fandomhigh | Classrooms Around Campus, All Day Saturday

Classrooms Around Campus, All Day Saturday

It was Saturday, and that meant Career Day! Unbeknownst to all the students who had taken the career placement test, Fandom had apparently conspired to place them all in workshops that didn't quite fit the answers they gave for their tests. The island was tricky that way. Not to mention that the workshops that the island had planned were somewhat different from the workshops an ordinary school might offer on Career Day. As in quite a lot different.

So the classrooms all around the school were filled with visitors from off-island and island alike, all of whom had been led to believe that they would be teaching eager-minded groups of students, excited to learn about their prospective careers. This assumption was not necessarily accurate.

[[up early early early for timezones! ~~wait for the OCD or puppies will die.~~ the puppies are safe now.]]

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For socializing!

For learning! Or sulking. Wait for the teachers to ping first!

Edited 2011-03-05 05:08 (UTC)

And Dr. Girlfriend!

And Basil Sandhurst!

And Dean Pelton!

And Brian Kinney! Ooh, that's me.

And Dirk Anger!

And Jack McFarland! Ooh, that's me too.

And Ace Ventura!

And Taskmaster!

And Jeff Winger!

And Boba Fett!

And Robin Scherbatsky!

And Archie Goodwin!

And Rude!

For OOC-ing!

Omg, my first plot. *ded*

The first thing to know about Jack McFarland was that he was thoroughly and completely incompetent.

“Good morrow, class,” he announced in his very best pretentious voice as students started filing into the room. Without a hint of sarcasm or irony, he declared, “Welcome to my highly prestigious workshop, where I will be teaching the field, the craft, the majestic art – of acting.”

His phone vibrated and began blaring Jack’s all-time favorite Cher song. Loudly. “Ooh, hold on a sec,” he chirped as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his texts. Then he blushed a tiny bit and looked up.

“Ah! Change of plans, students,” he said with a faint trace of a very, very bad British accent that hadn’t been there before. Oh, Jack. “It appears that instead of teaching you the beautiful craft of the theater, I will instead be instructing you in my other profession: unemployment.”

Don’t ask.

Well, that threw a wrench into his show-off-your-abs exercise that he’d had planned. Although really, that didn’t have much to do with acting either. Anyway, Jack knew more about being unemployed than just about anyone else, so.

“The first thing one must accomplish in order to be successfully unemployed,” Jack began, “is to find a wealthy friend. The wealthier, the better, children. Or perhaps you yourself are wealthy! In that case, it is your burden to pay it forward, if you will. Find a less privileged friend and sponsor him in his unemployment! It’s all about generosity, dear students.”

“Your activity for today is simple,” he announced. “Divide into pairs – one of you will be fortunate enough to work with me – and take turns sweet-talking one another out of money! But first, consider what you need the money for. I personally use my wealthy friend for pursuits such as new tracksuits from Barney’s, or gym membership payments, or my rent.” He paused, then giggled. “Actually, my mom pays that one.”

“So!” Jack clapped his hands together. “Partner off! You may feel free to approach me with any questions or concerns you may have.” He glanced at some of the male students, then added, “Especially you.”

He was so, so ethical.

There were Greendale Community College videos (http://www.greendalecommunitycollege.com/about/) playing on a loop the whole time behind the Dean and more than enough fliers (http://i54.tinypic.com/2qb8vts.jpg) extolling the virtues of the school. Most of which had been written back in the early 90s and only changed slightly, so its best to ignore the gratuitous use of 'radical' in them.

At the end of one of the many video loops, Dean Pelton stepped forward, clapping enthusiastically. "Lets hear it for Greendale! Yeah!" Then added, "At an appropriate volume for the space we're in. No need to get into the legal ramifications."

He adjusted his glasses, pacing in front of the group. Public speaking was a skill of his, after all. "Now I'm sure some of you have given a thought or two toward a teaching career in the future. After you've gotten your degrees, of course. Fool me twice, shame on me." Chang. "The lure of shaping young minds, guiding them in a strictly platonic manner toward their futures like the teachers at this fine establishment guided you."

Another bit of pacing just to keep them on their toes.

"I know what people think when they hear 'community college'," he said doing the finger quotes. "That its where teachers who can't cut it at a traditional school go. Where the biggest perk you get is the title 'professor'. Well, they'd be wrong . There is also a choice parking space and an office. The office would be shared with one other teacher, of course. But you can decorate one half of it however you like!"

