#FinishThatThought – “Get it? Got it. Good!”

Here is my (ineligible) submission if you don’t want to see the original piece:

[500 words, special challenge accepted]

Title: “Get it? Got it. Good!”

“His son watched as he was snatched away.”

“What? Wait… Who?”

Vague pronouns? Seriously? Not the best start to a school report.

“Ghandi.” the word came out half chewed. I glanced at the term paper in front of me. Yup the red ink surrounded the title.

Who’s gHandi?” I asked. The H forced out deliberately, like the scrape of a hastily opened curtain.

“Whatcha mean ‘Who’s Ghandi?’ You know. The Guy… the guy we had to write about!”

A general chuckle of approval from the other students seemed to bolster the young man’s resolve to dive into the water of education and yet remain completely dry. He smiled to his audience, especially those he thought were the hottest chicks. Idly I wondered if their lack of clothing was cause or effect. Either way, no one had their minds on one of the greatest political thinkers of the last century.

“By any chance, do you mean Gandhi?

“Huh?”

“G A N D H I” Each letter alliterated in chalk on the board. “There is no ‘Ghandi’.”

“There is no… Is this some Zen thing, Mr Coulter?”

“No, Mr. Carter. Although Gandhi was influenced by many religions, his practical philosophy of passive resistance was based on Hindu and Jain teachings”

“Who’s Jane, Mr Coulter? And what’s a hen d…”

“Zac. We aren’t doing the ‘What’s a hen do?’ joke again are we?”

From the back of the class “Lay eggs!” was heard from various quarters, accompanied by titters of intolerance. Clearly we were doing the ‘hen do’ joke again.

“Who can tell me what ‘passive resistance’ is?” I scanned the auditorium hopefully.

“Ask Sandy. She’s pretty passive in her resistance most Friday nights!”

Zac high fived his nearest conspirator, as most of the males in the room hooted their approval. I expected to be warmed by Sandy’s reddened cheeks, but she simply hooked arms with her neighbours in sisterly silence. Something, I wasn’t sure what, was brewing.

“That’s ok, Mr. C…” she silenced me before I had the chance to admonish the boys, “If we have to ‘put up’ we won’t ‘put out’ will we girls…”

A chorus of ‘uh uh’s, ‘na hah’s and ‘no way’s swept across the classroom. I shouldn’t have laughed, but the boys were slower on the uptake.

“What’s she saying?” Zac gazed round the room. His compadres were suddenly more interested in the floor or the window. They got it.

“Without wanting to put words in Miss Lawson’s mouth, but I think she’s wanting an apology, or none of you will have… er… dates this weekend. Is that correct, Sandy?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. C.” Sandy flicked round expectantly to Zac. “We’re waiting… Mr. Carter…” she smirked conspiratorially at the other young women. They got it.

“Ok. Sorry.” Zac slowly deflated.

“Sandy, a perfect example of ‘passive resistance’ if I ever saw one. You get ten out of ten.”

“Gee, Mr. C! That’s my first ever A!” she grinned up at me, “Awesomes!”

“Sandy, you deserved it.”

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