Leader of the Packrats
Characters: Mrs. Hagberg, Brittany, Santana, and special guest Holly Holliday
Summary: Well, she can finally cross being a reality star off her bucket list. It's just too bad those damn cheerleaders are hogging the limelight.
A/N:Confession… I've never watched Hoarders.This is a follow up to Opposite of Adults and Those Damn Cheerleaders.
Based on this prompt by ehekic: omg mrs. hagberg's hoarders episode: "Wait, Brittany, isn't that yours?"
Meet Mrs. Hagberg, a recently retired schoolteacher from Lima, Ohio. We were contacted by two of her former students who found her bucket list mixed in with their old driver's ed exams. Along with being a reality star, treating her hoarding addiction was on the list so we decided to pay her a visit...
Holly Holliday knocks on the door of 1960 Harper Lee Way. From the outside, the split-level house looks picture perfect with its freshly mowed lawn, trimmed hedges, and white picket fence. But Holly's worked for A&E one week now and she knows that not everything is what it seems.
It's odd being back in Lima, but she's always been able to compartmentalize– which makes her the perfect woman for this job.
With her two best homegirls, Brittany and Santana, in tow, Holly's sure they'll knock this out of the park in no time… if Mrs. Hagberg ever answers the door, that is.
"Maybe she's not home," Holly says after a few minutes with no reply.
"That's definitely her car," Santana says, nodding at the '95 Taurus parked in the driveway. "I'd remember that hunk of junk anywhere."
"Yeah, see that scratch on the door? That was all Lord Tubbington," Brittany adds. "He was going through withdrawal at the time and totally lashed out."
"He was cooped up in your backpack all day, that's why he lashed out," Mrs. Hagberg says, stepping onto the porch and closing the front door behind her. "By the way, that's nothin' compared to what he did to the interior."
Holly starts to introduce herself, but before she can get two words out, Mrs. Hagberg cuts in. "I know who you are," she says accusingly, wagging a finger in Holly's face. "You subbed for my history class and when I came back, my students wouldn't shut up about the yuppie who played make believe."
"I don't know if yuppie's the word I'd use," Holly says, slightly defeated. "Maybe free spirit or–"
"Yuppie," Mrs. Hagberg reasserts. She turns to Brittany and Santana. "As for you two, I had nightmares about you finding out where I live," she tells them. "Ask Brad. He'll nod."
"We've known where you live since the first day of driver's ed," Brittany reveals. "We followed you home in case we needed to, uh, persuade you to pass us. Good thing it didn't come to that, right?"
Mrs. Hagberg's face pales. "How were you going to persuade me?"
"Nice weather we're having," Santana says, looking up at the grey clouds above them.
Right on cue, thunder rumbles in the distance. The three guests look to Mrs. Hagberg, who sighs. "Wasn't expecting company," she says gruffly, but allows them to make their way inside. "Watch your step."
"I'm feeling a bit parched," Santana says once she sees the clutter inside. The house is filled from floor to ceiling with garbage as far as the eye can see. Her late neighbor, the holiday hoarder, had nothing on Mrs. Hagberg. They've got their work cut out for them, that's for sure.
"Please, let me," retorts Mrs. Hagberg. She returns a few minutes later carrying two beer cans in each hand.
"You have no idea how much it kills me to be a buzz kill, but they're only eighteen," Holly whispers.
"I'm not their teacher anymore," Mrs. Hagberg says with a shrug. "Neither are you."
All of a sudden, Santana does a spit take. "How old are these beers?" she shrieks. By the looks of it, Brittany had a similar reaction.
For once, Mrs. Hagberg laughs. "Whenever Clinton was elected the first time," she says. "Don't worry," Mrs. Hagberg assures Holly, "our beers are from his second term."
Holly sets her drink down on a stack of newspapers. "I think I'll save mine for later."
"Suit yourself," Mrs. Hagberg says, chugging her beer. She burps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Wait– why are you here again?"
Holly exchanges glances with her cohorts. "I thought you'd never ask."
Living room
"God, how do you sit on this couch?" Santana says, frowning at the dozens of magazines scattered across the cushions. She spies an old Playboy from the 90s and when nobody's looking, slips it into her purse.
"I don't," says Mrs. Hagberg. She takes a deep breath when she sees Holly sorting through a pile of clothes. "It took me years to collect all this stuff so why must I get rid of it now?"
"So I don't have to do any Christmas shopping this year," Brittany says as she holds up a taxidermy squirrel. "Lord Tubbington's gonna love it."
Kitchen
"I'm pretty sure those green eggs and ham aren't supposed to be green," Brittany determines as she gazes into the fridge. Everything inside it is rotten and smells ten times worse than Finn's nasty gym socks. She looks over at Santana, now sporting a surgical mask. "Where's mine?" she asks her.
"Crap, I left it at home," is Santana's muffled reply. "Here, take this one." She peels her mask off and offers it to Brittany, who always blushes whenever Santana displays any type of chivalry, as is the case right now.
