Deep in the Bowels
by Raymond M. Coulombe

This editorial comes to you from somewhere deep in the bowels of a public school system who's name shall remain a secret to protect the innocent, the guilty and the just plain suspicious. Never, in any imagined future, would I have pictured myself in front of a classroom. Few were as happy as myself to get out of the public schools. But here I am, nominally in charge of a shop class. I say nominally, because the shop has been condemned by the state inspectors. Hope it wasn't anything I did. Instead of learning how not to cut off fingers with power tools, these kids have an hour and a half study hall. My job has been reduced from that of teacher to that of jailer. I don't teach, I prevent homicides. Sure, the administration could take advantage of my English background and let me teach English, but no, they are taking advantage of my massive size and fearsome looks to keep a shop class in order.

Plenty of jobs exist out there for us double English majors, but usually they involve playing a guitar in funky coffee shops and singing sappy folk tunes. Those of us with no musical ability at all have greatly reduced opportunities. Sure, some of us work for major media outlets, or have other literary pursuits. By the way, buy the damn book. Anyway, many of my fellow English majors are teaching, some with an actual teaching certificate, but others are in private schools where they have more concern for ability than paper certificates. Many of us, however, are working day to day as substitute teachers.

Three out of four staff members of QM have worked as substitutes. That, boys and girls, is the commercial value of a background in Art, History, or English. Tim, the sober one, was smart enough to study computers, so he makes real money, is flown all over the world, and owns good suits. The rest of us are hard pressed to find barely acceptable wardrobe to show up at our subbing gigs. It's about all we can do to show up on time, wearing only slightly wrinkled clothes, and before we've had the first drink of the day. That's a big change from the QM dress code, where we don't care if you are dressed or not, and alcohol on anyone's breath is no surprise. (With the exception of Tim, of course, the sober, well paid QM member. I wonder if there is a connection between sober and well paid? . . . naw, couldn't be.)

The school wants me to keep order, and as far as they are concerned, that's what I'm doing. When the Assistant Principal checked in on my class, they were all orderly and quiet. Little did he know that I made the kids a deal: give me a half hour of peace and quiet and you can play poker the rest of the class period. Yeah, they wanted a jailer, and instead, they got King Rat. I taught my advance class how to bypass locks and security devices, skills I believe every young person should have. Next week I'll teach them how to make a zip gun out of common car parts.

Should I get them for an extended period of time, I'll teach they something really dangerous: how to think for themselves. Ideas are like virus. They can spread like mad, infecting and changing host organisms, and then spreading further. Once people learn they can create their own reality, independent of society's norms, there is nothing that can stop them. It's such a cool thing to do that I don't mind leaving the Quantum Muse compound and occasionally venturing into the wide world. Just doing my part to spread brain rot.

Long live the revolution!

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