I went looking for the ceremonial backstabbing knife at work today. Our boss came back from vacation. She is vicious with that knife, so it’s always best to keep an eye on it when she’s around.
I found Mr. Pluck in the teacher’s lounge.
“Have you seen the ceremonial backstabbing knife?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. He spun around for me to make sure.
“Ms. Truncate is back. So—you know.”
“Shit.” He sighed.
“Any idea who might have it?”
He took a sip of coffee and thought for a minute. “Last I saw,” he trailed off a bit before finishing, “ah! Right. I stuck it in Mr. Yells.”
“He yells. It bothers me.”
“Ah, true. Alright.”
So I left to find Mr. Yells in his classroom. I knocked.
“Hey. Sorry, have you seen the ceremonial knife?”
He stood up and turned. “OH! YOU MEAN THIS THING?”
“That’s the one,” I said, stepping forward and removing it from his back.
“Thanks,” I said. I slipped it into the back of my pants. As I walked past Ms. Truncate’s room, her door opened.
“I hope you don’t mind. I told the administration you’d handle the graduation speeches this year. I know you said you don’t like it, and I spoke to the administration. I fought for you, you know, as I always do—but, well, someone has got to do it, and you did say—”
“Yeah—sure, whatever you say,” I cut her off, backing away. It was dangerous to stand close to her when the ceremonial backstabbing knife was around. I escaped, back to my office, behind the door, I reached behind me—the back of my pants was empty. I went a little higher, higher.
There it was.
Fuck, she’s good, I thought, sitting down to begin writing my graduation speech.
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