Portion (Ongoing)

him

Professor

"Yes, dinner tonight. See you later.", I lean further in my desk chair.

With a quick roll of my eyes, I hang up the phone. The lingering of Beatrice's nagging still ringing through my ears. Sometimes I still wonder how I've dealt with her for the past five years.

Sitting at my desk, I look up when I hear a slight knock coming from my door. Barging in before I have the chance to say so, in comes Dean Heinz with a sympathetic expression on his face. Probably about to drop a bomb on me.

"By all means, Dean. Come in, take a seat at the table, and even have some lemonade if you will.", I say with a sarcastic tone and chuckle when I realized I referenced a album by Beyoncé and her sister.

With a straight face, Heinz rolls his eyes but then smiles as if he realized he's about to ask me another favor.
"I'm just going to ignore that and get straight to the point." I noticed he stood upright with his hands latched together and his lips pursed in a straight line. "I need you to teach this year's freshman Art class."

"Why do-"

"I believed this will be a great opportunity and you're one of the best processors around here."

"Who said I-"

For the love of cheese and crackers, stop interrupting my sentences.

"Anyways with all that being said I will be on my way." Dean motioned towards the door before any words could even escape my mouth.

"Woah. Wait a minute." I held out a finger,got up from my chair, and went to stand in the front of my desk. I heard Heinz sigh and turn around back towards me. "Why do you want me to teach art? Better yet, why do I have to teach the freshmen class?"

"We are short on staff after Mr. Rodriguez, the one who is suppose to teach mostly freshmen, quit for slipping on paint and falling, injuring himself in the process," Heinz rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his brunette hair. "Hell, we had to give him compensation."

I quirked an eyebrow. "With all due respect dean, you failed to tell me what that has to do with me."

"You are qualified for this, and this is a kind of last minute thing. But I would be too wise to think that you would do this solid for me. Perhaps you forgot who got you this job in the first place." He glared at me through stern eyes.

I breathed out.

Rubbing my hand so carelessly down my face in a stressed manner, I look at him, avoiding those eyes that have glared at me many times over the years.

"I didn't even have a choice to protest, did I?"

He smiled and came up to me, patting his hand on my shoulder. "No, no you didn't. But I'm nice enough to let you think you did." He took his hand back and made his way to the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.

He turned and smirked, "Oh, and good luck with the freshmen."

"Doofenshmirts!", I called out. I could see him grimace even with his back towards me. I know he hated when I called him that. Instead he continued and shut the door; the sounds of his footsteps fading away from my door within seconds.

I breathed out and grabbed my glass of bourbon whiskey that was sitting in the edge of my desk while motioning towards my classroom window. Looking and scaling out the campus, I began to grow agitated.

That bastard does something like this every year.

Clutching my hand holding the glass tighter, I shake my head. Looking down I see individuals walking around, trying to get settled around. Freshmen. Immature kids coming from high school only to come here to party, have sex, and get drunk.

Look what I've gotten into.

Thanks, Heinz.