Knight of Pentacles

Back In School—DAY

The department has gotten funding to do a movie based on a Japanese sci-fi cartoon, and several student actors walk around in costume for a kick-off photo shoot. The costumes all look very good and the girls will be adorable and I wish I had shown more interest in the project when it was earlier in development.

We watch the proofs and they are amazing. On our tiny budget, we are able to make a cataclysmic end to the film by merely overlapping a series of several shots: One car, over the sky, over a gush of lava, over...

Unbelievably, Spike and I realize that the film looks good. It just takes some precise camera angles and the like. So, the end in sight, I take up tape measure and string to block out the next shot.

“No. No. No.” brays an effeminate voice above me as I kneel in the mud, “Sloppy. That will never do!” The slovenly effete informs me that he is the new Dean of the college and, with specific interest, has nominated himself as chair/advisor to my research, productions, and other academic pursuits. He tells me that unless I conform to his brand of entertainment, I will never get out of the university.

The new Dean seems familiar. Like the same as the old Graduate Dean. Who was just like the Undergrad Dean. Who was just like my High school Principal. Who was just like my Elementary School Principal.

Now, I am changing my outer shirt when a girl comes and tells me they are ready for me in the auditorium. The room is set up for a lecture and someone hands me a program indicating I am a speaker on cliché in the media. The Dean asks if I am ready and I tell him I know nothing of this speech I am to give and am leaving.

He looks at the program, scratches my name out and puts an F by it, saying “If you do not meet the terms of your acceptance, you will never graduate.”

He thrusts a paper at he, “Here, your university application. Check the fine print.”

Apparently, when applying for graduate school on-line, I had filled out a questionnaire which asks what I could expect to lecture on after completing my education. There was no indication that I would be required to actually lecture nor has there been any reminder since.

My non-serious consideration of the form is highlighted by my use of slang. The personal essay uses, for example, “sez” instead of “says.” The Dean tells me to take it up with the representative of the corporate sponsor. I say that they cannot even keep track of the porn sites I visit, let alone my academic interests. The Dean admits that it has been some time since the lecture has been suggested to me.

“Days? Weeks?” I demand and he nods.

“Months?”

He frowns and nods again.

“Years?”

Reluctantly he shrugs. I seize on the admittance.

“Five years? A decade?” Security is now dragging me away. I break free and grab the Dean by the throat yelling.

“You bastard! You followed me here from high school just to keep on torturing me and ruing my life!”