Dean Pelton nodded at them encouragingly. Because those were some pretty nice perks.

"But don't just take my word for the wonderful atmosphere of the campus," he said, waving his hand over toward another booth. "Just ask one of our happy students, Mr. Jeff Winger!"

There was a man sitting in the crowd wearing a pair of sunglasses. Not that he needed them; they just looked cool. "Greendale sucks," said Jeff. "It sucks so bad, we're actually resorting to blackmail to pimp it out to the world. Run far, far away, children. If your choice is between Greendale and Hell, I'd advise you to buy some 100+ sunscreen and a decent pair of shorts, because Greendale is a toilet."

"Oh. Oh, that's just rude. He's just making a joke, kids."

Such a kidder our Jeff Winger.

"If you have any further questions, we have plenty of fliers and pencils for you!" A beat. "One pencil per student, please."

The set up for the A.I.M. room had a distinct bee hive quality to the aesthetics. Which would probably make anyone aware of them laugh so, so much.

Oh, A.I.M.

"Advanced Idea Mechanics, or A.I.M. as its more commonly know, is an international think tank that had been dedicated to the betterment of mankind since the end of the second world war," Basil Sandhurst informed his little group. Not that he believed many of them would garner the attention of A.I.M, mind.

And somewhere back in his version of New York, Nick Fury was rolling his one eye at the altruistic description of the company.

"We only recruit the brightest of minds in the fields of science and business to work for us in order to ensure excellence continues at the level we set for our employees," Basil continued ~~creepily~~. "Anyone with serious interests in these fields are more than welcome to take a ~~handwavey~~ brochure about the employment opportunities available."

Brian Kinney was ballsy. He walked – no, more like strutted – into the classroom at his own leisurely pace, decked out in a Prada suit that fit him like nobody’s business. Behind him came Cynthia, his assistant, who did not look very pleased to be carrying all those boards with her. With a little bit of a scowl in Brian’s direction, she started to set them up in the front of the room. They were all copies of some of Brian’s ads, and each and every one of them featured a surprisingly attractive model in extremely limited clothing.

It was kind of his shtick.

“Sex,” he said, once all the posters were up and Cynthia was standing off in a corner of the room. “It sells. It’s how you get attention, attention’s how you get business, and business is how you get money. It’s all about sex.”

Someone might be inclined to assume that this speech came from the fact that he was talking to teenagers. That someone would be wrong. This was just how he did business.

“People ask me how I get Clio awards and pay for hardwood floors. The answer’s simple. It’s sex.”

And in case anyone was wondering, no, not in that way. Though he probably could. He was certainly attractive enough.

“Let me get a show of hands,” he continued, ignoring Cynthia’s smug little look in the back of the room. He turned one of his boards around to reveal the back side, which was… significantly less appealling (http://lh6.ggpht.com/_EGvCkcfIfQo/R5EoUJtkA4I/AAAAAAAADAA/pPwaFH7CS7w/j0399838.jpg). By his standards, of course. “How many of you like this ad?” he asked, obviously expecting zero hands in the air. Without waiting for a response, he turned it back around to its original display. “Now, how about this (http://files.coloribus.com/files/adsarchive/part_1058/10580305/file/viagra-jardim-small-88347.jpg) ad?” He paused. “You may be surprised to know that these are actually for the same product. Yeah. Viagra. Three guesses which one sold more.”

He let that sink in.

“I want you brainstorming,” he said briskly after a moment. “Cynthia’s passing out a list of possible subjects you could have. Whatever you get, you design an ad for that product and then come show me and I’ll give you a grade.”

He pulled out the desk chair and took a seat, lounging comfortably. “Come see me if you have any questions.”

Yup. That was it.

Dirk Anger stood in full uniform in front of the classroom, LLizard Zoom (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:One_Crazy_MammaJamma.jpg) stick clenched between his teeth.

When it came time, he shut the classroom door, and he locked it.

"There. Now we'll have some peace and quiet. You're here because you want to know about HATE. Well let me tell you something, and that is that I know everything there is to know about hate. I am General Dirk Anger, director of the Highest Anti-Terrorism Effort. I eat lightning for breakfast, and by the middle of the day I am clenching and straining to crap thunder, because lightning does not provide enough fiber for one's diet!"

