Rich Kid Opts for Vacational School Instead of College

During a tense nine course dinner at the sprawling Bumbauer compound, located on five hundred acres of pristine, once public, now private land, rich kid, Tolliver Bumbauer, informed his parents that he had decided to attend vacational school instead of going to college. The shocking news came just as the butlers were serving the poached penguin eggs, several of which were dropped to the floor by his visibly shaken mother, ruining a lion hair rug. Witnesses reported hearing Tolliver scream, "I've made my decision!" down the length of the fifty-foot table. He then stormed out of the spacious dining hall, jumped in his Lamborghini and drove back to his room located in the compound’s massive fifty-thousand-square-foot guest house.

“I was so angry I almost couldn’t finish my lobster and filet mignon,” said Brenden, his father and obscenely rich son-of-a-bitch. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t want to go to college. I mean he’s got the grades for it. I don’t get it.” Tolliver’s most recent report card showed mostly F’s and a couple of D minuses, the type of grades that can get an extremely rich kid, whose father is capable of donating vast sums of money, into even the most prestigious of private universities.

“What’s he going to be, a professional night clubber or maybe one of those people who live at some private resort and suntan all day?” said his mother, Miranda, a socialite whose pockets were already deeper than an off-shore oil well when she married Brenden. “The thought of him going to some vacational school in the Maldives or the south of France and only being able to earn millions of dollars in interest for the rest of his life is appalling.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Tolliver, “most of my friends are going to vacational school. There’s this one school I was looking at, it’s a study abroad program in Ibiza. It looks awesome. Besides, my uncle Banner never went to college and he turned out just fine.”

“Just fine? Just fine! Let me tell you a little about my brother,” said an angry Brenden as he cut a business deal using a holographic interface communications orb, something that won’t be available to the public for another decade, “talk about a disappointment. He decided that he didn’t want to go to a top college after private boarding school. He didn’t want to skate through four years of having someone else take your classes for you, or join a secret society whose tentacles reach all the way to the top of the world order. He didn’t want to coast into a job at his father’s hedge fund where he makes billions of dollars a month. No, he took the easy way out. He went to a vacational school in Hawaii. Can you fucking believe that! That’s where regular people go. Now he lives on some awful estate on the coast of Maui, with a tiny four-mile stretch of private beach and a measly ten thousand square foot mansion. There’s no way that’s happening to my son.”

“How can I face my friends at the High Society Club,” said Miranda, “I may have to buy the club and shut it down instead.”

“I’m hoping he changes his mind, otherwise I’m spending his admissions bribe on myself,” fumed Brenden, “Excuse me, I need to go fire a couple thousand people or I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. Fuck!”

“I know they’re upset, but I’m hoping this summer they’ll see that this is something I really want,” said Tolliver, “I signed up for a summer seminar in St. Tropez, it’s supposed to get you ready for the rigors of vacational school. I’m nervous but also really excited.”

As of last week, reports coming out of the Bumbauer compound, are that fences are being mended. Tolliver’s parents have accepted his decision and are reportedly relieved that at least he isn’t considering doing any kind of not-for-profit humanitarian work.