The Socialist

By Calvin Wolf

In the near future, America's public schools have been privatized and are now run by large corporations. The return of laissez-faire capitalism has created a world of cutthroat competition and cost-cutting, allowing for tremendous efficiency and profits...but at what price? When the head principal of a corporate-run high school finds himself betrayed by the very titans of industry he once served, he decides to fight back. Can one man make a difference against the system, or will he find himself ground under and re-incorporated?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Calvin Wolf
• Release date: Nov 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311109415

Calvin Wolf

Writer. Blogger. High School Social Studies Teacher. Crime-fighter. Former Comic Strip Creator. Texan for the most part, with a little mix of New Mexico, a healthy dash of Wyoming, and just a pinch of Colorado. I teach teenagers and write articles by day, attempt novels during my vacations, and I used to be a professional backpacking guide. Today I am loving life in west Texas with my wife and young son.

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The Socialist

by

Calvin Wolf

The Socialist

Calvin Wolf

Published by Calvin Wolf at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Calvin Wolf

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

This book is dedicated to the presidential campaign of U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT) and its supporters.

Discover other titles by Calvin Wolf:

The College

The University

The City

The State

Daylight Stealing Time

Coming soon: The Singularity

Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Corporatist

Chapter Two: The Capitalist

Chapter Three: The Worker

Chapter Four: The Proletarian

Chapter Five: The Deviant

Chapter Six: The Rebel

Chapter Seven: The Plaintiff

Chapter Eight: The Witness

Chapter Nine: The Judged

Chapter Ten: The Unknown

Chapter Eleven: The Progressive

Chapter Twelve: The Socialist

Chapter Thirteen: The Victor

Other Titles by Calvin Wolf

About the Author

ACT I

The Corporatist

1.0

I have two meetings this morning. The first is an intake meeting, where I explain how our tuition insurance works. There’s a new kid who has just moved to town, and his parents have badgered their way into a meeting with me. Sometimes I just wish they would pay out of pocket. They get government vouchers, don’t they?

Everyone gets vouchers, you see. That happened when the government decided to close the public schools. They had grown into big, bloated monopolies that couldn’t teach kids anything. The system needed a healthy jolt of competition, and the good Republicans in Washington gave it in spades. Voucher it all out, courtesy of tax credits. You got a school-age kid? You get a tax credit! Oh, and no more school district property tax. Homeowners and businesses practically came all over the place.

My father was one of the insiders on that bill, and he invested wisely. He knew that the big education companies would get tons of investment once the bill passed, and he bought up stock like a madman. Now he’s super rich. He owns a healthy stake in Educorp, which I work for. I’m a head principal.

No, I didn’t come up through teaching. That was part of the problem with the old public school socialist monopoly - no respect for outside talent! I got my start after Harvard in defense contracting, then health insurance administration. I went back to school for an MBA, then did a stint on Wall Street. The course to get certified as an education administrator was quick - only a semester - because we finally convinced the state that we didn’t need half that mumbo-jumbo.

Part of my job is to sell stuff. I mean, every kid has to go to school, unless they’re homeschooled, but Educorp’s got to make a profit. The government vouchers cover the tuition. Okay, most of the tuition. We had to raise rates to stay competitive, you know? New books, new infrastructure, cleaning staff, et cetera. It ain’t cheap. Congress is supposed to increase the vouchers, but they always foot-drag. Still, kids have to go to school, am I right?

Anyway, sometimes you get parents who don’t want to pay out of pocket. Even with the voucher, they still bitch and moan. That’s why Educorp, and all the other education corporations, offer tuition insurance. I don’t work for that branch, but I’m pretty good at explaining it. I got a bonus last year for helping my school sell more Educorp Edusurance than ever before.

This kid’s an incoming freshman, age fourteen. Mom and Dad light in with the blah blah blah about how they didn’t have much money. But they obviously have enough for Dad to be wearing a name-brand polo shirt, so let’s talk about that. They’re afraid the school’s going to nickel-and-dime them beyond the value of the voucher. We’re interested in the education insurance, just to be safe, the father says.

My office is nice, very nice, relaxing as hell, and I always go for the soft sell. I buzz my assistant to bring them some refreshments. I smile and smooth my suit - a six thousand dollar MBA graduation gift - and assure them that my school operates perfectly above board. But insurance is a nice thing. Life is unpredictable. Let’s take a look, shall we?

To be honest, you want the insurance. If your kid screws anything up, we make you pay for it. Vandalism, spills, scuffs, worn textbooks, you name it. To be competitive, we’ve got to be ship-shape. Kids are always messing things up, and we’ve got to fix it. And don’t expect us to replace it with the old stuff, like it used to be! You think my staff shops for school stuff on Craigslist? Ebay?

Oh, and we fine the bejesus out of your kid for misbehavior. This isn’t Lord of the Flies. You put my staff through stress, you will compensate us for it. We aren’t running a charity.

The green package is the starter package. A hundred bucks a month, and it pays eighty-five percent of any unexpected education expenses beyond basic tuition after you’ve reached your three hundred dollar deductible.

Dad gets upset and wonders what the hell could cost so much money beyond the basic tuition. I have to tell him about sports, extracurricular activities, school trips, class parties, and then any costs for misbehavior or abuse of property. None of that is covered by tuition?! he asks, all incredulous. He’s so naïve, and I almost sympathize. Almost.