He adjusted his little techno-monocle and continued.

"H.A.T.E. is the best thing that ever happened to America. We stop the terrorists so that little Johnny can sleep soundly in his bed, knowing that H.A.T.E. is the scariest, most powerful organization on the planet. Once you learn to stop worrying and love the H.A.T.E, everything is just fine."

He leaned in to get a good luck at his audience. "Now you're wondering 'what's the pay like?' 'what are the benefits of joining H.A.T.E.?' 'What can I offer H.A.T.E.?'" He cleared his throat. "Well the answers are crap, crap, and your crappy fleshy bodies, with your eyes and your ears. H.A.T.E. always needs nerds to watch the surveillance equipment. Sexy operatives for undercover operations. Fat, squishy people to absorb bullets on the front lines. Smart, clever people to stand behind the squishy ones when the fights break out!"

He slammed his fist against a desk. "And now you're wondering why anyone would sign up for it. Well I'll tell you why. Because H.A.T.E. has the best drugs. Special life-extending drugs. So when you love H.A.T.E., H.A.T.E. loves you, and you get to live longer. Unless you get yourself killed. Also, we don't require a college degree, don't run a background check, and we pay better than your local burger joint."

"And you get to fight terrorists with the greatest weapons ever devised, that's a perk too. Now who's got the scrotal integrity to pre-enlist today, hmmm? I won't unlock the door until somebody signs up!"

Which would be only be a good threat if the door didn't automatically unlock from the inside. Which it did. So anyone was free to flee whenever they felt the need.

[ooc: *coughs* That's Veronica Palmer. Not Victoria.]

Stepping up here was a guy in heavy armor with a face mask that made it impossible to tell who he was.

Much like the other advocate of hired slaughter at this career fair. Call it a thing, mmkay?

Not that Taskmaster was in the best of moods to begin with. He wouldn't be here if Sandi hadn't made him, after all. (Though at least Hayden was at present too whatever to attend.) "Yeah, so I'm not here to tell you how awesome it is to be a merc," he said. "Because in the merc business, we're all badasses, or we're dead. And every year, a whole bunch of kids like you show up thinking they walk the walk and get themselves shot. Sometimes ruining perfectly good jobs."

He was a cheerful, helpful guy like that.

"Used to run a school to help kids like you work out the merc biz. Most of them didn't make it. If you want to pick up good jobs, run like a merc, you got to have something. I don't care if you can grow swords out of your neck or you have a computer for a brain, in today's merc market, you're not going to cut it just by being able to run a couple extra laps at the gym and shoot a gun."

But hey, at least there weren't too many kids showing up. Not a lot of competition coming out of this end of the pool. Good to know. "So rule number one: don't be a pansy. Rule number two: know your shit. Rule number three: don't take animal jobs. This idiot Hayden--" His frenemy or UST partner or whatever shit Sandi liked to call them, he didn't want to think about, "--thought he'd get a head start in the biz by taking an animal collection job. Got no cash, just a run-down theme park." Snicker. "And you know what he got hired to do from there on in? Underwear retrieval. That kind of bull."

Well, and a few decent jobs, but whatever, he could slander Hayden if he wanted to. "Finally, rule number four, don't piss off the mob." He jabbed his thumb at the screen behind him, showing some... Well. (http://pics.livejournal.com/spring_lost/pic/0004y41g) Footage. "You wind up having to put up with shit like this, and nobody likes that. Okay, that's all I got. No fucking flyers, no workshops, whatever. Got questions?"

Jeff was wearing a suit just this side of incredibly expensive, and there was a pair of incredibly cool aviator sunglasses balancing on his nose. "Hello, everyone, and welcome to this workshop, which is not at all the product of blackmail."

Pelton was going to pay when this was over.

"Now, you may ask, why 'How to Become a Lawyer and Not Get Caught'. Is getting caught a legitimate risk of becoming a lawyer? Is being a lawyer illegal, and if so, why? Or is becoming a lawyer something resembling a terrorist bootcamp in Pakistan, and are you going to get terribly hurt trying, and arrested for treason?"

Why, yes, he was pulling this out of his ass right where he stood. What, like he was going to bother preparing for something like this.

