Edward's Big Idea

“That’s the third fight this week, Betty.  I don’t know what’s wrong with these kids.”
“I know, Mr. Carlson, it’s all that loud music and those stupid hats,” Betty replied while she touched up the blue eye shadow that lay like cracked paint above her eyes.
“These kids, don’t they realize that they’ll end up in prison later in life if they keep acting this way?” Mr. Carlson ignored Betty’s comment and wiped a single drop of sweat from his mismanaged hairline.
“And those pants!  Some are too tight, some are too loose, and they all wear them too low.  Don’t they make clothes that fit anymore?” Betty continued uninterrupted.
“I need to do something Betty!  As the guidance counselor of this school, I need to take action and guide these children down the right path.  Otherwise, all I see is nothing but the life of an inmate for 90% of the students here.”
“And all those gadgets, the Y-Phones and the MPT players.  Writing messages to each other in class, their ignorant fingers tap, tap, tapping away instead of listening…” Betty kept up a quiet stream of comments about the problems plaguing the high school, her white hair bouncing on her forehead with each admonition.
Edward Carlson had an idea.
“Betty!  I’ve had an idea,”
“Always driving too fast…”
“What if I teach them what prison is like?”
“Never holding doors open…”
“I could teach a lesson on the U.S. prison system,”
“Always smashing my jack-o-lanterns…”
“No, no, that would be too much of a distraction to their regular studies.”
“Graffiti everywhere…”
“Maybe a field trip?”
“Mouthing off in the store…”
“No, too dangerous to take them to the actual prison, it might scare some of them too much.”
“Gimme, gimme, gimme…”
“What about pen pals?  Each of the kids will write to a prisoner and learn from the prisoner about the horrible experiences they are having in jail.”
“Crapping in the front yard and they never clean it up!” Betty’s small fist impacted her desk with enough force to vibrate her pencil holder.
“Well, I suppose it better not be real inmates or they might teach the students something bad.”
“Groceries spilled all over the place and they just laughed…”
“I’ll just pretend to be a criminal and write back to each of the students.”
“Teen pregnancy and gangs and one of them is always stealing the apple off of my desk.  You understand what I’m saying Mr. Carlson?  Kids today.” Betty rolled her eyes and sat down heavily in her padded office chair.
“Indeed, Betty. I’ve got some more work to do tonight.  Could you get me a list of all the bad students in the school for tomorrow?”
A half-smile spread across Betty’s cosmetic-caked up face that would have made the most evil clown bow in abject servitude, “Why, of course, Mr. Carlson.”
***
Edward Quincy Fitzgerald Carlson grew up in a nuclear family of thinkers.  When money was tight the Carlson twins, Zelda and Edward, were encouraged to build or create the means of their survival.  In the 80’s, when his father was fired from his job as a pitch man, Ed invented inflatable pants that were supposed to double as a floatation device. When the neighbor’s five year old nearly drowned during the initial testing in their pool, the ensuing lawsuit further diminished the family’s resources.  Zelda, on the other hand, cultivated a strain of lima bean that provided 90% of the daily recommended vitamins and sustained the family until their father found paying work again.
Spurred by the success of her daughter, Mrs. Carlson opened a successful Italian Eatery called Lima Italiano, which specialized in lima bean centric dishes.  Zelda handled the finances and advertizing. Ed thought the food needed more kick and unintentionally poisoned a well known food critic with a homemade moonshine and vinaigrette dressing.  Lima Italiano closed and the Carlsons were on hard times again after the critic sent them the review and the doctor bill.
In college, Zelda excelled at advanced mathematics, astrophysics, medical studies, political theory, and art.  Ed missed his first semester of classes after his robotic mascot, built from old gym equipment and three lawnmowers, exploded, knocking him unconscious and destroying half of the newly renovated home bleachers.
Zelda now works for the Government and makes important decisions all day.
Ed works for a government subsidized school district.  Ed does not make good decisions.
***
Ed sat at his desk the next morning humming a random tune and shifting a stack of papers.  He stopped occasionally to read or to write something down.  It was Free Lunch Friday at Z.C. Morey Highschool, a service designed and promoted by Ed that was supposed to save money for the students’ parents and provide the students with at least one hot meal a week.  The school district covered the cost by serving sub-standard food and raising the local taxes.
