Very amusing business, I daresay.

Yes. My school was prepped and ready to perform Arthur Miller’s, the Crucible. It bombed. It crashed. It suffered a core meltdown. It was subjected to every abuse ever and then discarded by the side of the road like an empty pack of cigarettes.

The cataclysm for the play arrived in the form of Ms. Baldasaro and Mrs. Robinson. They are the destroyers of things. They are so high on their own creativity that their degrading of the play went unnoticed for a long while. They practiced a dance number for a month or so. A dance number. In a period piece…about witch trials?

Granted, in the play, they are said to have dance. That is the key word. We are told that they dance. We are never shown. It is slowly revealed. But no…

Ms. Baldasaro approached the play with a sly grin on her face. The Crucible stood firm against her glares of anger, but she was too clever for it in the end. With a quick lunch, she stabbed through the heart of the play. The two of them unsheathed their knives and went at the play with reckless abandon. And, with tears in its eyes, Arthur Miller looked at them and said, “Et tu, Tina?” before collapsing.

And that was the end.