The Manhattan School District representative leaned back in his office chair, tapping his fingers on the desk apprehensively. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes past. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected this to be anything but another of the man’s jokes; after all, with everything such an important public figure had been through, why would anyone in their right mind come here looking for work, of all places?
The office door opened without a knock. Sure enough, the tall, solidly built man strode into the room, his short black hair as well-groomed as his beard, his gray long-sleeved (though rolled up) shirt featuring the image of a bulging green man staring angrily out at the representative with the caption, “Imma Hulk-Rage Quit!”
The district representative watched as Tony Stark wandered across the office without glancing at him, fished through the candy jar for a while before finally grabbing an immense handful and stuffing the contents into his blue jeans, and at last took a seat in front of him—again, without waiting for an invitation or bothering to remove his expensive-looking sunglasses.
“Mr. Stark. Uh…” Despite himself, the educative faculty member found he was taken aback by the man’s candid ownership of space that clearly wasn’t his. “Glad you could make it. Have a…” Realizing Stark had already taken a seat and a hefty chunk out of his Starburst stash, he had to make an improvised adjustment to his standard welcoming procedure. He turned aside to a mini-fridge next to his filing cabinets and pulled out an unopened bottle. “…have a water.”
Tony Stark made a dismissive gesture with the hand of one of his folded arms. “No thanks. I don’t drink water. Do you have any tequila?”
The administrator opened his mouth to respond, but out of shock, nothing came out.
“Forget about it,” Stark said. “Now you were about to try and convince me why I should take a position in your grossly underfunded elementary school system.”
Ignoring the fact that Stark was the one who had called in for a job interview, the man decided to get down to business. “Yes. Ahem. Well. I am George Kessel, member of the Manhattan School District executive board. I understand that you phoned in requesting an opening as a teacher?”
“That’s what I said.” Stark reached into his pocket and began unpeeling Starburst, popping one into his mouth mid-conversation. “Well, I suppose you want my qualifications. Let’s see here…former President of Stark Industries. Technological genius. Expert marksman. Multi-billion dollar investor in cool shiny toys. Terrorizer of terrorists. And, uh, superhero. So when do I start?”
Kessel laughed for the first time. “Whoa, there, Mr. Stark. I know you’re Iron Man and all, but we cannot just blast off into job offers before going over some basic questions. For instance, why do you want this job? You seem quite overqualified for such…quotidian employment.”
Stark shrugged, leaning back and, to Kessel’s dismay, resting his feet on the desk between them. “American schools are full of little geniuses these days. Figured it would be a nice way to express the generosity of my heart by helping out the community a little, teaching some basic chemistry and computer engineering skills, maybe even scouring out some possible future sidekicks.”
“You know, Mr. Stark, we don’t introduce children to those subjects until high school. And furthermore—”
“—Really? How tragic.” Tony Stark did not seem particularly crestfallen as he focused on folding a Starburst wrapper into a paper airplane, aimed it at the trash can beside Kessel, and missed. “Still; wouldn’t I make the gnarliest science teacher ever?”
Kessel cleared his throat, starting to feel a bit impatient. “And furthermore, I have a note here from a Ms. Pepper Potts claiming you would come here seeking work so you could, quote, ‘prove how good he thinks he is with kids in a vain attempt to win my affections.’”
Stark said nothing for several seconds, but Kessel thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile flicker from the corner of his mouth. “Huh. That’s funny. She sounds like she’d been arguing with me about my way with children for hours last night—even though that definitely isn’t what we did, of course.”
“Right. Well, moving on. Another concern I was asked to bring up is your, uh, drinking habits. How would you expect to be a responsible caretaker of children when you have been known to have drunk birthday brawls, spontaneous intoxicated urges to join NASCAR races, and inebriated announcements of your home address to vengeful terrorists?”
“In my defense,” Stark said, “that birthday brawl only happened because a certain uninvited guest, James Rhodes, stole one of my suits; I wasn’t even slightly drunk when I gave my address to the Mandarin, who I successfully lured out of hiding and took down; and the NASCAR race was supremely hilarious.”
“O…kay.” Kessel finished jotting down a few notes. “Just one more question. What experience do you have working with children? And why do you feel that you would make a strong positive role model for them?”
At last, Stark removed his sunglasses, his quizzical expression fixed on the representative. Kessel honestly couldn’t tell whether he was trying to be serious or not. “I want you to know children have a special place in my life. Particularly when I was one of them. Then there’s that kid Harley Keener who helped me stop Aldrich Killian’s diabolical plot. And that, my friend…is the illustrious extent of my child-rearing prowess. I can teach ten-year-olds to rebuild super-powered robot suits; quite honestly, I can’t imagine what better role model parents could possibly ask for.”
Again at a loss for words, Kessel decidedly nodded and stood up with an unintentionally goofy smile. “Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Stark. The board will notify you when we’ve reached a decision.” They shook hands as he saw Iron Man out of his office.
***
Twenty minutes later, a knock came at the door.
“Come in!” Kessel called from behind his desk, finally making the decision to order his son the Hawkeye costume he’d found on E-bay.