"Many of those who aren't lawyers would like you to think so," he said, which blatantly wasn't true. "But the truth is, they're just jealous. Because being a lawyer is cool. You don't believe me? Look at me. I'm a lawyer. I'm cool."

Technically, he wasn't a lawyer at the moment. But he totally was cool. Look at his chest-- that took work.

"Now look at yourself. You're not lawyers. Yet. Many of you will no doubt fail. That's why becoming a lawyer means being smart. If that means getting a fake degree from the country of Columbia and passing it off as the University of Colombia? Why not. You're a lawyer. You're smart. You're cool."

He whipped off his sunglasses. "C'mon. Don't you want to be cool... like me?"

It was a bit much in the way of payback, but really, Archie should have expected it. It had been a very nice Vuylstekeara (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vuylstekeara), and, after paying Saul and Fred and repairing the car, the case hadn't netted them enough to replace even one plat. But still, assigning him to a career day at a boarding school? He had to admit, though, as he removed his hat and coat, setting them down next to the sign indicating the 'topic' he'd been assigned, he was rather proud of Wolfe for it.

"My name, as some of you may know if they let you read the good papers in this town, is Archie Goodwin. I'm a licensed private detective, but since all that's needed to become a private dick in New York is a fee to the Secretary of State, I'm not here to talk about that. Sorry if you bought a ticket and all."

"I'm talking about working for a genius. And I don't mean just a smart person. I mean the annoying, uptight, set-in-his ways, knows everything, ego-centric, speaks several languages and still can't answer the damn phone with more than a grunt, doesn't leave his chair because he doesn't have to, full-on genius."

None were in this room. Archie wasn't a genius, he'd just detected it.

"The first thing you have to know, is that a genius does not get along with normal people, so working for one is pure hell. And yes, you will be working for them; since they don't like people, you can't be partners, and they hate to work so they can't be hired. The only way to make them work is to somehow get something on them. If you're good, you can annoy them into working, but that's a fine line to walk. You're just as likely to make them turn to stone and shut down." Archie remembered a certain Mister X that he wasn't supposed to remember and frowned. "Or kill someone; make sure you don't get yourself a genius who kills. The pension is terrible."

"Number two. Your genius will expect you to do everything no matter what you are being compensated. Don't. Draw your lines and stand on them, pitch a tent, sit like you're on third and the pitcher has eyes in the back and sides of his head. Standing your ground and demanding appropriate compensation will impress your genius, which puts you well on the way to number three: geniuses need us, but will never admit it."

"No matter how you start working for them, your genius will believe they have chosen you, and that you were chosen because you amuse them. It's not true. You're the best at what you do for them. Somehow you can put up with them and they can put up with you and something you do helps them and they will expect nothing less than that you keep doing that, but will never admit they need it. But they do."

Archie shrugged and sat on a corner of the desk. "It's not the easiest gig in the world, but there are rewards. You get involved in interesting things - geniuses can't stand being bored, and if you play it right, you're well paid to do stuff any normal person would do on their own, plus some light typing. And if you work for Nero Wolfe, you get good food. But you won't, because that's my job and no one gets to poke at my favourite fatty but me. Any questions?"

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Page 1 of 23

Classrooms Around Campus, All Day Saturday

Mingle Pre-Workshops

Workshops!

The Guild of Calamitous Intent: Hate You Can Trust

The Future of Technology

Greendale: A Teaching Opportunity for You and Me!

How To Be A Sleazy Ad Man

H.A.T.E for Fun and Profit

Unemployment: Jobless and Fabulous!

Fur, Feathers, and Scales: Why YOU Want To Be A Pet Detective

Mercing and You: Why The Mercenary Business Is Not For Suckers

How To Become A Lawyer And Not Get Caught

Why Being a Bounty Hunter is Better Than Being a Jedi or a Useless Smuggler Like Han Solo

Journalism: the Dirt, the Delivery, and Clawing Your Way to the Top

Working for a Genius

Courier Service

OOC!

Re: Unemployment: Jobless and Fabulous!

Re: Greendale: A Teaching Opportunity for You and Me!

Re: The Future of Technology

Re: How To Be A Sleazy Ad Man

Re: H.A.T.E for Fun and Profit

Re: OOC!

Re: Mercing and You: Why The Mercenary Business Is Not For Suckers

Re: How To Become A Lawyer And Not Get Caught

Re: Working for a Genius