guys like you, that get some sort of sick kick out of making a guy like me look like an arsehole. And it's guys like that little son of a bitch, Perry Atkins, who thinks it'll be a big old hoot to pants Janitor Dan in front of the whole school at lunch hour. You know, maybe I could have recovered from that, maybe I could have just laughed knowingly, a 'oh you kids are just nuts' laugh, a shrug, and then I could have followed it up with a silly shake of the hips, and then I could have pulled up my joggers and left everybody with a smile on their face. I could have walked out of there with everyone thinking 'Hey, Janitor Dan is a cool guy, he can take a joke, just like Principal Peterson." Sorry, it's Bill. Principal Bill. What kind of Principal lets everybody call him Bill? Oh, I guess you're just everybody's friend, aren't you? Well, you can at least act like a Principal, and instead of laughing and pointing, you can admonish Perry Atkins and try to divert the kids' attention away from Janitor Dan, but no, you just keep laughing and laughing. What did you think would happen? Of course I pissed myself, and you would too in that situation. I'm flesh and blood, just like yourself, and when I'm pantsed in front of four hundred teenagers, I break down, I lose control. I'll admit, I drink a lot of soda, and that's my cross to bare. My Mom has always gone hard on me for waiting till the last minute to take a piss, and I'm sure all of that soda isn't helping. But you know how I like to drink soda, and that's my right. The point is, I don't drink soda ever expecting that I'll be pantsed in front of four hundred teachers and the new french teacher, Mr Tucker. My 'waiting till the last minute' issue is not really an issue at all. It's a test. I like the challenge. Albeit, my need to test my willpower by going about day-to-day tasks while minding a dangerously full, painfully strained bladder is a bizarre practice indeed, but it keeps me sharp, though it has led to many extraordinarily embarrasing situations. Whether it be pissing my khakis while singing karoake at the roadhouse or pissing my slacks while handing my brother the ring at his wedding, I've run weeping from several establishments, but never after being pantsed in public. Well, actually it happened one other time before in a suspiciously similar situation fourteen years ago, but that's beside the point.
And then, after enduring the abuse of that smarmy bastard Perry Atkins, after having my joggers torn down to my ankles in one respectfully swift movement, after having the entire student body, including you, Bill, laugh uproariously at my panties, and yes, they were panties, a collectible, the only undergarment produced bearing the likeness of Princess Leia, forty bucks on ebay I paid for those things, and that's American dollars, you all laugh and laugh like it's the funniest thing you've ever seen, like I wear these things more than three days a week or something, like I get some sort of sick kick out of wearing girls panties, yeah, right. You see how tight those things were? When I wear my Princess Leia panties I have to cut my workload in two because of mobility issues -- I wear those panties out of respect to George Lucas' creative imagination and as a personal statement regarding my undying loyalty to the franchise that I love. Oh yeah, but the laughter died away, didn't it? Pretty hard to tell jokes when a grown man is pissing himself in front of your entire student body and Mr Tucker. Yeah, you all shut your traps up real fast, didn't you? And no, my slipping was not planned, as funny as you all thought it was. I didn't notice anyone rushing to provide medical assistance, either, no, you were all too busy laughing. Probably so busy laughing you didn't see me run out, tears welling in my eyes, partially due to the overwhelming absurdity of the whole situation, partially because my achilles tendon snapped when I went down. And I don't cry easily.
It's hard for me to write these words. The alcohol helps. I suppose I ought to consider pacing out my alcohol consumption, strictly for financial reasons -- I plan on being pretty drunk over the next few weeks as I try to come to terms with finding a new job in a small town where everybody either calls you Yoda or 'that janitor that pissed his pants in the cafeteria'.
I guess I'm supposed to thank you now for letting me quit instead of firing me. Letting me quit like it's an honourable discharge or something. Well the only discharge I'm getting comes from the pus draining out of the incision they had to make to reattach my achilles tendon. You'll never make me quit. I can take the subsequent ribbings I'm sure I'll recieve from the students following this whole ordeal, though I'm not sure 'ribbings' is an accurate enough word to describe the hell my life will soon become.
I should also let you know that I have contacted my lawyers and will be pursuing legal action should you attempt to fire me. I had just had my achilles heel reattached, I was on a lot of pain medication, and was still emotionally fragile after being pantsed and pissing my panties in front of the entire school. I barely recall pissing on your desk, and have only vague notions of removing my clothes. The police told me they had to lock the students in the classrooms while they attempted a risky takedown in the halls. Rumour has it I was weilding my mop like a lightsaber -- and I'm not going to deny it. I was doped up, confused. Took them hours to contain me. If I hadn't re-severed my achilles while attempting to run up the wall to do a flip, I'm sure I'd still be on the run. Quite obviously, I was troubled, and still am.
My lawyers have advised against my writing this letter.
I advised them to fuck off. And you can do the same, Peterson.
I'll see you at school on Monday.
Danny Partridge Corvettlaufer,
Civil Maintenace Worker