The tentative, though muscularly toned, figure of Steve Rogers peered around the edge of the door as he shuffled awkwardly into the room, nervously adjusting his red-white-and-blue tie and straightening the collar of his stiff business suit.
“Have a seat,” Kessel said with satisfaction, gesturing toward the chair opposite him. Rogers obliged, giving his interviewer an anxious smile.
“Mr. Rogers, what a pleasure to have you here. How have you been adjusting to…um…the 21st century?”
Captain America grimaced despite himself. “Alright, I guess. Still trying to get used to all these fancy technological gadgets. If my friends could’ve seen all of the e-Pads and i-mails we’ve got now, they’d have gone ballistic.”
“Uh-huh.” Kessel didn’t bother correcting Roger’s term usage, figuring they had more important matters to discuss. “So, you’ve expressed interest in taking up a teaching position at one of our elementary schools. Care to elaborate on what inspired you to follow the path of the pedagogue?”
Rogers nodded. “Ever since I grew up as a scrawny, bullied loser in downtown Brooklyn, I’ve always wanted to give those who think little of themselves someone to look up to for hope. I want to inspire students who feel like they’ll never amount to anything with the idea that they can do great things. Sure, some kids might be smarter or stronger or more popular than others, but every single one of them deserves a friend—a person who’ll believe in them even when they don’t believe in themselves. I want to be that friend to prove to them that anything’s possible if they’re willing to work for it.”
“…Wow.” Kessel would never admit it, but the Captain’s speeches always made him want to cry. “Very good, then. What teaching qualifications do you have to offer? Seeing as you’re kind of displaced 70 years, the board is concerned you would have difficulty adjusting to the decades of information you’ve missed—science, computer and multimedia technology, history, cultural nuances, and so forth. Do you feel like you would be able to deal with this, uh, disadvantage without becoming overwhelmed?”
Roger’s expression turned unexpectedly dark. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You think that because I lived through the blood and sweat and horror of actual history, that puts me at a disadvantage with someone who read what the winners decided to tell us about it in a book?”
“No, of course not,” Kessel asserted quickly, taken aback. “It’s just that a lot has happened since you left, and—“
“—and your board assumes I can’t learn about my future just as easily as you all learned about your past.”
The conversation had taken a sudden icy tone, which Kessel had not at all intended. Perhaps it would be best to move on. “Ahem. I see your point. That aside, the other concern I—the board had was whether your reputation as a hero would distract the students from their learning. Do you think you could handle the potential uproar that would ensue as a result of your conspicuous reputation?”
Steve Rogers grinned. “As sure as our flag has 48 stars. In fact, I’d be so bold as to say that because everyone seems to know who I am, they’ll be more inclined to respect me as a teacher. I’ve wrestled with skull-faced Nazi megalomaniacs for the power of the Tesseract; I’ve thwarted subversive secret organizations within secret organizations; I’ve fought off alien armies as they sought to desecrate this very city. I think I can handle showing a few tykes why America is the greatest nation on earth…so help me God.”
“I see.” Kessel finished jotting down the last of his notes and warmly offered Rogers his hand as he stood up again. “Well, Captain, we’re quite grateful for your exemplary citizenship and desire to share it with the next generation. If you’ll have a seat in the lobby, we’ll get back to you in a few minutes once the board has come to a decision.”
***
“You’re kidding.”
Tony Stark could not help but chuckle as Captain America took a seat in an armchair next to him in the lobby. The latter remained impassive despite the former’s snarky remarks.
“You think you’ll get a job teaching the youth of 2015? Do you even know how to use a white board? I’ll bet four-year-olds can navigate a computer more competently than you.”
“Yeah?” Steve Rogers sat up, the same angry emotions welling up inside him that he experienced every time he talked to Tony Stark. “Look who’s talking; at least I don’t have a record for three DUI’s, five cases of Contempt of Court, a strong recommendation from Agent Romanoff against inclusion in the Avengers Initiative, and a general self-gratifying, morally disgusting attitude toward the world.”
Stark had been prepared with a snide retort, but at that moment, Mr. Kessel stepped into the room looking like he had something important to say.
“The Manhattan School District executive board has made its decision,” he said with not a little excitement. “Congratulations, Mr.—“
“—I KNEW IT!” Tony Stark leaped to his feet and did a little jig around the room, getting in Rogers’ face as much as possible before slinging his arm around Kessel. “I’ll be honored to shed my wisdom upon the naïve, upstart offspring of Manhattan.”
Kessel looked uncomfortable, sidling slowly away from Iron Man’s embrace. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. But the one we have chosen is Mr…Thor!”
“VICTORY!” From an obscure corner of the room, the god of thunder jumped to his feet, wielding his hammer unnecessarily at his side, fully decked out in his Asgardian armor as always.
“Mr. Thor showed an exquisite proficiency in mythology and astronomy, and we as a board unanimously felt that he will be best suited for the job,” Kessel explained. “If you’ll follow me, Thor, I will introduce you to your first class.”
“YES!” Thor gave his fellow Avengers a smug grin as he strode past them after his new employer. “Fear not, young mortals, for I shall lead you to your magnificent destiny!”
He disappeared through the door, leaving Iron Man and Captain America dumbstruck.
The Commonplace Notebook 