Every student is different. We can’t budget for everyone’s unique desires as a learner. Some might want to take band, some might want to be on the football team, and so on. Unfortunately, those activities do cost a lot of money. The insurance limits your exposure. For example, what if the team goes to state? That’s a lot of money out of pocket.

Mom gripes about school not being this way when she was a kid. And it only covers eighty-five percent beyond the deductible? What is the out of pocket max?

The max is twenty grand per year, and I assure her that few people have ever reached that cap. Ninth grade isn’t that bad, I say with my trademark smile.

Are there plans with a lower out of pocket max? And a higher coinsurance? dad asks.

Green plus covers ninety percent beyond deductible and lowers the out of pocket max to eighteen thousand. Green star covers ninety-five percent and lowers the max to sixteen, I say, being helpful.

Mom and dad shake their heads, their eyes shell-shocked.

Now, the silver plan covers a hundred percent beyond the deductible, but the deductible is a bit higher. And the out of pocket max goes back up to twenty thousand. I forgot to hand them the laminated card, and so I find it on my desk and hand it over. It goes over all the premiums and coinsurances and out of pocket maximums.

What’s this about preexisting conditions? they ask. I have to explain that many students have special needs, which require corresponding accommodations. These accommodations are expensive, and thus have to be compensated for.

So if my kid is struggling and needs to go to tutorials?

Ugh. These rubes are sooooo picky. "Well, our teachers must be compensated for their time. Every educator here at Educorp Midtown High School has at least a Master’s degree and a proven track record with Educorp and Intellicorp standardized test results. They can’t well be expected to donate their time."

But aren’t they already being paid, as teachers? Dad snaps.

Of course, of course. But the tuition vouchers do not cover tutorial times. The going rate is seventy-five dollars an hour. Mom doesn’t look happy about this, but what can you do?

Okay, so say we get the most basic insurance package, Dad begins, sweat beading on his brow. What happens if we move? My job might transfer me again.

You can use your Educorp Edusurance with any school in our network, I reply proudly. We have operations in thirty-four states and the District of Columbia! In those states, we have high schools in most major cities. But then Mom finds the information on the card about out-of-network costs and nearly shits a chicken.

Everything doubles or triples! she cries out. "What if we get transferred to California? You aren’t in that state at all!"

We have a deal with Intellicorp where you can transfer our coverage to one of their policies. It’s only a one-time payment of five hundred dollars. They operate in California, and in ten other states, too!

So you’re in thirty-four, they’re in eleven. What about the other five states? dad grouses. I neglect to inform him that Educorp and Intellicorp overlap in six states, meaning there are eleven states where neither of us has operations. The Midwest, I think, is this area. But who wants to live there?

We have a one-time policy cancellation fee of eight hundred dollars, I say, trying not to mumble. Talk about being tough customers!

Mom and Dad look like they are about to cry.

Does the voucher cover the cost of uniforms, or lunches? dad croaks. I calmly explain that we have outsourced those duties to other private vendors. I decide that it’s not the time to mention that, if his kid has a wardrobe malfunction, we give him a whole new uniform...and add the cost to the tuition bill. The clothes are expensive, but very high-quality. And quite fashionable!

It costs too much, Mom complains, tears starting to run down her cheeks. I try to turn things around by asking what price you can put on a good education.

In the end, they buy green plus.

The second meeting is some rich old lawyer friend of my parents. Apparently, his youngest daughter is graduating next week and is the only kid of his to go through the new, privatized education system. I think she’s the kid he had with his third wife. She was way younger than the others. The lawyer’s name is Preston. He comes from old money.

Preston comes in looking happy, but I can tell he’s pissed off underneath his veneer. I press the button to have my assistant bring in some booze. Rich old guys love the hard stuff. We do the handshakes and weather and family talk. Then Preston says he’s gotten an unexpected bill and is downright confused by it. He pulls a folded sheet of paper from inside his suit jacket. I think our suits cost about the same amount. Preston once worked in banking, but now is a privatization consultant for some U.S. Senators. He loves sticking it to big government.

It says I owe nineteen thousand five hundred dollars, he huffs. This must be some mistake. Fortunately, I have anticipated this.

I understand that it’s an unpleasant number, but I assure you that our accounting department does top-notch work, I reply, grabbing a martini as soon as my assistant arrives.

It’s an outrageous figure! I have always paid my daughter’s tuition promptly, and then I get hit with this?! It’s unconscionable!

The daughter’s an obnoxious little hoochie princess. Lots of vandalism, rule-breaking, truancy, et cetera. The fines have been racking up. Call it senioritis. Rumor has it that she’s picked up a smorgasbord of STDs, too.

I apologize for the confusion. Did they forget to send you an itemized bill?

Preston shakes his head and gives me the sheet of paper. It’s got everything listed, and is very easy to read. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do, I say, trying to make him know that I’m not the bad guy. I mean, word will get round if I cut this gentleman some slack. My father may be a bigwig investor of Educorp, but they’ll fire me quickly if I don’t make mission. Under capitalism, you have to perform.

You’re charging me for every class my daughter skipped?! And for those standardized test prep classes?! Why?! Preston may be a smooth operator in civil court, but he’s losing his cool in here. I press a hidden button to turn on the video surveillance system, just in case he starts trouble.

I’m afraid that when a student skips, it places additional pressure on the teachers. They have to take time out of class to prepare make-up work for absent students.

But at a hundred and twenty dollars per hour?! Preston seems appalled that our teachers make so much money. But, hey, he wanted to send his daughter to a school where all