Pulled Announcements

“Goooooooooood morning Alice Smith Elementary!” Greg bellowed into the microphone. His voice echoing softly through the closed classroom doors and trailing down the dark hallways. Following it snaked the hiss of children cheering from their desks.

Cheryl was pulling moist paper towels from the drain of the hand cleaning fountains, which squatted like vacant UFO’s by the lunchroom. She looked up, scowling at the gymnasium doors where children stopped running to listen to Greg’s morning announcements. “Today is half ticket days in the lunch room- so be sure to spend that extra half on something nice for the lunch ladies!” He chimed though the P.A., his toothy grin practically bulging out of the cloth-covered speaker boxes. “Because they don’t like feeding you that prison food anymore than you like eating it!” He laughed. The children responded in kind. Plump, hair netted women in aprons leaned in toward each other and giggled over their pots of sloppy joe mix. Greg had a way with words. A gift for taking the mundane and making it exciting and the children and school staff loved him for it.

Cheryl didn’t. Morning announcements used to be her job, and she believed in reporting the day’s events as serious, hard fact. She didn’t want to make light of fire drills, or rain announcements for the crossing guards. She knew that the information she was given by the Principal’s secretary was important, and reading them over the P.A. was a sacred trust. But she had become obsolete when Greg was asked to fill in for her one morning when she was late to school. Upon entering the building, she heard the unified chorus of children’s laughter emanate from every classroom. She heard Greg shower them with his bellowing laugh, and by the time she got to the office, Greg had finished reading off the announcements. He flipped the switch on the base of the gray, metal microphone and high-fived Gretchen who was standing next to him. “Yeah! I nailed it!” he yelled just before he turned to see Cheryl. There was a pause as each looked at each other. Greg with a smug smile and Cheryl with a look of shock. Then the principal walked out of his office with hands outstretched, “Great work Greg. I’ve never heard them read with such vigor… Such life!” He then wrapped both his fleshy hands around Gregs one hand outstretched. “Seriously, we would like for you to consider taking the morning announcement post.”
“I’d be honored sir!” Greg replied.
“Great-great! Oh boy! That crack you made about the janitors- Gold! Gold baby!” They both retreated into the principals office laughing and slapping each other on the back. And she thought she saw Greg look back at her from over his shoulder.



Each morning when he read the announcements, she wandered the halls listlessly. Randomly picking up a discarded pencil or piece of paper, listening to his telling of the news. Sometimes she peered though the narrow windows on the large, oak doors to see the children all leaning forward eagerly. She continued to wander the halls, delicately as if navigating through fields of glass until his delivery was over. Which was always capped with his trademark, “That’s it for me- Stay tight!”

She complained to the others, and the principal. Desperately trying to get them to acknowledge that this mornings story about Janell, the playground lady, organizing a four-square competition during recess was just a ‘fluff piece’. She’d plead with them to understand that what he’s doing isn’t delivering the solid information the children needed. It was just sensationalized story telling. But they would only respond by saying that they understand, and that she was taking all this too personally. They were all on his side, and she knew it would something extraordinary to get them to see the light. She began toying with the idea of sabotage, but never really felt like she would act on it until Thursday mornings announcement, when Greg used the word ‘flippin’ to describe how cold out it was. “He said flippin’” she barked at the principal, “I demand that you remove him from reading the announcements!”
“Now, now Cheryl. Let’s not over react. There’s no law against the word flippin’.” He said, rolling his eyes to the secretary who was just outside the door.
“Are you kidding me? Flippin is just a few words away from… you know…” She leaned in close to whisper, “The F-Bomb!”
“The what?”
“The F-Bomb! And when you drop a bomb like that, you are guaranteed to have collateral damage! If you don’t do something about his conduct, I’m going to call the superintendent, or bring it up at the next PTO meeting!”
“Ok, ok. Calm down. I’ll talk to him.” He hissed.
“Talk to him? Talking won’t do anything! Fire him!”

But nothing happened. He was still at his desk for the rest of the day, and by his jovial attitude, it was clear nothing was said to him. In fact, he was back on the P.A. system at the end of the day to remind the 4th grade students that tomorrow was their last day to turn in their permission slips for the zoo field trip. “Otherwise….” He crooned into the mic, “You’ll have to spend the day in Mrs. Phelps’ class cleaning the gum from under all the desks!” Cheryl maintained her level of anger, but was finally pushed over the edge when she overheard one student tell another that they were “going to miss the flippin’ bus”. They both giggled to each other. Cheryl felt that they were giggling at more than the use of a naughty word, they were laughing at her incompetence.

Taking the situation into her own hands, she cornered Stacy in the supply room. Reluctantly, Stacy gave her Greg’s announcement notes for the next day. Which was mostly due to the pity she felt for Cheryl, and the close working relationship they once had when she used to read the announcements. She took them home and read them over. Then read them again, and again until she found the perfect spot to alter what he wrote.

The next morning was an anxious one, she developed a pain in her stomach from the stress- But it was worth it. Greg ran through the checklist of information, before getting to the fluff piece he had written himself. It was about the children’s field trip, and a joke he had written about the petting zoo and making sure to wash your hands after touching the dirty animals. Cheryl altered the punch line so that Greg ended by stating, “You don’t want to tell your parents about how your hands got dirty from feeling my cock!” Which he read flawlessly, grinning into the microphone. There was no echoing cheer from the class rooms. Greg’s smile slowly faded. He looked down at his notes and re-read what was there. All the children in Mrs. Flemmings 3rd grade class stared at the speaker box with open mouths. “Oh… Oh God..” The box stuttered. “Wait… I didn’t mean… I didn’t write that!” Then there was a loud click and the box was silent.

The next morning, Greg’s voice wasn’t on the P.A. system. In fact, none of Greg was in the school at all anymore. Cheryl stern voice cracked in when the mic’s switch was flipped. She read the announcements plainly and with an indignant tone. No one in the office made a sound. She listed off the days events in a staccato rhythm until she reached the end. She exhaled into the microphone, so that a low, rolling thunderous sound filled all the rooms. Her voice softened as much as she could as she read what was to become her new catch phrase, “That’s it for me… Stay out of trouble.”
“My God,” Mrs. Flemming muttered to herself as she and all the other children continued reading their papers through the announcements. “Sure we have order, but at what price?”