Brittany insists, "I couldn't possibly–"
Tired of their banter, Mrs. Hagberg snatches it away. "That's for coming over unannounced," she says, placing the mask over her own face and swatting at them with a broom. She yawns. How could she have forgotten how exhausting teenagers are? "Dealing with you damn cheerleaders puts me to sleep."
Holly sighs.
Looks like they'll have to come back again tomorrow.
Dining room
"Hey, this is the DVD player we gave Mrs. Hagberg. Why's it still in the box?" Santana whispers to Brittany, who shrugs.
"Maybe we should've bought DVDs to go with it," Brittany replies. She quirks her head to the side, picking up a bra that doesn't fit their driver's ed teacher. "Some of this stuff looks kind of… familiar."
"Wait, Brittany, isn't that yours?" asks Santana.
Brittany inspects it closer. "Yeah, my mom wrote my name in all my bras. She said it gets expensive always having to buy me new ones so she was hoping people would have the decency to return them. I haven't seen this one since we fooled around in the chemistry lab back in sophomore year."
Santana smirks at the memory. "You could just not wear a bra at all."
There's a plastic bin under the dinner table which draws Holly's eye. As she sorts through it, she notices it's filled with WMHS apparel. "I didn't realize you were so cool to your school," she says to Mrs. Hagberg. "How long were you there?"
"Forty years," Mrs. Hagberg tells her. "This room is my treasure trove. Everything you see in it is from McKinley. That's how I started collecting."
"I don't know if I'd call this crap a collection," Santana mutters.
"As I was saying," Mrs. Hagberg says, giving Santana a dirty look, "It all started in the fall of 1972…"
Guest room
"…by the third week, I knew I hated every damn kid in that class with their Volkswagens and afros and Watergate conspiracy theories," Mrs. Hagberg continues. "But the kid I hated the most was Ben Judson."
"Ben Judson?" Holly repeats, taking a seat on top of a dusty nightstand.
"Let me guess, he was a huge tool," Santana adds dryly.
"And quarterback of the football team?" Brittany chimes in.
Mrs. Hagberg nods her head. "You got it. Anyway, one day I noticed his letterman jacket on the back of his chair. He wore it everywhere. Kind of like you damn cheerleaders with your damn uniforms."
"We're not wearing them now," Brittany says, looking down at her street clothes.
"That's all I see when I look at you," Mrs. Hagberg says. "Red polyester, pinkies and ponytails swaying, disrupting my class."
Maybe that was all she saw in them, but it's not anymore. Brittany and Santana have somehow managed to worm their way into Mrs. Hagberg's heart.
And the worst part is they know it.
Master bedroom
By the time they reach the last room, Mrs. Hagberg's room, her tale of McKinley High's Most Terrible Students is almost over. "I loved teaching dozens of different subjects; I never got bored that way," Mrs. Hagberg says, and Holly nods in agreement. "But after my first driver's ed class, I swore I'd never teach it again."
Brittany and Santana smile bashfully, already knowing where this is headed.
"What happened?" Holly asks, leaning in.
"I could've sworn I was headed for an early grave!" Mrs. Hagberg recalls. "These girls – biggest brats I've ever met – strolled in late, provoked me with their… their… questions, and wreaked havoc on a daily basis! Evil never takes a day off, I tell you what."
"We were not that bad," Santana laughs.
"Like hell you weren't!"
"Wait, you can't be serious," Holly says. "Brittany and Santana?" She points to them. "That Brittany and Santana? Other than calling me old, we never had any trouble."
"Congratulations," Mrs. Hagberg retorts. "But they drove me up the wall always talking about TLC and reefer and Orange Julius."
"You have to admit, I had a point about the bears," says Brittany.
"Huh?"
"You know… Grizzly Automobile Accidents?"
Mrs. Hagberg's still confused, but she smiles nonetheless. "Sure, Brittany. I remember."
They're exhausted by the time they've thrown out every last piece of garbage from the house. Holly leaves quickly and quietly, with a simple wave.
As she pulls away from 1960 Harper Lee Way, Mrs. Hagberg comes to a realization. "Do you girls need a ride?" she asks her former students. "My eyesight may be failing, but I can still pull off a better right hand turn than either of you."
"Our friend Sam is coming to pick us up," Santana says quietly.
Mrs. Hagberg never thought about Santana and Brittany having friends besides each other. She knows they're together now, but it's nice that they have other people to rely on. "Be safe," she whispers anyway.
"Enjoy your retirement," Santana says back, hugging Mrs. Hagberg. "I plan on doing the same in about ten years, so you better still be around, you old coot."
Brittany rolls her eyes. "I don't know about that, but you should definitely stick around for our wedding... probably also in about ten years."
Mrs. Hagberg sighs. "Now why do you think I'd want to come to the wedding of my least favorite students?"
"Because you secretly love us."
"I suppose," Mrs. Hagberg replies. "Say, d'ya think you can get me on Intervention?"
The two girls grin. "We thought you'd never ask."