I require a lot of caffeine to get me through the first day of school.
As I'm setting up the new coffee pot in the teacher's lounge, the one I'd recently broken down and purchased with my own money, the door swings open to reveal a frantic Emma. I brace myself, wondering who sneezed on her this time. Instead, her eyes land on me and she interrupts my quest for a cup of coffee with an announcement.
"Will," she says, panting as though she might have run to the lounge to find me. "You'd better come with me. Figgins has one of the Glee kids in his office. Dress code violation, you know how seriously he takes the dress code..."
"Who?" I ask, following her out of the lounge and down the hall towards Figgins' office. "I've already had to speak on Tina's behalf last year, and she promised to tone it down a little from now on..."
"Not Tina," Emma confirms, shaking her head. "Close, but not Tina this time. See for yourself."
She leads me straight to the office where I timidly step in and am stunned by who I find waiting for me. Artie Abrams is sitting in front of Principal Figgins, wringing his hands nervously. I arch one brow and step inside to get a better look at Artie.
He's dressed rather simply in a Pink Floyd shirt, ripped jeans, and Converse sneakers, nothing that isn't allowed at McKinley. But not only has his clothing style changed, he's now sitting in a brand new wheelchair. The chair is pimped out, for lack of a better word, with a leopard print chair cover and large gold wheels, definitely one of the most unusual wheelchairs I've ever laid eyes on.
"Schue, take a closer look at Mr. Abrams' wheels," Figgins urges me. I oblige, leaning over to examine the gold rims. I find that each wheel has three rather gaudy silhouettes of naked women, and while I don't know that the school dress code specifically mentions wheelchairs, I'm pretty sure Figgins has a good argument against my student this time.
I straighten up as Artie lifts his head to meet my eyes, clearly worried about the prospect of getting into trouble. Artie is one of the top students in his grade, and a blemish on his academic record would undoubtedly be a low blow.
"I'll talk to Artie in my classroom," I assure Principal Figgins, hoping that he will let me handle Artie on my own. I want to get to the root of the issue here, and knowing how sensitive Artie can be, I know it's something better handled privately.
Figgins reluctantly allows me to deal with Artie my way, but not before warning Artie not to come back to school in that chair under any circumstances.
"The accessories are removable," Artie says, as we head back to my classroom together. "It's just a plain chair underneath."
I try to push him, only to discover that there are no handles to make that an option, so I end up walking beside him instead.
"I see," I say, holding open my door to allow him to roll in ahead of me. "And where did these accessories come from? I can't imagine your parents bought them..."
Artie laughs. "Yeah, no way," he says. "Well, see, this summer I went to camp for people with disabilities. It's called Camp Challenge. I go every summer. I met this older guy, Javier, he's in a chair like me and he's a rocker. We really hit it off during our jam sessions together. Javier got me the stuff for my birthday. My parents don't know about any of it. You're going to tell them, aren't you?"
He looks terribly morose as he says that last part, and I wonder if I have to tell them or not. This is one of the toughest things about being a teacher, knowing when to crack down and knowing when to back off. But looking at Artie's face gives me my answer.
"I won't tell them," I say, as Artie breathes a big sigh of relief. "As long as you promise me that you'll leave your ghetto fabulous wheels at home when you come to school."
Artie laughs again. "I can do that," he promises. "I don't know what got into me, Mr. Schue. Well, that's not true, I guess I know. I was trying to change my image a little..."
"Artie," I admonish him. "Do you still think a bad reputation is what you need to keep from having your glasses flushed down the toilet?"
"That or Lasik surgery."
I chuckle at that answer. "Well, Artie, I happen to think you're a pretty cool guy, good reputation or not."
"Mr. Schue, changing my image isn't just about having a bad reputation," Artie interrupts me. He's wringing his hands again as he speaks. "The Playboy wheels were also for revenge."
"Revenge?"
"Yeah," he continues, his expression darkening. "If Tina's gonna call me sexist, fine, I'll give her sexist."
"Of course," I say, disappointed that I haven't realized sooner. Emma always fills me in on problems with the Glee kids, unless it's something confidential. "You and Tina broke up this summer."
"You should have seen the look on her face when she saw my chair," Artie brags in a most uncharacteristic manner.
"Artie, I know, deep down, you don't want to get back at Tina."
"Yes, I do," he fires back. "And I want to roll over Mike's toes in my pimp chair. She and I were hardly broken up for two weeks before he made his move, that snake."
I do the only thing I can do. I refer Artie to Emma. Maybe she has a pamphlet about failed relationships to give him. I'm not the one to tell him that rolling over the new boyfriend's toes in your pimp chair isn't the right way to handle your problems. Not when I'm probably going to want to harm Emma's dentist with his own drill if I ever meet the guy.
With a pat on the back, I send him off. That's the last time we ever see the "pimp chair" at school. But the drama isn't over yet.
Two days later, one of Mike Chang's toes is now broken. Artie swears he had no involvement, but Mike tells it differently. And we're back at square one again.