Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story

Moustaches

Brad Hamilton had been sitting in Mechanical Arts, making a tape rack for his car. It was already March. As the year wore on and brought all its devastating twists and turns, Brad had realized something important. More than a lot of things, he liked his car. It made him feel responsible. It was a ticket to happiness. It got him places. It didn’t let him down, not like girls and managers. The Cruising Vessel. It was his best friend.

Brad had been making custom items for The Cruising Vessel all year in Mechanical Arts. He’d made a tissue box, a special cover for the tape deck, and now he was almost finished with the tape rack. School, he figured, was good for some things.

Brad was just sanding down the tape rack when the buxom office worker came swinging into Mechanical Arts with a white slip. He looked at the girl, and the slip. Somehow he knew.

“Brad Hamilton?”

“Yo.”

“You’re to visit Mrs. Crawford in the front office.”

A white slip was medium priority, so he went to the office after Mechanical Arts. He trudged down to the office and took a seat outside the counselor’s department where Mrs. Crawford worked.

She poked her head out. “Brad Hamilton?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Crawford. Do you want to come in for a moment?”

“Sure.”

“Brad, we’ve been reviewing the credits for most of the graduating seniors, something we do every year, and I have to ask you something. I’m afraid I don’t see a credit for English Composition. Do you remember taking that class in tenth grade?”

“I think so.”

“I see that you took English Grammar and English Lit., but never English Composition. It’s taught here by Mrs. George.”

“I had her for speech.”

“So you never took English Composition?”

“I guess I didn’t. Is there a big problem?”

“Well, it shows up on your SAT right now that you have a basic problem with your writing skills. But I think we can get you into a Contemporary Composition class real quick and sort this whole problem out.”

“You’re not really going to do that, are you? I work and everything. I go straight to school from work.”

She studied his transcripts. “Well, your Mechanical Arts class is an elective. You can switch that with English Composition and not harm your workload at all!”

Brad looked down. “Damn it.”

“It’s for your own good.”

Brad had a theory about that line. Every time someone told you something was for your own good, it meant you had to pay for it.

Brad Hamilton’s Contemporary Composition class consisted of tenth graders and several foreign exchange students who were in the same leaky boat as Brad Hamilton. He was seated next to a Korean kid named Jim Kim. Mrs. George was always having Brad grade and correct Jim Kim’s papers. The kid didn’t know much English.

Today’s assignment was to write about the pros and cons of moustaches.

“Okay, now switch papers,” said Mrs. George toward the end of the class.

Jim Kim handed Brad his paper. It read:

Brad, who had already been trying to grow a moustache for some months, thought about writing: “You should learn English before you worry about moustaches.” But he didn’t. The guy didn’t know any better, so Brad wrote: “Pretty good. B.”

Jim Kim handed him back his paper. Brad had written a basic little essay about how he always wanted to grow a moustache and was going to this year.

“You don’t answer the question,” Jim had written. “So I give you D.”

It was that kind of year for Brad Hamilton.