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Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Nightmares from Middle School

Eighth grade. Mrs. Ames' history class. J.S., one of the cutest boys in my orbit, sat in the back of the classroom. I was in the front. 

One day, J.S. was not feeling so well. Fortunately, his seat was next to Mrs. Ames' desk and a garbage can. I am sure you can see where this is going without my having to spell it out for you. 

For eleven years, I have shared this story with my students. I do not know how the topic always comes up (pun intended), but it does. I have had lengthy discussions about what to do should one feel the need to blow chunks: RUN OUT OF THE CLASSROOM IMMEDIATELY. 

After ten and a half years, the inevitable happened. A student came to me, asking if she could go to the nurse. I never ask questions about needing the nurse. I pointed the student in the direction of the clinic passes and asked her to fill it out. On her way to grab a pencil, she mistook my classroom carpet for the porcelain god. 

As the rest of the class groaned and giggled (and watched), I grabbed the phone, unsure of who to call. I resorted to screaming at my assistant principal that I had an emergency situation. I evacuated my class to the hallway to study for their final exam while we waited for the custodial staff to address the messy situation. 

The student, much to my dismay, returned to class, telling us all that she felt fine. The issue was two bags of Hot Cheetos - a no-longer favorite delight o' mine. 

Unfortunately, the Eau de Yak is still lingering in my room today. I have sprayed enough Febreeze to drown myself in, and I am waiting for my honeysuckle candle to melt and envelop my senses. 

Fun times. What more can I say. 

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