Mrs. Master Is a Disaster! Page 3
“Sure he is!” said Mrs. Master. “He’s a part owner of our company, remember?”
It was cool to leave school in the middle of the day. Mrs. Master and Mr. Cooper were the line leaders. We walked a million hundred miles until we got to a street with a bunch of houses on it.
“Okay,” said Mrs. Master when we stopped at the first house. “You kids ring the doorbell and see if you can sell this family a Party Pooper.”
We ran up the steps. Ryan rang the bell. I held the Party Pooper prototype. A lady came to the door.
“Do you want to buy a toilet seat?” we all yelled.
The lady screamed.
“Get out!” she hollered. Then she slammed the door in our faces. We all went running back down the steps.
That lady was mean. Mrs. Master told us not to be discouraged.
We walked to the next house, and this time we decided to just have one of us make the sales pitch. Ryan rang the bell, and a man came to the door.
“Excuse me, sir,” Ryan said. “Do you want to buy a toilet seat?”
“No thank you,” the man replied.
“It’s just $99.99,” said Neil. “That’s a penny less than a hundred dollars.”
“I don’t care how much it costs,” the man replied. “I don’t need a new toilet seat.”
“Oh, okay.”
We went back down the steps. At least that guy didn’t yell at us.
“You’re doing great,” Mrs. Master told us when we got back to the sidewalk. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”
Andrea said she wanted a turn. We walked to the next house. Ryan rang the bell. A lady came to the door.
“Excuse me, ma’am, do you want to buy a toilet seat?” Andrea asked.
“I already have a toilet seat,” the lady replied.
“Not like this one,” Andrea told her. “It’s heated, and it glows in the dark, so you can see it at night. And it talks. You can even have a conversation with it.”
“My . . . name . . . is . . . Party Pooper,” the toilet seat said. “I’m . . . your . . . friend.”
“That’s creepy,” the lady said. “I don’t want to have a conversation with my toilet seat.”
“I . . . am . . . sorry . . . you . . . think . . . I . . . am . . . creepy,” said Party Pooper. “Perhaps . . . things . . . will . . . be . . . better . . . tomorrow.”
“You can turn off the voice if you want to,” Andrea told the lady.
“No thanks.”
We all put on our best puppy dog faces, because that usually works when you want something from a grown-up.
“Please, please, please, please, please?” we all begged.
You can’t miss when you put on a puppy dog face and say “Please, please, please, please, please.”
“How much does it cost?” the lady asked.
“$99.99,” we all said.
“A hundred bucks for a toilet seat?!” said the lady. “Forget it!”
She closed the door. Emily started crying, of course.
We went to a bunch of other houses after that. Nobody wanted to buy a Party Pooper. Bummer in the summer!
“Don’t feel bad,” Mrs. Master told us. “I’ve been rejected a million times.”
It felt even longer walking the million hundred miles back to school. Mr. Klutz was waiting for us at the front door.
“So, how many toilet seats did you sell?” he asked. “A thousand?”
“No,” we replied.
“A hundred?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, how many did you sell?” asked Mr. Klutz.
“None,” I admitted.
It was the worst day of my life.
“What are we going to do now?” Ryan asked when we got back to class.
“Maybe I should cancel the order with the factory,” said Mr. Cooper.
“Don’t be silly!” said Mrs. Master. “This is just the beginning. We’ve got to give it more time.”
“But if we can’t sell the thousand toilet seats we ordered,” said Mr. Cooper, “we’ll lose our shirts!”
That made no sense at all. What do shirts have to do with toilet seats?
That’s when I got the greatest idea in the history of the world.
Shirts made me think of people wearing shirts.
People wearing shirts made me think of famous people wearing shirts.
Famous people wearing shirts made me think of famous people wearing shirts while they’re sitting on a toilet bowl.
“We should get some celebrities to say how much they like Party Pooper!” I shouted.
“That’s not a bad idea!” said Mrs. Master. “When celebrities say they like something, everybody else wants to have it too.”
Andrea looked mad because she didn’t think of my great idea.
“Do you kids know any celebrities?” asked Mr. Cooper.
“What about Miss Suki?” suggested Neil. “She was that famous children’s book author who visited our school.”
“Children’s book authors aren’t famous,” Michael replied.
“How about Mr. Hynde?” I suggested.
Mr. Hynde used to be our music teacher, but then he won that reality TV show where people sing and dance. Now he’s a famous rapper.
