My sister does not burn bridges. She blows them up. If she was in the bridge on the River Kwai she would have probably wrecked the bridge long before Alec Guiness did. A few days ago, after a particularly miserable day teaching 42 brats in a class she came home fuming about the school, her job and the administration at large and how nice it would be if she could chuck it all up.

Warmed by the thought she sat down at the table and began her calculations, adding up all her assets and her fixed deposits and her stocks and other investments and after a couple of hours of hard work came to the conclusion that if she put it all into the kitty, so to speak, and ‘used her interest she could make a little more than her salary so who needed the hassle of getting up on a hot, muggy morn­ing and waiting for the bus full of gross kids, then spending the day with gross kids and return­ing home with gross kids.

So next morning she beetled down to the school principal’s office and had an honest discus­sion with her. Nice way of saying she sounded off, sort of told her where things were wrong and why the shop was not ship shape and really, you have to pull your socks up, old girl, you are slipping and the school is not exactly a model for the city and other such happy salvoes of honesty.

Frankly, she said as a sort of verbal coup de grace, I have a good mind to quit and leave because to tell you the truth I am not a happy bunny.

The principal was a bit struck to respond and my sister came home trailing triumph like a car trails sparks. Other teachers looked upon her in awe.

It so happened that later that evening I fetched up from the Gulf and she brandished her fiscal maths at me and told me what she had. Told them off, she said, enough is enough, here just re­check my calculations. Which I did only to discover she had put all the zeroes in the wrong place and the five which should have been in the thousands was wrongly plopped into the fifty thousands and with a couple of more such mishaps we were facing a shortfall of 40 percent in the original.

You mean I messed up, she asked.

Royally, I said, right royally.

But I told the principal where she got off.

Now, maybe it is her turn to tell you, I said, why didn’t you wait and re-check these figures.

What will I do now, she said, this is a mess.

That would be an agreeable con­clusion, I said, perhaps you could call in tomorrow and apologize.

Apologize, for telling her she runs the school like a ferryboat captain running a cruise liner.

You said that.

Yes, I also said, I would not send my grandchildren to this school if it was free.

That is tough, I said, maybe she won’t bring it up.

She probably has my letter all typed and ready, why couldn’t you have come one day earlier, it is all your fault.

Humble pie, sister dear, time for a hefty, big slice of it.

She is going to enjoy it, I know, she will love to see me squirm.

So next day she goes to school and peace is made because my sis­ter says, thank you for being sport­ing yesterday, you see I had given this assignment to the class about what their parents thought of the school and so I was searching your mind for all the negatives so we could be ready for the awkward questions if they are any on Par­ents Day next week.

When I left four days later the principal hadn’t said anything but if she fell for this line I wouldn’t send my grandkids to this school either. As for my sister’s job, it is still there, hanging by a couple of threads.