Disclaimer: The basic plot for this story is my idea, however The Fairly OddParents and all characters involved belong to Butch Hartman.

Chapter Seven-- "You Only Hurt Yourself Out Of Spite"

Crocker pulled up in his usual parking space at the school and exited his van. Even though he'd resigned, he kept his key to the building. Everyone had forgotten he had one anyway. Unlocking the doors, he slipped inside and headed to his old classroom--number 44.

He found everything just as he'd left it for the most part--minus his own personal touches. No bad grades littered the teacher's desk and no fairy doodles graced the chalkboard behind it. With a pang, he realized just how much he missed this place--his second home...the place he'd spent so much of his subsistence.

For old time's sake, he sketched up a "Super F" and slapped it on Timmy Turner's desk. How he missed the simple pleasures in life! Slowly, he picked the lowest possible grade up again and studied it, then, suddenly realizing he no longer had a place there, he crumbled the "Super F" up and tossed it in the wastebasket. Flicking the lights off, he headed back out to his van.

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"Mr. Crocker?"

The voice accompanied by what sounded like a tap on a window penetrated his dreams and invaded his sleep. Crocker groggily opened his eyes and pried his face off...the steering wheel?

"Mr. Crocker, what are you doing here?" Waxelplax asked opening his door and eyeing him with concern as he appeared to be severely disoriented.

He'd fallen asleep...in his van...in the school parking lot...to be discovered...by the principal. How embarrassing! His mind raced to come up with a good excuse.

"Ah! Principal Waxelplax! I was just, uh...umm..." he stammered, trying to force his mind into wakeful operation, "I was..."

"Camping out in the school parking lot?" she ventured sarcastically, though she was trying to help him out.

"Yes--no!" Crocker blurted, forcing the door completely open and staggering to the ground, "No, I was, uh...I--I've got to get going!"

Glancing at his watch, he realized he was very late for work and Mr. Frosty was bound to be displeased. Time was money to him and not being on time was money lost and money lost was broken bones gained. Crocker would be the one on the receiving end of that bargain.

He hastily clambered back into his van and drove off without even pausing to shut the door, let alone excuse himself from Waxelplax's presence. The principal quirked a puzzled brow as he took the turn out of the parking lot on two wheels. She didn't find his driving to be unusual--just his behavior. Even for him, the events of the morning were strange.

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"You're late!" Mr. Frosty barked as Crocker raced into the shop and slipped on the freshly mopped floor, "Where have you been?"

"I was, uh..." Crocker grimaced. How could he explain without looking like a fool?

"Would you like to plead insanity now or later?" Frosty asked, irritation evident in his tone of voice, "You can plead it. We all know it's true."

Crocker caught the sarcastic, mocking sting and he grew hot with anger, but he bit his tongue--literally. He had to, otherwise he was bound to breathe fire and dig himself a deeper grave.

"Time is money and you're wasting time," Frosty continued after a pause, "Now get to work!"

"You were the one wasting time," Crocker growled under his breath as he slinked away to the freezer, this most recent butting of heads causing him to recall yet another agonizingly humiliating moment in his wretched past.

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"You mean to tell me I've had a mental case working for me all this time?" Mr. Frosty bellowed, berating Denzel Crocker in front of a shop full of customers.

It was Crocker's first day back on the job after he'd been institutionalized for a week, undergoing a variety of therapies. He'd just finished quietly explaining the reason for his prolonged absence to his boss. The repercussions were not good. Crocker could sense every eye in the building was focused on him.

"You can consider yourself terminated, Denzel Crocker," Frosty continued, "There's only one place for crazies like you and that's the nuthouse!"

"You don't have grounds to fire me," Crocker pleaded, "I haven't done anything crazy on the job!"

"Oh yeah? How 'bout zoning out and leaving ice cream to melt everywhere?" Frosty retorted, referring to the stupor his employee had succumbed to on the job a week earlier, "I'm putting the kibosh on you now before something worse happens. You're gone, Crocker! There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the way out."

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Crocker was livid after remembering the degrading way he was terminated. Would he ever be able to retain a fraction of dignity? It was against the odds, that was for certain. He was distracted from his embittered thoughts as a large group of customers walked in. To his surprise, the group was made up of his entire 5th grade class--headed up by Waxelplax herself.

"So what's the big draw here?" Crocker asked, completely lacking the cheerfulness he was supposed to maintain while serving customers.

"We're celebrating," Waxelplax replied kindly, "There's only one week before school lets out for summer vacation! Woo!"

Crocker winced as her high-pitched cheer caused his fake hair to stand on end. He was about to voice his displeasure when what she had said fully sank in.

"Say that again?"

"There's only one week before school lets out for summer vacation! Woo!"

"Could you...excuse me a moment?" Crocker grimaced, wincing again, then darting away to the freezer to talk to himself.

"Wacko," Mr. Frosty muttered as he stepped forward to wait on the group, "May I help you?"

Back in the freezer, Crocker paced the floor in agitation, anxious regarding the decision he was coming to.

"One more week of school," he muttered, "That means that unless I relent, swallow my pride, and return to the school, I may never get back in again. In turn, that will destroy any and all chances to keep an eye on Turner and his...FAIRY GODPARENTS!!!"

After consulting himself on the matter, Crocker darted back out, plowing Mr. Frosty into the ground as he slid to a stop at the counter and grabbed the P.A. system microphone.

"Children, I have big news!" he announced rapidly with a certain implication of joy, "I'm quitting the ice cream job--"

"Yay!" the children erupted in cheers, elated by the news as they hated going to him for service.

"I'm quitting the ice cream job," Crocker continued, slightly irritated by the interruption, "To be your teacher again!"

Their cheers ebbed away to be replaced with woeful wailing as Crocker cackled maniacally. Waxelplax grimaced as she tried to force a smile simply to be polite. She was just as disappointed as the students, but she tried to hide it as best she could.

"You can't quit!" Mr. Frosty bellowed, dragging himself up from the floor, looking bedraggled and bruised, "You're fired!"

"That works too!" Crocker grinned insanely, grabbing the man's huge hand and shaking it rapidly until he jerked it away in annoyance.

"Get out of here!" he fumed, gesturing toward the door.

Crocker didn't need to be asked twice. He skipped out the door like a little kid who'd just been told he could go to the candy store...and he never once looked back.