“That’s a great idea, A.J.!” said Mr. Cooper. “I love it.”
I’m full of great ideas. I stuck out my tongue at Andrea to let her know that I came up with the great idea and she didn’t. Nah-nah-nah boo-boo on her.
“Do you think Mr. Hynde would do a rap for us?” asked Ryan. “We could film it and put it on the internet.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Mr. Cooper said as he took out his cell phone. “I’ll call him.”
And you’ll never believe who walked into the door a few minutes later.
Nobody! It would hurt if you walked into a door. I thought we went over that in chapter 3. But you’ll never believe who walked into the doorway.
It was Mr. Hynde!
“Yo, my homies!” he said as we all ran over to hug him. Then he shook hands with Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Master. They showed him the Party Pooper prototype.
“So let me get this straight,” said Mr. Hynde. “You want me to rap about this toilet seat?”
“Yeah!” we all shouted.
“And it’s heated?” he asked.
“Yeah!”
“And it glows in the dark?”
“Yeah!”
“And it’s scented?”
“Yeah!”
“And it talks?”
“Yeah!”
“Hmmmm,” Mr. Hynde said, thinking it over for a few seconds. “Okay, I’ve got it. Somebody give me a beat.”
Mr. Cooper started beat boxing. Mrs. Master pointed her cell phone at Mr. Hynde. And he started rapping. . . .
“How can you pee when you cannot see?
That’s what folks keep asking me.
Pooping gets old
when your seat’s too cold.
At least that’s what I have been told.
“You want it heated while you are seated.
You want it hot when you’re on the pot.
You want it lit up while you sit up.
You want that glow when you gotta go.
“That’s why you need Party Pooper.
I said, Party Pooper! Party Pooper!
“The Party Pooper is super-duper,
like Mrs. Master and Mr. Cooper.
“This toilet seat is very fine,
and it only costs
ninety-nine ninety-nine.
“The best part about this toilet is
you’ll never have to oil it, kids.
“So get rid of your seat.
It can’t compete
with the coolest toilet
out on the street.
“And it smells so sweet.
Send out a tweet.
You’ll get a receipt.
Let me repeat.
“It’s really neat.
out on the street
is Party Pooper. . . .”
When he was done, everybody clapped and cheered.
“Great!” said Mrs. Master. “Okay, let’s upload the video to YouTube.”
Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Master added a link to the website so people could order Party Poopers right after watching the video.
“Now all we can do is wait,” said Mr. Cooper.
We didn’t have to wait long. After a few seconds, there was a sound.
Ding!
We all looked at the computer screen.
“Look! We just sold our first toilet seat!” shouted Alexia. “We did it!”
“Yay!” everybody shouted.
Ding!
“That’s another one!” shouted Andrea.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Four more!” shouted Neil.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Party Poopers are selling like crazy!” hollered Mrs. Masters. “I’ve never seen a product sell so fast!”
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“We’re going to be rich!” shouted Alexia.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“We’re going to be millionaires!” shouted Michael.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Billionaires!” shouted Ryan.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Bazillionaires!” I shouted.
It was the greatest day of my life.
You should have been there! Sales of Party Poopers were going through the roof!
Well, not really. If that happened, we’d have to get a new roof.
But sales were really good. The first five hundred toilet seats arrived the next day, and we spent the whole morning shipping them out to customers all over the world. On the website, people were already posting messages saying how much they loved their Party Poopers.
“When will we get our money?” I asked Mrs. Masters.
“In a few days,” she told me. “Be patient.”
A few days later, I looked out the window during math and saw a truck pull up to the school.
“That must be our money!” I shouted. “We earned so many bazillions of dollars, they have to bring it in a truck!”
“We’re rich!” yelled Ryan.
We all watched out the window as a big guy wearing overalls unloaded a bunch of boxes from the truck.
“What are you going to do with your bazillions?” Neil asked me.
“I’m going to buy every video game in the world,” I said.
“I’m going to buy every candy bar in the world,” said Ryan.
“I’m going to take a trip around the world,” said Alexia.
“I’m so excited!” said Andrea, rubbing her hands together.
After a million hundred minutes, the guy from the truck came into our class rolling the boxes of money.
“Thanks for delivering our money,” said Mr. Cooper, rubbing his hands together.
“Oh, this isn’t money,” the guy replied. “It’s five hundred toilet seats.”
“Oh,” we all said, disappointed.
“Where do you want me to put ’em?” the guy asked.
“You can stack them in the corner there,” said Mr. Cooper.
