What set me off was Ahmed, the spy. He was not the smartest nor particularly the most hard working student. He was just a scowler. A real hard Saudi case. A sharia law thumper. He stood up in class and said, “Teacher…? Teacher…? You know what tomorrow is… huh? (He looked around at the other Saudi faces in the room, then crossed his arms) tomorrow… your country is …die. Tomorrow… is a good day, yes?”
Flintstone was determined to make me talk.
During the first morning bell Flintstone kicked in my door and said in his best Ben Stein from Ferris Bueller voice: “Ahmed…? Ahmed…? Ahmed…? Ahmed…?” Then he looked at me and said, “Mr. Hartenstein going to use his voice today?”
Just after the lunch bell sounded Flintstone kicked in my door again. “I’m going to do impressions from the 50’s and 60’s when TV was black and white and America was asleep.” Then he cleared his throat and said in a smooth voice, “Of all the gin joints and towns in the world, she had to walk into mine…”
At afternoon break Flintstone kicked in my door again. “This time,” he explained, “I’m going to say my favorite words that start with your initials. Are you ready?”
At the end of the day, when the final bell sounded, Flintstone kicked in my door once last time. He put his CD player on the floor, hit play and an ENYA song started. “Interpretive dance time, Hartenstein.” And then he proceeded to frolic and twirl and somersault and pirouette to the melodious sounds of the chants. So I watched him, dancing in the room even after the song stopped playing.