I am in Grade 9. The whole school is in a tizzy because Stephen Harper is doing locker inspections.
I assess the locker I share with with a fellow named George. Man, that guy is a slob! But at least he cleaned up a bit…
Wait a second! What are all these bags of garbage doing at the bottom of the locker? And beer bottles! GEORGE!
I clean it up as best as I can.
I wander the hallways, noting the hyper-activity of kids cleaning out lockers. It only now dawns on me what an odd thing it is that the prime minister of the country is doing locker inspections.
I return to my locker. A note is taped across the door.
You seem to have discovered a whole new level of biohazard.
I also cannot see either of your copy of Mr. MacDonald’s texbook
Jeesh, Stephen Harper! It’s in my backpack!
Later in the night, Stephen Harper is my skydiving instructor. I remember very little of this dream, but I recall what a gentle and understanding teacher he is. He makes skydiving seem effortless. What a great guy.