Class is Out
It was more than a decade ago, but I remember it well
The year had been a good year. I was finishing my stint as a student teacher, I felt confident in my teaching style, and I had learned just as much from the kids as they had from me.
There was still one more lesson to learn for both of us.
Our classroom was toward the end of the hallway, and the heat radiated off of the old football field just outside the window. The sky was wide and bright, and seventh hour was just about to start.
Everyone was in their seats except one girl. She needed something from her locker. It was right next to our classroom door. No big deal; she was never late on purpose.
A big smile was spread out across the face of two of the bigger boys in the back row. They were always jovial, but today they were expectant.
I was watching the halls clear, and the senior girl opened her locker to grab a pencil. There was a short, gasping scream as a gray-brown carton of milk fell from the top shelf and hit the floor.
What was once chocolate milk had fallen from the locker and spilled all over her T-shirt and jeans. I excused her to the nurse while my mentor teacher took over the roll call.
My mentor looked at me, wondering what I would do next. I knew from the broad smiles and laughter who had done it. The laughter was quickly replaced by oooos and uuuuggghhs. The pranksters had the tables turned.
They confessed that what started off as a science experiment was now their version of the end-of-the-year senior prank. They had purposely left a carton of milk in one locker untouched for six months. They covered it in plastic and opened it only after the last cleanout session.
What was left inside was a plastic-like substance that looked as if it had once been a Wendy’s frosty. They pulled the carton all the way open and teetered it on the edge of the unfortunate girl’s locker shelf. In stable, cube form, the expired milk was undetectable, but now that it had been spilled, it reeked.
The smell was near that of vinegar, but it was sweet. It tickled the nose hairs slowly, waiting for the attack of one long breath. The room filled with it. The laughing stockade pleaded to move rooms.
My mentor teacher sat in the back. Her desk was far enough away from the smell, she could “handle” it. Her newly-green eyes said otherwise.
However, she and I both agreed we would not be moving classes. The heat from the field was intense that day. It was too hot to go outside. We just had one hour left. The janitor would be able to clean it up quickly.
But the smell lingered there. It was held high by the heat. It was filmy in the air. I heard gags and gargling as if the lesson on Shakespeare’s Ceasar was the worst thing they’d ever heard. Their pleas fell on deaf ears. I bore through the tears, both mine and theirs.
We made it out that day, and I use that story often as a cautionary tale to both teachers and students. We can still learn from each other.
