Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.
Chapter Two-- "Desperado"
Crocker was out in roughly a week, though not on good behavior. Heaven forbid. No, he got out simply because his insanity was driving everyone else insane in the asylum. Crocker had launched a verbal berating on Catman and left the poor lunatic in a fetal position with his thumb in his mouth and he managed to blackmail a certain orderly. They were more than happy to let him go, but--of course--they never consulted the supervisor or anything before they signed him a release. That was to Crocker's advantage.
The first thing he did upon being released was go straight to the school. He was ready to go toe-to-toe with Waxelplax again and--if nothing else--he wanted to rub it in her face that he was free and there was nothing she could do about it.
"Mr. Crocker?" the principal dropped her fork in her salad when Crocker came waltzing into the cafeteria at lunch period, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm a free man," Crocker replied calmly, idly flicking a piece of lint off his shirt sleeve and remaining completely unconcerned when it conveniently landed in her plate.
"But...how?" Waxelplax was almost at a loss for words as she was overcome with despair and shock all at once.
"The institution simply signed me out."
"Are they nuts?! How did you convince them to let you go?"
"Oh, I have my ways," Crocker replied coolly, savoring the moment, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lunch period to spend in the janitor's closet and--later--a class to teach."
"Oh, no you don't!" Waxelplax bellowed, rising up just in time to catch him by his tie, "You're incapable of teaching until you get your brains straightened out, Crocker, and you know it. You're not going anywhere near those children until you do your time."
"I've done my time for the last time!" Crocker barked in response, yanking his tie out of her grasp and straightening it, "Now get off my back! Heaven knows you're bound to break it if you don't!"
Naturally, the raised voices of agitated adults attracted the children's attention. Normally, they wouldn't think much of Crocker's ranting, but they realized he was ranting at his boss and those occasions were always pretty juicy.
Meanwhile, Waxelplax scowled at the scrawny, insane, sorry excuse for a man, not at all appreciating his wordplay on her weight. That was a low blow and it would cost him. She would see to it.
"You psychotic moron!" she screeched angrily, "There is no place in the world for you! There never was and there never will be! The only place you even remotely fit into is the mental institution and--guess what else--you're fired!"
"You can't fire me!" Crocker raged right back, "I quit!"
Waxelplax hadn't expected that. She'd expected him to remind her of his tenure privileges in the most annoying way possible. She never thought she'd live to see the day when Crocker would utter those two long-awaited words. Like the principal, the students and other teachers sat in silent shock. They weren't even able to cheer as Crocker stormed out of the building. Perhaps no one wanted to interrupt the silent euphoria of the moment.
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Crocker was definitely kicking himself later. How could he be so impulsively foolish? He'd blown his only employed opportunity to hunt fairies. What made matters worse was the thought that, without a salary, he would have no finances to put toward his extensive research.
He tried to be positive and look for the bright side of the situation. Being optimistic was not one of his strong points. He once held the title as the most pessimistic human being in Dimmsdale.
"Well, on the bright side," he reasoned with himself, "Without a job, I have more time to hunt...FAIRIES!!!"
That thought only cheered him up for a split second. Being a manic-depressive, his mood swings went from an emotional high to an all-time low in very little time and he hated that. He hated having such little control over his feelings. Add to that obsessive-compulsive disorder and paranoia and he was a regular basket case--a time bomb ready to explode at any given moment.
"I'll have to start searching for another job before my mother finds out...I'M UNEMPLOYED!!!" he twitched at the thought of his mother finding out.
"You're unemployed?!"
The familiar high-pitched voice nearly scared the living daylights out of him as his mother was at the door to greet him when he came home. He staggered back, scattering the pile of fairy drawings and trap blueprints he was carrying as his mother obviously overheard him talking to himself.
"No--uh...m-me? Unemployed?" he chuckled nervously, hoping he might be able to deceive his gullible mother with a good act, "N-no. No! Absolutely not! What gave you that idea?"
"I heard you say 'I'm unemployed'," she answered, "Denzel, did you get fired again?"
"Again?" Crocker repeated, forgetting his act and getting angry, "What do you mean 'again'?"
"Oh, I remember when you got fired from your very first job," his mother rambled, "You were a paperboy, remember? You broke your boss's car window when you flung a newspaper at it and..."
Crocker trembled with rage and locked his arms over his head as though he was trying to keep from literally blowing his top. He didn't need a stroll down the hated Memory Lane...not at that point.
"...and then there was that job when you were in college," she was still going on and on, "The ice cream job, remember? Oh, I remember you got locked in the freezer for eight hours and you had to go to the hospital to be treated for hypothermia. Mommy was so scared of losing you..."
"Mother--"
"...your lips were as blue as my dress and you were shaking like a leaf in the wind..."
"Mother--"
"...and they had to get you on heated iv fluids..."
"Mother, will you shut up?!" Crocker shouted, flinging his arms in the air and towering over her in an attempt to perhaps intimidate her into silence. Did it work? In his dreams, maybe.
"Why, I never!" his mother harrumphed, planting her fists on her hips, "Honestly, Denzel, you never used to talk like that when you were little. Where did you get such a potty mouth? I should wash your mouth out with soap for that. Then maybe you'd learn your lesson..."
"This isn't going to work," Crocker groaned to himself, raking his hand down his face as his mother rattled on incessantly. With her still chattering at his heels, he dragged himself into the house and headed up to his room, hoping to get some quiet time to formulate a plan and get his thoughts together.
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Despite the fact that Crocker had spoken disrespectfully to her, his mother--knowing he was upset--was doing her best to try to cheer him up. While he sat in his room--no doubt stewing over the day's events--she was in the kitchen making dinner.
Crocker was bound to disappoint her again--though not intentionally. He was so worked up over his latest big problem that even the smell of shrimp puffs nauseated him. He was already prepared to skip dinner. At the moment, he was on the internet, substituting fairy-hunting with job-hunting...and not by choice.
"No...no...no..." he muttered to himself click after click as he browsed through jobs for most of which he was overqualified, "Ugh...what's it take to find a stupid, two-bit job on this stupid, two-bit internet?!"
"Denzel, am I right in guessing you aren't hungry?" his mother called after a few moments of his ignoring the usually tantalizing aroma.
"No," Crocker grumbled, referring to a job, but quickly corrected himself before his mother misunderstood him, "I mean, yes."
"Yay! I'm right," she sang out, causing Crocker to roll his eyes in annoyance, "Well, if you change your mind, there are some stupid, two-bit shrimp puffs in the stupid, two-bit refrigerator. Just nuke them in the stupid, two-bit microwave."
Crocker mumbled some incoherent response and continued clicking, scrolling through job after job after job. That in itself was exhausting. He knew he'd be using eye drops by the time he was finished.
After roughly three straight hours of doing nothing but online job-hunting, Crocker was ready to call it a night, however, one last click brought him to something that triggered a flashback. He was overqualified for that job as well, but he was also desperate and beggars can't be choosers. He would turn in his résumé first thing in the morning.