Mrs. Master rolled in on her hover board lawn mower.
“I have great news!” she announced. “We sold another five hundred Party Poopers last night! I already placed an order at the factory to make a thousand more!”
“Yay!”
“We’re rich!” I shouted. “I’ll never have to go to school again.”
“Me neither!” said Mr. Cooper. “I’m going to retire. Who needs to teach? I’m going to live off my toilet seat income.”
Suddenly, Mr. Klutz came running into the class. He was all out of breath, and he looked upset.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Master.
“It’s all over the news!” shouted Mr. Klutz. “One of our toilet seats caught on fire!”
“WHAT?!” we all shouted.
“It was in Ohio!” Mr. Klutz said. “A man was sitting on his Party Pooper when it caught on fire! Something must have been wrong with the heater! He got burned on his butt!”
“Gasp!” we all gasped.
“He says he’s going to sue us for a hundred million dollars!” shouted Mr. Klutz.
“Oh no!” we all hollered.
Mr. Cooper ran over to the computer to check the website.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Emails are pouring in!” shouted Mr. Cooper.
“What do they say?” asked Mr. Klutz.
“Everybody wants their money back!” shouted Mr. Cooper. “What are we going to do now?”
“We have to give them their money back,” said Mrs. Master. “We sold them a defective product.”
“Nobody’s going to buy Party Poopers if they cause butt burns!” shouted Mr. Cooper.
“What are we going to do with the thousand toilet seats you ordered?” shouted Mr. Klutz.
Everybody started yelling and screaming and shrieking and hooting and hollering and freaking out.
“It’s all over,” groaned Mr. Cooper, holding his head in his hands. “I put my life savings into Party Pooper. And now I’m going to lose my shirt!”
Mr. Cooper must lose a lot of shirts or he wouldn’t be talking about losing them all the time.
“This is your fault, Arlo!” Andrea yelled. “Party Pooper was your idea!”
Everybody was looking at me. This was the worst day of my life. I wanted to go to Antarctica and live with the penguins. They don’t use toilet seats.
But there was no way I was going to take all the blame for what happened.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I said. “It was Mrs. Master’s fault! She’s the one who showed us how to start our own company.”
Everybody in the class turned to look at Mrs. Master.
“Well, this has been a lot of fun, you guys,” she said. “But I have to go now. I need to work on my next invention: a solar-powered backscratcher.”
She hustled out of the class like she had to catch a bus.
Oh, well, I guess we’re not going to make bazillions after all. Maybe I’ll get to see Star Wars. Maybe Grandpa Bert will stop making armpit noises. Maybe a truck full of toilet seats will fall on Andrea’s head. Maybe bears will figure out that we have bathrooms and stop pooping in the forest. Maybe Mr. Cooper will fall out of a boat. Maybe people will start making toast on their toilet seats. Maybe Dr. Brad will get his job back. Maybe I’ll plant a toilet seat tree in our backyard. Maybe Mr. Cooper will find all those shirts he lost. Maybe Burger King will put their logo on a toilet seat. Maybe we’ll have to get a new roof. Maybe we’ll think of a way to get rid of a thousand toilet seats. Maybe we’ll figure out how to spell what Mr. Klutz is. Maybe we can train penguins to start using toilet seats.
But it won’t be easy!*
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About the Author and Illustrator
Courtesy of Dan Gutman and Jim Paillot
DAN GUTMAN has written many weird books for kids. He lives with his weird wife in New York (a very weird place). You can visit him on his weird website at www.dangutman.com.
JIM PAILLOT lives in Arizona (another weird place) with his weird wife and two weird children. Isn’t that weird? You can visit him on his weird website at www.jimpaillot.com.
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Credits
Cover art © 2017 by Jim Paillot
Copyright
MY WEIRDEST SCHOOL #8: MRS. MASTER IS A DISASTER! Text copyright © 2017 by Dan Gutman. Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Jim Paillot. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontran
sferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-242933-9 (pbk. bdg.)—ISBN 978-0-06-242934-6 (library bdg.)
EPub Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780062429353
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* Ha-ha! Made you look down! Nah-nah-nah boo-boo on you!
* You probably think that’s a prize they give out to people who don’t have bells. But it’s not! Where did you get that dumb idea?
* If you don’t believe me, read My Weirder School #8: Dr. Nicholas Is Ridiculous!
* That is, if bears even knew that we have bathrooms, which they probably don’t. It would be weird if bears knew that we had bathrooms.