Pete's newest short story

Meat and Cheese

By Pete Schulte

Tommy Cornwall was with both of his parents as the three confidently strode up the steps to the testing center. On this day Tommy would learn if he was being accepted into the Gifted Program, where all his classes would be now be advanced placement, and he’d have a clear road to the Ivy League and beyond. “Nothing can stop me now,” said Tommy at the top of the steps. “Right, Pop?”

Tommy’s father gave his son a stern look of caution but said nothing. He certainly didn’t want to jinx anything, not after they’d come so far. Mr. Cornwall held his wife tightly to him while being led down the hall by Tommy to the testing center’s entrance. Once inside the reception area they noticed some other kids and families milling about. They’d have to wait their turn.

Finally the Cornwall name was called out by the weary receptionist and they bounded into an interior office. A panel of three greeted them from behind a large table, then everyone took a seat. A tall, thin, pointy man in a white lab coat spoke first. “Thank you for coming in today,” he said in a cheerful voice. “I must say yours is a most interesting case.”

“Interesting,” said Tommy’s father. “How so?”

“Well,” the pointy man said, “usually our results are quantified. If you scored, say, a 95 or above we would likely consider you gifted academically.”

“So how’d I do?” said Tommy. “What was my score?”

“That’s just it,” said pointy, “there was no score.”

“No score?” questioned Tommy. “What gives?”

“That isn’t to say you scored zero,” continued pointy. “It’s just that for some reason the computer refused to tabulate a score for you, simply refused. It’s most unusual, unheard of really. It left us all scratching our heads.”

“Well,” said Tommy’s mother, “does this mean my little boy is gifted or not?”

Now the female of the white lab coats spoke up. “Since there was no score for the young applicant, we had to rely on his interviews with our staff. There were some key words that came out during these interviews that, quite frankly, caused concern for our evaluation.”

“Key words?” said Tommy. “What kind of key words are we talking about here?”

“One word that popped up time and time again was, well, nudnik,” said lab coat lady. “As in, ‘Who is this nudnik that thinks he’s gifted?’”

“Nudnik,” said Tommy. “I’m a nudnik?”

“This is appalling,” spoke Tommy’s father. “Do you know this young man is the inventor of the Alternator/Regulator? When it’s not alternating it’s regulating…”

“And when it’s not regulating it’s alternating,” added Tommy’s mother.

“Look,” said the last of the lab coats, a portly man with bad pants, “kids are always inventing this or that. It just doesn’t factor in with what we’re trying to evaluate. And the ‘nudnik’ comment wasn’t isolated by any means. Other comments referred to the young applicant as a doofus, a gomer, a rube, a blockhead, a nimrod, a nincompoop, a dullard, a numbskull, a simpleton, a dunderhead, a dolt, a drip, a dim bulb and a dunce. Why, one interviewer said he didn’t think the young man had any actual brains per say, but just a spacious cavity filled with meat and cheese.”

“Say, that’s a lot to be piling up on a guy,” said Tommy. “And since when does he get to crack wise with that meat and cheese stuff?”

“But there is a silver lining here,” pointy lab coat chimed in. “Although we cannot accept your boy into our gifted program, we have lined up a job opportunity for him, something more on his level.”

“A job opportunity?” said Tommy. “Can you beat that, Pops?”

“Well I for one am insulted,” said Tommy’s pop, “and I’m not even the one they were insulting.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tommy. “I want to hear more about this job opportunity. If you says I’m a nudnik, I want to make sure it pays.”

“The job is at Softey’s Mattress Company,” said pointy. “You would be the mattress tester, meaning all you would have to do is lie down on the mattress in the window display and look comfortable. With your abilities, young man, I think you could go quite far in the mattress testing industry.”

“See that, Pop? There’s always a silver lining. And Ma, you’re always telling me I should get more sleep, right? I think this is great news all around. Let‘s get down to Softey‘s straight away.”

“And if I may speak for the others,” said lady lab coat, “we just want to thank you, Mr. Cornball, for coming in today. I know some of this was rather difficult to hear.”

“Wait just a minute here,” said Tommy. “Did you say Cornball? I’m not Cornball, I’m Cornwall.”

“So you’re not Lenny Cornball?” asked pointy.

“No, I’m Tommy Cornwall through and through.”

“I’m his mother and I say he’s Tommy Cornwall. His nickname is Scooty if you must know.”

“Oh my,” said pointy. “I’m afraid we’ve made a terrible mistake. Please, somebody bring up Tommy’s score.”

“Tommy Cornwall scored…99,” said portly, aghast. “He is gifted. By every indication this boy is indeed gifted.”

“That’s my Tommy!” shouted Tommy’s pop, leaping from his seat. “What other boy his age would invent an Alternator/Regulator?”

“And we do want to get a look at that invention of yours, Mr. Cornwall. We’ll put our best people at your disposal.”

“Well,” said Tommy, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew there was much more than meat and cheese inside this old noodle brain.”

“Welcome to the gifted program, Tommy,” said pointy. “But it sure looks like we’ve got some bad news for Lenny.”

The end.