3Author's notes: I was watching IIFY when I got the idea for this fic. We hear the canon reason why DeMartino agreed to "volunteer" for the summer camp—he wants to reignite his love of teaching and avoid a cerebral hemorrhage. But I was wondering what his position on the camp was beforehand, and imagined a conversation between him and O'Neil. Overall, it was a real blast writing these two.
Any and all reviews are welcome! Thanks for reading!
Summary: Just how in the world did O'Neil convince DeMartino to join his OK To Cry Corral? One shot.
Disclaimer: RubinaLadybug does not own Daria or any of its characters. Daria plot and characters belong to MTV and Viacom.
Contriving Hope
"FORGET IT, TIMOTHY!"
"But, Anthony, I need counselors for my OK To Cry Corral. None of my students have taken interest in making a difference."
The two men were in Mr. DeMartino's classroom. The gruff man stood behind his desk, and the sensitive man stood on the other end. The school hallways were empty as student life evacuated the dull scene. But the teachers stayed to finish cleaning up for the summer. Mr. O'Neil's attempts for enlistment to his summer camp had failed. He was now trying to persuade someone he viewed as a friend. However, the curt man rejected his new age view.
Mr. DeMartino's eyes fell on his frayed global map. The school's rigid budget made it difficult to purchase it; he needed to fill out three forms and submit an essay explaining his need for a diagram. Now he would need to start a war with Ms. Li to secure a new one. "And what made you THINK they would?! They're only INTERESTED in T.V. and indulging their own INANE hobbies."
"Which is why this camp will be a great opportunity. It'll get the kids and volunteers away from all the icky, terrible violence portrayed in the media and help them focus on their inner selves. We'll be doing fun, indoor activities like arts 'n crafts and other positive exercises to help the campers' esteem."
"If you are in NEED of help, why don't YOU ask that SHE-DEVIL you call a girlfriend?!"
"Oh, Janet? She… Wait, how did you know we're going out?"
"My bad eye saw it a mile away."
Mr. O'Neil bashfully chuckled. "Well, she'll be off on a women's retreat in the woods. And this camp is for sensitive children. Her teaching style may be, well, a little too firm for them."
"Why am I NOT surprised. Rather than carry MACE, she can use her OWN HANDS to take down a bear."
"You and I can make this summer productive. I've already rented the elementary school, made arrangements for the bus, and ordered all the nifty decorations—a six-foot tall cutout cactus and cowboy, a couple of posters, and a large banner with the camp's name. We can sing superb children's songs to and from the camp. Did I mention that the counselors will get terrific shirts?"
Mr. DeMartino dismissed any derisive replies and instead returned to placing books and papers in his box. He could handle listening to his colleague's drivel in between periods. But he figured that too much time would drive him mad, far more than he already was.
Mr. O'Neil tried another approach. "I understand the trouble of taking on a summer position when we ourselves have just finished our own grading. I've already received a list of confirmed campers. It'll be no bigger than an average class period."
"Then YOU should have everything under conTROL for something that size. These undeveloped CAMPERS should also have the same ATTENTION SPANS as our THICK-WITTED students."
"But I was hoping to break off into small groups so that we can really connect with each other on a more intimate level."
"Tch…"
Mr. O'Neil exhaled sharply. He was determined. He held in full faith that he owed his campers a fantastic and supportive summer. "Anthony, I really believe you can use this opportunity to better yourself."
Mr. DeMartino dropped a book at the appraisal. "WHAT?!"
"Eep!" Mr. O'Neil yelped. He tried to maintain his fleeting courage. "What I mean is… You said so yourself that teaching is a rewarding career. But this year you haven't felt that pride."
"Gee, I WONDER why."
"You can be the one who teaches these kids lessons that no one else can."
"Perhaps I will CONSIDER IT if I may bring a CATTLE prod with me. You know, to go WITH the corral theme."
Mr. O'Neil's face lit up. "So you'll do it?"
"Let me THINK about it." Mr. DeMartino placed one hand beneath his chin to give the impression of deep contemplation. He then unraveled his gesture. "NO!"