As much as Ed loved his hot meatball sandwich on Fridays, he was too excited about his new inmate pen pal idea to even realize that his red plastic lunch chit was gone.  So it was with much enthusiasm that Ed greeted his secretary, Betty, as she walked in, oblivious to the three heavy binders she dropped on her desk, knocking an apple to the floor.
“Betty! How wonderful to see you!”
Betty sat down behind the pile of enormous binders so that only the very top of her wispy white hair was visible.
“Well, Mr. Carlson, it’s always nice to be seen.”
“Right you are, Betty. Did you get that list I asked for?”
“I most certainly did Mr. Carlson.  It took me most of the evening, but, I’ll just count it as a special favor.”
“That’s great, Betty!  I just cannot wait to get this idea going.  We’re going to rescue so much potential over the next couple of days Betty, you have no idea.”  Ed smiled at Betty, never noting that she could no more see his smile than the rest of him behind the stack of binders.  “Okay, Betty, let me see this list.”
“Here it is Mr. Carlson.”
“Uh huh, well, hand it over.”
“Its right here, Mr. Carlson.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Betty came around to the front of her desk, a toothy grin beaming from under her plastic-red lips.  She picked up the top binder and handed it to Ed, “I’ve alphabetized the list.  This is the first binder, starting with ‘A’.  The bottom binder ends with ‘Z’.” Betty sat back down, her face now just barely visible over the top of the second binder.
Ed stood silently for a moment, flipping through the first few pages before gently closing the binder and tucking it under his arm, “Betty, didn’t I ask you to get me a list of the bad students in the school?”
“Yes you did, sir.”
“Then… what is all of this?” Ed indicated the other two binders, dropping the one under his arm, which cracked one of the floor tiles when it landed.
“That’s the list, sir.”
“Which list?”
“The list you asked for.”
“The list of all the bad students in the school?”
“Yes.”
“But…I don’t understand, there are three binders,” Ed stammered as he picked up the fallen binder.
“Yes, I know, sir.  I had to print it out in eight point font to fit it in just the three.  The fourth binder was only three quarters full, and I didn’t want to waste paper, sir.”
“Very thoughtful, Betty.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Betty…is this a list of all the kids in the school?”
“No, sir.  It is a list of all the bad kids, just like you asked.”
“How many students are on this list Betty?”
“Forty thousand, sir.”
Ed dropped the binder, and again there was a loud crack as a second floor tile met an untimely doom, “Forty thousand?!  Betty, there are only three thousand students in this school.”
“There are three thousand four hundred and eight students, sir.”
“Thank you, Betty.  If that is the case, why are there forty thousand students on this list?”
“Well, sir, it’s a list of every bad child that has been in this school while I’ve worked here.  There would be forty thousand and two, but my children know their manners.”
Ed’s bewildered eyebrows disappeared into his hair line, “You’ve kept records on every student in this school since you started working here?”
“Heaven’s no, sir.  I couldn’t fill my house with eighteen years worth of paperwork.”
“Oh…then how…”
“I remembered them all.”
Ed slowly picked up the fallen binder for a second time, noticing with a degree of annoyance that the muscles in his back were beginning to stiffen, “Betty?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to go get lunch.”
“Sir, lunch doesn’t start for another three hours.”
Ed looked at the clock, and was amazed that hours of his life had not flown by considering his current state of shock, “Right, well, I’m going to police the halls for a little bit.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Could you do me a small favor while I’m out?”
“Any favor would be small compared to this list, sir.”
“Right you are Betty.  Actually this concerns the list.”
“You want it in a bigger font, sir?”
“Sweet zombie Jesus, no!”
Betty released a high pitched noise something between a grasshopper’s sneeze and a mouse’s giggle, “you say the funniest things sometimes, Mr. Carlson.”
“Thank you, Betty.  Now, about the list:  Could you possibly pick out the six worst kids in the list and have it on my desk by the end of lunch?”
“Of course, sir.” Betty stood up and astounded Ed once again by walking over to his desk, taking a sheet of carefully folded vellum paper from her purse and spreading it face up on top of his desk calendar, “There you are, sir.”
“Thank you, Betty.” Ed walked out of the room.