The Great Expectations School by Dan Brown

Author:Dan Brown
Language: nld
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-11T16:00:00+00:00

January

The Dentist Is In

Extend your hand to a black and white creature

Often confused with koalas in my mind

Not eucalyptus that this one wants to be eating

He's only interested in watching you die

(Oh…no…I…am… toast!)

I'm in danger! You're endangered!

I'm in danger! You're endangered!

Droplets of blood coursing down my neck

How I wish the khaki hunter had left you in Tibet—

—MAN VS. PANDA

(Music by the Hygienists/Lyrics by Dentist)

UNBEKNOWNST TO MY P.S. 85 COLLEAGUES, I had been leading a double life. Most days and nights I was Mr. Dan Brown, struggling rookie teacher who, every venture in public, saw his name stamped on a particular ubiquitous best-seller about secret messages in the Louvre. But occasionally, I shed this straitlaced skin and assumed a more colorful, musical persona: the Dentist, lead singer of the rumpus-inducing rock sextet the Hygienists!

During his senior year, my roommate Greg had secured the job of social chair at Princeton University's Terrace Club, his responsibilities consisting chiefly of booking live entertainment for drunken college hipsters. One time in October, a band canceled on him a week prior to a show. Greg called fellow road-tripper McKenzie and me, offering us the time slot. We had no band, no gear, and I had no musical abilities, but we instantly agreed to the gig. After gathering several high school pals to fill out the instruments and assigning costumes and personas (Ninjar on keyboard, Gun Politician on drums), we threw together a few garage practices and played the show.

The crowd went berserk for us. The irreverent songs, incorporating references to Donald Sutherland, the Boston Tea Party, and The Canterbury Tales, struck a chord with the loosened-up house. Doing my damnedest to channel David Byrne and Johnny Rotten, I danced and shouted while my bandmates rocked with raw, punk rock verve. After the show, Greg bought a sampler and a chainsaw (for dramatic effect during “Canterbury Tales”) and joined the band, rechristening himself Business Casual. We played at CBGB and a bunch of other downtown clubs, billing ourselves as an “avantclowncore extravaganza from Reverse Calcutta!” People actually showed up. This is something I love about New York City.

During lunch periods, I'd sometimes compose Hygienists lyrics in my brain, occasionally jotting them down on my lesson plans. Once in the fall, during a visit to my desk, Tiffany caught a glimpse of my scribble. “Man us panda?” she asked.

“Forget it,” I blurted, grabbing our blue, stuffed class mascot from the shelf and offering it to her. “Want to hold Mr. Lizard for the rest of the day?”

A raucous New Year's Eve soiree starring the Hygienists at a University of Pennsylvania frat house brought me into 2004 with a cleansed grin on my mug. (My perpetual 4-217 laryngitis even worked to my vocal advantage at the show!) I was still on a cloud from the fiesta when I found myself back in the P.S. 85 cafeteria for morning lineup.

“Mr. Brown! What you did on Happy New Year, you was crying?”

“What? No. Why would I be crying, Asante?”

She grinned. “I don't know.

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