It's hard work being Chancellor. After a full day of gala luncheons, it's all you can do to get dressed, take the limo to dinner, and then to yet another cocktail party to discuss your visions (and not the ones from those irritating flashbacks, either). Look at those eyes. Anyone could see how tired you are.
Anyway, here's one of your great success stories, a school that really shines, that the parents have put hundreds of thousands of their own money to fix up, and you can take all the credit. Beautiful.
What's more, it's a perfect chance to dump that charter school you like into a really nice building. But the damn parents raise a fuss. Oh, noooh, they whine, we need space for our kids. We like our school the way it is. Those bastards!
Half of New York City's kids are packed in like sardines, and that oughta be good enough for them, too! Who the hell do they think they are? Don't they know there are sports stadiums that need to be built? Why the hell don't they just shut up and move to Nassau if they want decent schools?
And worse, don't they know the embarrassment they're causing? Didn't the thought of those lowlifes nearly cause you to drop that jumbo shrimp, with cocktail sauce, on that $200 shirt you didn't pay for? Well, so what? You gotta look good, right?
And they have to do this now, right after you've made public statements about how much you value the input of parents. Those morons. Don't they understand this is your career they're talking about? Can't they just keep their mouths shut for one stinking minute?
OK, fine. Give them their stupid school. But we'll need someone to blame.
I know. Let's fire the principal. Then, we'll be in the clear. That oughta at least keep that bastard Silver quiet for a few days. She was gonna retire anyway, so it's all good.
Plus, it puts you one step closer to breaking that damn union. Good thing you held off three years giving them a contract. By the time you get your ass to the table, they'll take anything.
They'll get theirs for staying home on Brooklyn-Queens day. And next year, we'll get those damn teachers too.
They won't know what hit 'em.
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