A new drama teacher joins a prestigious arts academy. Total theatre type: turtleneck, wild eyes, smells like cinnamon and chaos.

Day one, he walks into class and says:
“Improv! You’re all stuck in an elevator. Go.”

The students panic—one starts fake-screaming, another mimes pressing buttons, a third begins monologuing about missed brunch. The teacher watches, nodding seriously.

Then he claps. “Good. Now... pretend the elevator doors open—
and a goat walks in.”

Students freeze. A beat.
One student starts petting invisible fur. Another screams again. One guy faints.

The teacher grins.
“That is drama. Chaos with purpose.”

Months pass. The students grow bolder, sharper. They prep all semester for the final showcase—a serious tragedy. Big deal. Press is coming. Parents too. Dim lights, slow pacing, tears, betrayal, intense silence.

Halfway through Act Two…
the audience holds its breath…

And then—

A real goat walks across the stage.
Chewing a curtain. Pooping on the set. One actor breaks. The rest try to stay in character, but it’s hopeless.

Gasps. Chaos. Laughter.
Then the teacher strolls onstage, slow and smooth, holding a clipboard.
He looks straight at the crowd and says:
“You’re welcome.”

Curtain drops. Standing ovation.
Nobody remembers the plot.
Everyone remembers the goat.