I was a bit-part actor in someone else’s grand play and it was hotter than tarnation that summer. I was tutoring the button maker’s three daughters when they decided to go all 23 skidoo on me, knowing I could only chase in one direction. With two missing teens, my best guess was the local Cone-a-rama, where their penchant for soft serve might have led them. They also were hot to trot for the neighbor’s son, so I tried there first. Turns out he was away at camp. The one daughter in tow refused to tell me where I might find her sisters, serving up some fancy applesauce she thought I might fall for. I didn’t. Instead we headed over to the local park’s gazebo, where rehearsals were underway for some Brodie of a summer stock production. I found the two fugitives there, outfitted in odd period regalia for a duo dumb act, spouting the wisdom, “There’s no mime like the present.” I failed to see the humor in their awkward charade, and after extending apologies to Ms. Witherspoon, the librarian heading these ragtag thespians, I made them change and return to our algebra lesson, with a mind to report this to The Gerry Society. They said theater was in their blood, and I countered with a plea for a more practical transfusion. Their banter was amusing, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. I was a constant being multiplied by their variables, and unless they began some coefficiency soon, everything would turn irrational and I wouldn’t get paid.

Bio: Gary Glauber