Chuck Schneekloth, Jr.

Writing Assignment #2

28 June 2001

It all seemed so perfect. The sky was blue, the birds chirped outside, school was over, he had an exciting dinner date that night, and summer plans were finalized-- as far away from Seaside High School as possible. Sure, his apartment was still dirty, and sure, over one hundred CIM tasks dryer than the Oregon high desert remained ungraded on his school desk, but none of this mattered. This was a time to rejoice. The first year teacher from New Jersey was living every first year teacher's dream: he was getting furniture.

Wearing a comfortable running outfit consisting of a well-worn t-shirt and old, ragged, beaten soccer shorts, Chuck slowly pulled the couch into his living room. On the other side of this glowing prize was every teacher's dream: a goofy sixteen year old male with a broken foot and hair that appeared, in a remarkable way, to have never been combed. Although a six foot six inches and well built, A.J. was hampered by the cast on his right foot, an artifact from an intense dodgeball game that left him barely managing to hold up his end of the couch that day.

Now most people, when living such a momentous occasion, would carefully select a moving helper that was fit, competent, and mentally stable more than half the time. Often many contemplated leadership styles, and take such things into consideration as to choose someone who was compatible with one's vision and communication idiosyncrasies. But not Chuck. He, in contrast, carefully weighed the options and asked A.J. for his help for the following reason: he had a big truck. Although sharp enough to realize that you didn't have to buy all "ten yogurts for two dollars" at Safeway to capitalize on the sale, he often made decisions that weren't fully thought out and rationalized. Looking across the couch, Chuck soon realized this was one of those times.

The couch was now almost moved completely through the door and into the room. Just as the two were about to place it down, five events occurred almost spontaneously as the two shuffled past the key hole with the house key silently resting inside it: the dangling keys ripped the couch, the door key snapped and became wedged inside the key hole, Chuck became intensely frustrated, and A.J. laughed a hearty laugh. "Wasn't that funny," he exclaimed. Chuck sighed deeply, looked around his apartment of scattered papers, running apparel, and old cereal boxes, and responded, with a low, defeated voice, "Not really."

Unfortunately for Chuck, this had been a long day. Life just wasn't as simple as it was for A.J., whose most difficult chore of the day was often chewing. Despite the fact that his teaching duties were over, there were still many responsibilities that hovered over his head. For instance, he had to pay many bills. Although for some this was a "cinch," for Chuck it was often a long, painful, multi-stepped process. The first step was always the most difficult: locating the bills. Since he received them upwards of five days ago, they have all long been lost in the track sheets, lessons plans, and empty Gatorade bottles that sprinkled his floor. But the thought always lingered: maybe they're in the car, or maybe even at school. As far as he could remember, maybe he didn't get bills this month. Wouldn't that be nice?

If not located, he would often be forced to call the institution to which he owed money. This quickly became a problem because his phone was disconnected last week. Now what? After hours of frustrating steps, he would finally get to the icing on the cake: the stamps. However, this ALSO was a challenge because the darn Post Office was openly only during school hours. Hence, two months and three late fees later, the bills would finally be mailed out, paid in full.

But this is no matter. The point here is that Chuck's life was fraught with hardship when compared to A.J.'s, and he did not find this turn of events amusing in any way. Regardless, the couch was finally here, A.J. finally left, and Chuck finally got a chance to check his messages on his frantically blinking answering machine.

Anxiously pressing "the button," the magic black box hanging on the kitchen wall revealed the much anticipated voice of his dinner date. "Hello, Chuck? I'm sorry, but?" Sighing deeply, he glanced around the room, admired his new couch, quietly chuckled at the image of A.J.'s hair, and began gathering the scattered cereal boxes.