I Swear, I Was Ready To Toss My Classroom Keys To A Bum On The Street

Hey! Remember the Era of Extremes? It's still in effect!

Today I noticed something was awry during my 7th hour class. The minute I walked in and closed the door behind me, I smelled it. IT. Usually, I don't smell things in my room. I have learned to be a mouth-breather. It comes second nature to me after nigh on 26 years in the classroom. Not continuously, of course. I don't LIVE there, contrary to the beliefs of some students.

Yes, inhaling through one's nose is a no-no for a teacher. You rarely smell anything you WANT to smell. It's not like our schnozzes are insured by Lloyds of London to detect just the right bouquet of eau de parfum. Nope. Our schnozzes are our warning system. Tobacco smoke? WACKY tobacco smoke? Fart spray? REAL fart spray? Yep. We are constantly on duty, like a police pooch on patrol. Except there's no biscuit to nosh on, or tennis ball to chase when we detect contraband. So mostly I tune out, and let the important odors slap me in the face. Yes, I've turned in tokers. Aromas like that shock me into awareness. But I'd rather not go through the day knowing I'm inhaling butt-gas and armpit-effusion. You might say I've steeled myself against it, or developed an immunity. Until today.

When other teachers mention how a certain someone stank up their room to the point of opening windows with the air conditioner on, to lighting a candle and risking the open flame, I pause. "I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary when he was in my room." There are none so olfactorily-blind as Mrs. Hillbilly Mom not wanting to smell.

But today, it hit me like ton of sulfur-and-manure bricks. I walked into the classroom, and BO slapped me across the face like that saucy food in a Tums commercial. Yeah. It was Seinfeld car level BO. I daresay I still smelled like it when the faculty huddled together in front of the trophy case for a newspaper picture after school to mark Newmentia's distinction of being number 3 5 6 or 3 6 5 on the Newsweek Top 500 Schools list. I can't remember the exact number, and that's what The Pony told me.

I didn't say anything to the class. No need to embarrass the little stinker with only one hour left of the school day. I even resisted the desire to whip out the Febreeze and spritz that side of the room. Even the area on the other side, by my control center, stank. That was some potent BO!

At the end of class, as the students were straightening their chairs, a kid from the stink zone walked by my desk carrying a Styrofoam bowl.

"Wait a minute! You know you can't EAT in Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's classroom!"

"Oh…I wasn't eating. I ate it before. In the hall. I'm just throwing the bowl away now."

"You are, huh?" Which is kind of my way of saying that I don't believe for one minute that a kid brings an empty bowl, devoid of food, into my classroom, and sits at his desk with it until time to go home. Nope. Not standard behavior.

At the bell, I had to rush, reeking, for that picture. When I came back, my room still stank. "Do you SMELL that?" I asked Tomato-Squirter, who had followed me back as we tried to ascertain who might have brought the stench.

"I smell SOMETHING. Not sure it's BO. Kind of a foody, garlicky undertone…"

I dismissed her as not knowing what she was talking about. She always complains about her stinkers. Maybe her smeller was on the fritz, the lining having been burned out already, with it not even the end of 1st quarter yet. After she left, and The Pony entered after his Scholar Bowl practice, I asked him if he smelled BO.

"I smell SOMETHING."

The Pony does not go to extremes of any facet. I didn't give his opinion much weight. As I walked by the wastebasket on the way out, I looked at the trash. I had assumed that Styrofoam bowl held Planter's Cheese Balls, or some dry snack handed out by one of the nurturing teachers at the other end of the hall to her own sons, and their sporty friends. But no. This bowl had a glisten to it. And a plastic fork laying askance. Sweet Gummi Mary! The BO smell was very strong near the wastebasket. I leaned over. The smell was coming from that bowl!

I have no idea what that kid ate, but I'll be ding-dang-donged if I'd sit in class and chow down on a bowl of BO with a plastic fork.

If only I had a free air freshener thingy with a fragrance like photography film developer to stick up in my classroom and improve the smell.