I’ve been trying to dabble a bit in fiction writing. I’m not real good at creating the old “story arc”, but I do OK with dialogue.
I was just watching the President on TV. And I got to thinking.
What if I had been Donnie Trump’s fifth grade teacher? I wonder what the conversation would have sounded like at his lunch table. I think it would be something like this:
Jack: That essay was really hard.
Donnie: Not for me. I wrote the best essay ever written. It was incredible, believe me.
Jack: Dude, you finished it in five minutes.
Donnie: Because I’m fast. I’m the fastest. That’s why the teacher loves me so much.
Dylan: (snickering) She hates you.
Donnie: She loves me, believe me. Many kids are saying it. She says nice things about me. The nicest.
Suzie: Actually, I heard her talking to the Principal, and they were both saying you’re a pain. They said you’re “challenging” and we all know what that means.
Donnie: The Principal is very low IQ, very low. He’s not smart like me. Many kids are saying, and I’ve been saying it for a while.
Suzie: Then why did you tell us yesterday that you’re going to win the Principal’s award this year, because he’s such a good judge of intelligence?
Donnie: I’ve never trusted him. Never. He’s a disaster. I’ve been saying it. People have been saying it.
Jack: Well, the teacher hates you, too.
Donnie: She’s a real lowlife, that one. Nobody likes her.
Jack: We do!
Donnie: Believe me, nobody does. Nobody. She’s slime. Scum. The worst.
Jack: You’re an idiot.
Donnie: This is a witch hunt!
The kids all get up and move to another table, leaving Donnie alone with his soggy fries.
Donnie: (muttering to himself): They’ll see. They’ll all see. I’m a genius and they’re all gonna pay. They’re all my enemies.
The lunch bell rings and the kids crowd toward the door. Donnie drops his trash on the floor and shoves a first grader out of his way so he can be at the front of the line. She cries, but he ignores her. Head held high, he swaggers out the door and onto the recess field.
Walking over to a group of giggling girls, he yanks the hair of one and pokes his finger into the ribs of another. As they yell at him to stop, he grins.
Donnie: (to no one in particular) The babes love me.
I can’t help it. Every time the President of the United States of America opens his mouth, I feel like I am right back in an elementary school classroom, trying to figure out the best way to deal with a “challenging kid.”
And, for the record, I have never, EVER met a kid anywhere near as “challenging” as this one.