The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Libertarian Shakedown

Well, so much for a peaceful start to a bad day. I would say that everything can only go up from here on out, but let's face it, we all know where this is going.

As soon as I take a step into the school, I get accosted by a bald man with thick glasses, a tie dye suit that could be considered a public nuisance in a more conservative state, and a can-do attitude that is way too early to try and engage with. I can practically see the squiggly lines of sunshine coming out of him. He doesn't seem to be a proponent of social distancing, practically pulling my arm to shake my hand.

"Hello, hello, hello!" he beams at me with his new-age positivity bullshit patchouli crap, "you must be Ayden Gomez! I'm principal Chillman, but you can call me Steve, or Peter, or Dickwad, as many of my little friends call me — I don't like to call them students, but state-mandated friends that I teach stuff."

Okay, this guy is certainly on some kind of government list. What in the actual, small, baby sandals made out of camel hide of baby Jesus is this dude on?

He seems to feel my discomfort — that, or I said that out loud, which can be possible in my new cliche-addled brain — because he takes a step back, all the while smiling the most sincere smile someone has ever made in a Monday morning school shift. "Not a touchy-feely person. Mental note. I see you are a bit confused."

"Confusion is like pregnancy, or shitting yourself. You either are, or aren't. No such thing as being a little bit pregnant," I say.

The man laughs and tries to touch my shoulder, but a combination of shoulder spikes and my eyes staring daggers at him stops him dead in his tracks. "Oh, you're a hoot. Here at Cliff Basin Sierra Plateau Polytechnic Highschool are a little bit more liberal than our counterparts, as you can very much see."

And see I can. Even though the bells just rang, there are a lot of students still out and about, using their cellphones during school hours skating in the halls, a girl just straight up vaping in front of her locker, of which each and every one of them are customized with different colors and styles like a Nickelodeon show. There is a guy at the end of the hall that I'm sure just body-painted a shirt on and called it a day. That, or his shirt is oddly nippley.

"That's an understatement," I say. "Which reminds me, I wasn't given a curriculum when I enrolled here. I don't know which classes I have today."

Principal Dickwad scoffs at me like a teenage boy whose mother told him to get out of that Nintendo, when it is clearly an Xbox, because mothers don't have that much object permanence. I guess. Can't say for sure. Dead mom club over here. Hey, that's a cool name for a club. Where was I again?

"Oh, you," says the Principal, who, seeing that my shoulders were not free real estate, squeezes the back of my neck. Hmmm. "We don't believe in the capitalist, imperial notion of schedules or curriculums. Here at Cliff Basin Sierra Plateau Poly High, we believe in free will. We do not tell our students what classes to take or when to take them. You have free time until 3 p.m to choose which classes to take and when. Wanna do physical education all day? Go ahead. Wanna skip math? Fuck that imperialistic science bullshit — we also encourage free expression here, so shit bitch and fuck all you want."

"You also believe in overusing em dashes," I comment. "Also, what the fuck? So, I can just skip classes and I graduate at the end of the year?"

The man tries to squeeze me again, but I slap his hand away, which he responds by squealing in joy? Where the fuck am I? I'm a young man trying to grow a sense of responsibility in my formative years! I need discipline!

"Well, while you are free to choose what you want to do, you still have to have a certain amount of credits to graduate," he says. "Some people take it seriously, others, not so much, like Kyle. This is his tenth year here, just coasting by and having fun. His child is a sweetheart. Look here he comes!"