By Sister Grim 

Once upon a time it was the end of January in the city of Chicago, which, due to geographical considerations, as well as the red tape involved in secession, was still located in the sorry, cheapskate, scandal-ridden state of Ill-A-Noise, and the membersheep of the CTEwe were warily looking forward to June. Unless, of course, they happened to be in one of the dozens of schools selected for renaissancification. In that case, they were busily trying to write resumes. Unless, further of course, they were in a secretly selected school, in which case they didn’t yet know that they were on the slippery slope to the edge of extinction.

Meanwhile, back at the recently redecorated headquarters of the CTEwe, there was consternation. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with the possible plight of the haaapless membersheep.

“This is not the color I selected!!!” came an unpleasantly familiar screech, followed by the stomping of stiletto heels on the newly installed parquet floors. Now everyone knew that Pammy Pretty was visiting the Chicago office, since her parallel political pied-à-terre in Sssspringfield, her new stamping ground, was not yet finished, either.

“I picked pale pecuniary green!! What is that supposed to be?” she demanded of Teddy, the Obsequious Toady, long-time member of the “new” old Pee-Yu CTEwe, currently only a heartbeat away from the coveted position of President. It was his major misfortune to be walking to his office, thereby coming into her field of vision.

“Uh —” he stammered as she pushed him towards the BIG corner office with the BIG window and the beautiful view. “It looks like green to me,” he said, hesitatingly.

She whipped out a fistful of hundred-dollar bills, shaking them in his face. “THIS is the shade of green I wanted!! Not too blue, not too yellow!! Not too gray, not too bright. Not too light, not too dark.”

Due to his momentary deafness, Teddy’s head was swimming. “Green has yellow and blue in it?” he mused.

“Oh, you always were useless!!” she snapped as she stomped off in another direction, almost bumping into the ubiquitous Diana Heifer. “Get out of my way!!” Pammy shouted by way of greeting. “I am looking for the idiot color-blind painters who messed up my office. Where are they?”

The office staff had learned, through necessity, how to cover their ears and shrug at the same time. It sort of protected their hearing while precluding any conversation, which, with Pammy, could rapidly escalate into an unpleasant confrontation. It also bought some time for the painting crew to escape down a little-used baack hallway of the labyrinthian Merchandise Maaart, where the CTEwe offices were located.

The new leadersheep were still congratulating themselves on having been invited to renew the egregiously exorbitant lease for another ten years. “It’s a good thing,” they had agreed.

“It has a great sound to it when you say ‘Suite 400’ at the Merchandise Mart. Don’t you think that’s worth a few million right there?”

“And they included nice indoor parking for all of the important people,” added Mercenary Mary, newly selected secretary who thought she was the treasurer. That was probably just as well, since she seemed to have absolutely no idea what constituted Official Minutes of Meetings. She had made it her mission in life to nickel and dime the membersheep to death while she enjoyed the fruits of their dues.

“The committee members are beginning to whine again,” added Marilyn Mumbles, newly selected President. “And after we sent out all those letters telling them they all had to reapply for their previous positions.”

“We did?”

“It was hilarious. They had a day to get everything baaack to us,” explained Benedict Barbara, the once and current office manager. “We deliberately gave them a real short turnaround time. And can you believe it —” she erupted into gales of laughter — “most of them reapplied.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because it was already decided that none of that old bunch from the previous administration was going to get back to any semblance of leadership. Not now. Not ever. They had their chance,” concluded Loquacious Linda, who was the new treasurer as well as a pension trustee, which was somewhat of a conflict, but hey, who was counting, anyway?



Once upon a time, just then, there was a commotion somewhere in the area of the department of field drips. All of the office staff and the leadersheep trotted over to see whaaat was happening. It was quite a sight.

Teddy the Obsequious Toady was nose-to-nose with Naaasty Nicky.

“Will not,” yelled Naaasty Nicky.

“Will too,” asserted Teddy.

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Oh yes, you will. That’s an order,” emphasized Teddy, wagging his finger in Naaasty Nicky’s face.

“Oh no, I won’t,” yelled Nicky, incandescent with infuriation.

It should be noted that Teddy was wearing a suit, tie and appropriate shoes for the business world. Nicky was in a jogging outfit and gym shoes, and had evidently stormed out of his office so fast that the recliner was still in its super-relaxed position, slowly vibrating.

Marilyn tried to stifle the argument. “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” she asked.

“He won’t do what I say,” whined Teddy.

“I don’t have to,“ sneered Nicky, nastily.

Teddy whirled to face Marilyn. “You said I was in charge of the field drips, Madame President.”

“Well, I - - -”

“Yeah, but you said I could do whatever I wanted because I’m the best bully in the building,” Nicky reminded her.

“Well, I - - -,” she floundered around, not unlike a fish out of water. And then, just as she did at every meeting, she looked around for someone to bail her out. “Can you help me?” she asked rhetorically, since her primary helpers were out shopping, on ewenion time, and therefore not available. She was beginning to get that wild-eyed look that the paparazzi always managed to capture. The Scabune and Scum-Times were always willing to show ewenion leaders in a baaaad light.

Just then, the ubiquitous Diana Heifer conveniently came around the corner, ready, as ever, to interject her opinion. “What’s the problem here?” she demanded, and everyone stopped bickering for a moment. She was reputed to be even meaner than Naaasty Nicky, and, since no one really wanted to test that theorem, thereby ending up as a sacrificial laaaamb, no one challenged her.

Finally Teddy said, obsequiously, “I’m in charge of the field drips, and I think they should dress professionally whether they’re in the office or out in the field. I think it makes a good impression.”

Nicky said, “I don’t care what he says. Nobody can tell ME what to do, and I’ll wear whatever I want.” He looked around to make sure everyone was listening to him. “I dressed this way all during the last administration, and I got to like it. So there.”

“But you didn’t do any work at all during the last administration,” blurted Diana, who had been there, at the CTEwe offices, ubiquitously, whenever she wasn’t still being the very special assistant to the previous president.

“No one else did anything, either,” whined Nicky. “That’s what Larry and Pammy told us to do. Or not do, I guess. They said we’d lose our positions and have to go baaack to the —” he shuddered — “classroom if we did anything to help the membersheep.”

“And why was that, do you think?” demanded Diana.

“Because they wanted the membersheep to hate Debbie and not vote for her again,” came the answer. “It was very stressful. I mean, I’m not politically motivated,” he added, with a straight face. Just before he exploded in raucous laughter. “But it was a good idea. It worked. We won,” he concluded.

Somebody mumbled, “Not really,” but no one could identify the voice. Meanwhile, back in the schools, there was turmoil and angst. Business as ewesual, except that the membersheep were learning that it wasn’t their imagination: the CTEwe was doing nothing for them at all. Except keep taking their money in the form of dues.

“They keep shuffling the field drips around,” said Ewenice, who was still Toonice for her own good.

“That’s to keep everything unsettled,” agreed Millicent Militant. “After you explain everything to one drip, they transfer him and you have to start all over from scraaatch.”

“And by the time they finish, the school year will be over,” added Scott Skeptic, journalism teacher-in-exile. “Score one for the Bored.”

“And what about that mess at the H.M.S. Senn?”

“Hey. Mumbles sent petitions to Da Mare for Christmas. What do you want?” asked Scott. “You want someone to take a position or something?”

“Ooh, ooh!!” said Ewenice. “I get it!”

“You get what?” asked Millicent.

Ewenice imitated Marilyn’s stammering style of speech to ask, “You mean there’s a difference between a petition and a position?”

“Oh,” they laughed. “I see.”

“O.I.C.”