The freshmen of Advisory 9C stared in horror as Mr. Pomplon delivered one of his most impassioned speeches of the school year. Even Mrs. Connelly had to look away. She knew that nothing would derail Mr. Pomplon, not once he got started.

It started as it always did, an innocent freshman asking him if he had any recommendations for charities she could make a donation to. Mr. Pomplon started softly and gently rose from his seat, but then he really got going.

“It’s all a racket,” he said, slamming his fist down. “Always asking for money, year after year. ‘Me, me, me,’ they whine. ‘It’s all about me.’ Who does it really benefit? The people? I don’t care about them! What does giving money to them do for me?” He paused, as if contemplating the answer to his own question. “But of course I have to. You think the Director of Social Service can just waltz through life and never donate any money? The school would fire me. I’d be out of a job.”

“But there has to be something good!” a student cried.

“Oh, sure, there is,” Mr. Pomplon said. “Those tax deductions really help out. Boy, I sure do love those. You gotta work the system, ladies.”

As the advisees wept and Mrs. Connelly buried her head in her arms, Mr. Pomplon threw his hands in the air and grabbed his cardigan, ready to storm out. “And don’t even get me started on acts of charity,” he said, stomping toward the door. “What a waste of time.”