He walked towards the classroom door and opened it. "If you are DONE, Timothy, I'd like to GET ON with forGETTING about this place and how NO STUDENT ever learned ANYTHING for the next THREE MONTHS."
The two heard exciting whooping outside the classrooms. The football team raced down the hallway in celebration of the end of the school year.
"Let's hear it for no more dumb tests!"
"Or reading boring textbooks!"
"No more stupid reports!"
"Let's sleep in, go on dates, and break curfew!"
"Total freedom, man!"
The team cheered as they raced down.
Mr. DeMartino growled. "That's IT! Where's Ms. Li?! I'm TURNING IN my resignation NOW! I'll never step FOOT inside this disgraceful ESTABLISHMENT again!"
Clinching his fists, he began marching towards the principal's office.
Mr. O'Neil gasped at the terrible exploit. "Oh, Anthony, you can't be serious!"
The taller man whirled around, his bad eye popping out far more than usual. "On the CONTRARY, Timothy, I'm VERY serious! Why should I come in DAY AFTER DAY only to deal with those MORONIC IMBECILES!? Why must I GROVEL at the foot of a BROKEN system that enCOURAGES athletes to only use their HEADS to bash others and NEVER THINK for themselves?! Why should I CONTINUE to be an EDUCATOR when NO ONE ever learns anything?! I'm DONE being employed for this THANKLESS job! I NEVER WANT TO TEACH EVER AGAIN—"
An immense throbbing infected Mr. DeMartino's mind. His vision blurred. Feeling like his brain had been hit by a sledge hammer, he buried his head into his hands. "AAAHHH!"
Mr. O'Neil had seen his friend like this before. "Oh, dear."
The two men had a change in scenery. They were now in the hospital's emergency room. Mr. DeMartino sat on an examination bench while Mr. O'Neil stood by for support.
"You need to cut down on the stress," a doctor ordered as he read his patient's chart.
Mr. DeMartino spat, "What a WONDERFUL idea. Too bad my only SOURCE of income IS MY STRESS!"
"Yours and mine," the man mumbled, jotting down notes on his clipboard.
Mr. O'Neil stepped forward. "Uh, doctor, is there anything else my fellow colleague can do to feel better?"
"He's placed down that he's a smoker. You can cut that out."
Hearing the ghastly suggestion, Mr. DeMartino pleaded, "Not my CIGARETTES! Let a man have his JOYS!"
The doctor shrugged. "There's always that diet and exercise tidbit."
"And what if he doesn't?" Mr. O'Neil asked, understanding how high-strung his friend was. "Will anything, um, bad happen?"
"Depends. Do you want a cerebral hemorrhage?"
"THAT actually sounds far more PLEASURABLE than teaching those FOOTBALL PLAYERS who will now do even more IMPAIRMENT to their already DAMAGED BRAINS—Augh!" Yelling once more in pain, Mr. DeMartino rested his head in his hands. "Damn THANKLESS occupation! This unappreciated JOB will SEND ME to an early grave! Why did I ever AGREE to become a TEACHER?!"
Mr. O'Neil implored, "Um, Anthony, maybe you should take a break from all your stressful thinking. Try some deep breathing. I found scented candles to work miracles."
The doctor irritably yet sympathetically sighed. "It's summer. Perhaps you can use this time to rediscover whatever made you join the profession in the first place. Get out of town for a bit. Join some sort of summer program."
When the pain subsided, Mr. DeMartino faced the clinical worker. "Let me get on that… right after I disCOVER the lost CITY of Atlantis."
The doctor indolently tossed his pencil and exited the room. "And if you don't succeed, then I'll see you in a few weeks for your C.T. scan."
Mr. DeMartino grumbled, realizing his choices and their potential fatal consequences. He couldn't afford to leave town; he barely had anything in his bank account. Yet reflecting on his situation, he reported to class every day for a lapsed reason that he needed to find. A simple delight that he overlooked. A pride that he needed to revive. After all, regardless of the countless boneheaded pupils he dealt with, some students didn't give him aneurisms.
He looked at his colleague, who carried an upbeat smile and an optimistic countenance based on the doctor's remedy. Working with a younger age group for a short period could help. After debating the alternatives, he sighed.
"You win, Timothy."
The End
