Best served cold.

My partner, who's more of an opponent
had left work an hour early
to get his car inspected, so he said.
No one argued with his request.
I was thankful for the silence, didn't mind
working alone. My foreman wanted
some holes punched in the backs
of the classroom heaters we'd be
installing the following week.
I was focusing on not wailing my left thumb
with the hammer as I held the screwdriver
in place when I heard someone
enter the classroom behind me.

"Just came back to get a few things,"
came a timid male voice.

"Hey, it's your classroom," I replied
putting my tools down and swinging
around on my knee. Sure enough
it was him. There was no mistaking
that tall lanky man in his late thirties.
His dark brown hair was in the earliest
stages of a comb-over, his thin-framed
glasses dangled loosely from his head
and his top front teeth looked as though
he used them to open bottles.
My friends and I used to make fun of him
in junior high, but now he was a legitimate teacher
who didn't even realize he had the last laugh.

"No more subbing for you, huh?" I said
with a congratulatory smirk.

"No....no...." He seemed afraid, like I'd
just mentioned his own personal Vietnam.
"Did I have you?"

Have me? Please. He'd never had anyone
his whole life. But with a name like
Mr. Kaiser it was hard to forget him
and all of the World War I jokes we made
about him thanks to our social studies lessons.

"Yeah, I remember you from junior high.
It's good to see you got a job!"
I instantly regretted saying it after
hearing how the words could be misconstrued
as a back-handed compliment.
It wasn't meant to be malicious.
He didn't take it that way, though.
I could tell by the way his chest heaved
in agreement with my statement
about his long-awaited achievement, the one
that I'd give all the copper in the world to claim.

"It's tough being a substitute teacher. No one
takes you seriously."

I didn't want to break the news that there
was little chance that that had changed.
You either have it or you don't, despite
what that framed piece of paper says.
"Well not anymore, Mr. Kaiser."
The high road seemed more reasonable.
I even threw in his name to make him
feel important. He deserved it for the hell
we used to put him through without his knowledge.
He was the kind of man who undoubtedly spent
some serious time staring at the ceiling at night.

"It must be strange being back in a Newburgh school,"
he said. Suddenly I felt as though he were onto me.
That sheepish grin of his wasn't so harmless anymore.

"Yeah. I've recognized a few faces."
There was a conscious effort made
to avoid grinding my teeth.

"Man, I swore I left my computer speakers
in this closet. Guess not. Don't get old."

He obviously didn't know me as well as I knew him.
Still, I figured I'd brighten his day a bit.

"At least you'll be one of the lucky ones come September."

"How so?" he asked, visibly intrigued.

"Your classroom is on the east side of the hallway.
The ones on the west side aren't getting new
ventilators installed; therefore, no AC."

Those bashed-in teeth poked through his lips
in what I took to be a shy smile.

"The other teachers will be jealous. There'll be
arguments made about seniority, tenure, and old age
regarding who should get the cooler rooms."

"We'll work it out," he said in a humble yet confident tenor.

I believed him. People like him always do work it out
despite the years of subbing and other trials.
Me? Can't say the same quite as enthusiastically.

"Time to go home and check my house again,"
he mumbled unaffectedly.

"Have a good one, and good luck
finding those speakers," I said as I knelt down
to get back to the task at hand.

"Have fun with your heater," I heard over my shoulder
as the door closed behind me.

The hammer practically swung itself
for the rest of the afternoon.
My thumb didn't stand a chance.