Mainstreaming Mongo (A Play in Four Acts)

Act III

Scene:  Mark Singles' history classroom.  Mark is passing out textbooks to several students who are occupying all but one desk.  An office monitor enters stage right, leading a huge, lumbering student.

Monitor:  Mister Sengles?  This a transfer student, John Mongo...Mongo...uh....

Mark:  Mongo.  Yes, of course he is.  Lead him to that empty desk over there.  I doubt he could get there on his own; he looks like he could get lost in a box.

(John follows the monitor to the desk.  One of the students surreptitiously motions him to the occupied one next to it.)

John (looks menacingly at the oblivious student):  Grrrr!  (The student quickly moves to the empty desk.  John looks perplexed at the vacated desk, trying to determine how he will squeeze into it.  Finally he seizes the desk top and, with feigned effort, removes it from its supports, tosses it into a corner and sits down.)

Mark:  Oh, great.  Another lummox jock.  There's a textbook on the floor by your desk, Mongo.  It has pretty pictures in it, yes, but it also has words of more than one syllable.  Good luck understanding it.

John:  Unnnnh.  (He picks up the book, turns it over and back, then bites off a corner of its cover.  He chews a bit, makes a face, and spits it out.  Several students snicker and giggle.)

Mark:  Alright, get quiet.  Tell us, Mongo, did you learn anything at your last school?

John:  Huh?

Mark:  I mean, you had to have learned something.

John (trying to remember):  Uh, hmmm....

Mark:  Oh, you seem confused.  I see.  Let me try to help you recall.  What caused World War I?

John:  (shrugs):

Mark:  Okay, how about the military-industrial complex--why was it seen as a threat?

John:  Uh....

Mark:  Well, surely you can tell us why we became involved in Vietnam.  Come on, Mongo.  Amaze us with your understanding, your ability to recall facts about this country's great issues.

John (clearly frustrated and becoming angry):  Pick.  On.  Someone.  Else.

Mark:  See, class, this is what happens when allowances are made to accommodate jocks.  I have no doubt that Mister Mongo, here, can wreak havoc on the sporting field.  Perhaps he'll become a professional wrestler, pounding men as big and as brain dead as he, breaking chairs over heads, and cutting his own with hidden razor blades to lend a little blood to the mayhem in a pathetic attempt to create realism.  Tell me, Mongo, did you manage to dress yourself this morning, or did you require help?

John (starts to rise):  Leave.  John.  Alone.

Mark:  Oh, do sit down, Mongo.  You will skip lunch next period, and you will meet me in the principal's office instead.  Get one of these other zombies to help you find it.

(Curtain)