Nailed
Marvin sat in the office of his alma mater, nervously tapping his foot. He didn’t know why the headmaster requested to meet with him. It was years since he left school and he was hardly the model student. The receptionist looked at him from across the room and smiled. She has kind eyes, he thought, and forced a smile back. “Mr. Cranford,” she said sweetly. “The master will see you now.” Marvin stood up, straightened his tie, and, taking a deep breath, walked into the master’s office.
“Ah, Cranford,” said the master loudly. “Take a seat. Now I suppose you are wondering why I asked you here today?”
“I was rather,” replied Marvin.
“To put it simply, promiscuity and smut are running rampant at the college. I need a good man, an old boy such as yourself, to talk to the boys about the lusts of the flesh and put the fear of God into them.”
“I’m not sure if I am the right man for the job, master. I’m just -”
“Good god, man!” interrupted the master. “One just has to look at you to see that you’ve never had improper relations! No, you are perfect, Cranford. Be here Thursday at 9 o’clock. The boys will be ready and waiting.” The master stood up abruptly to indicate that the meeting was over. “Don’t let me down,” he said with a wink, as he opened the door and ushered Marvin through.
At 9:05 a.m. on Thursday, Marvin found himself standing at a pulpit on a stage in the great hall, staring out into a host of schoolboys. Not a sound could be heard except for Marvin’s foot, tapping on the floor. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat.
“When I was your age, maybe older,” he began. “I dated a girl.”
“Was she pretty?” called out a boy from the front row.
“Well, yes,” replied Marvin, taken aback.
“How pretty?” came another voice.
“Oh, she was a peach,” said Marvin. He gazed to the back of the hall, as if looking into the mists of time. “A real peach,” he said, quietly and regretfully. “Anyway, I digress. where was I?”
“You were just telling us how you nailed a hottie in high school!” cried a boy.
“Er, no. No, that’s not what I was saying,” said Marvin.
“Did you nail her or not?”
“Look, I’m here to tell you not to nail, I mean, give in to temptation,” said Marvin, getting flustered.
“Who cares?” yelled another boy.
“Evil cares!” shouted Marvin, slamming his fist on the pulpit. “And so should you!” He pointed his finger accusingly at the sea of faces. The boys were getting rowdy and confident, feeding off Marvin’s rage.
“Nailed! Nailed! Nailed!” chanted the boys in unison.
“Don’t be vulgar!” Marvin bellowed. Suddenly, a shoe flew from amongst the boys, onto the stage, hitting Marvin square between the eyes.
“How dare you!” shouted Marvin, rubbing his face. Picking up the shoe, he waved it in the air. “Who did this?” he screamed. “I demand to know who did this!”
But the boys took no heed. They jumped out of their seats and stormed the stage, laughing and hooting and jeering.
Seeing that he was about to be overrun, Marvin fled. He ran to the right of the stage and was caught by a strong arm, which pulled him into a broom closet and slammed the door. It was the master.
“You’ll be safe here,” said the master. From his jacket pocket, he produced a fine-looking silver flask, and slowly and quietly, unscrewed the lid, lifted it to his lips and took a swig. Outside, the raucous was continuing. Marvin could only imagine what the boys were doing. From the sound of things, they were destroying the great hall. Without speaking, or even flinching, the master, in a nonchalant manner, offered the flask to Marvin.
“Aren’t you going to do something, master?” Marvin exclaimed, exasperated by the master’s composed demeanor.
“Nothing for it, Cranford,” he replied calmly. “We just have to sit tight and wait it out.” Marvin shook his head in disbelief.
“Tell me, Cranford,” continued the master. “I’m curious.”
“What is it?” asked Marvin, without looking up. The master took another swig from his flask, and let out a breathy “aahhh” before continuing. “That pretty little filly, the one you were talking about. I’ve always had you pegged as a goody-two-shoes, but now…” Marvin darted a look of derision at the master.
“You old dog, you,” the master said, with a chuckle, his face beaming.
Marvin didn’t answer. He sunk to the floor, held his knees to his chest and closed his eyes, praying that the door would hold, and wished himself away. Somewhere nice, with someone who was a peach. A real peach.
