Friday, May 6, 2011

If it's not Kool Aid and grapes, what the hell is it?

This week I gave my students their final essay exam. Several of them didn't finish within the allotted time period, so on Wednesday they stayed after to complete it. One particularly adorable young man was hard at work when some admirers came to call. These two young ladies hovered around the door, giggling and tripping over themselves to get a glimpse of their Romeo. The boy, looking a bit sheepish, squirmed in his seat.

My co-teacher quickly shooed them away so they would not distract our little scholars from their academic endeavors.

I tried (quite unsuccessfully) to refocus my attention on the monolithic stacks of ungraded papers on my desk. I was interrupted by more whispering in the hallway. It was the neighboring teacher. She was whispering and motioning my co-teacher to the door.

I looked up and noticed both of them hovering in the alcove just outside our classroom doors, pointing to something at their feet. Then I heard the word "blood."

Whenever one hears the word "blood" uttered outside the context of a health or science classroom, it's a good idea to investigate. I decided to check things out.

Lying just beyond the threshold of my door was a haphazardly scrawled note which read, "Payback for being a dumb fart. Karma's a bitch. P.S. It's not Kool Aid and grapes." Lying just beneath the note was a rubber glove. It was filled with a red-tinged liquid. A blackish mass had settled into the ring finger of the glove. Smudges of bluish glitter graced the contours of this latex mystery.

I immediately drew the conclusion that those twittering female visitors must have been responsible.

The neighbor teacher had other ideas. She looked at me knowingly. "You know...some of my students are very angry at me too..." she began.

"Oh, I don't think this was meant for me," I replied. "I think some young ladies left it for one of my students."

I gestured to the young man, who was now pacing nervously inside the classroom, mumbling, "Don't touch it, Miss. What is it? Don't touch it!."

She looked at me somewhat apologetically. After an awkward pause, she offered, "Well, it DOES say bitch..."


"It's know, some of my students are REALLY mad at me too. I hope that's not what I think it is." She hurried off down the hall, and left me to deal with a glove filled with something other than Kool-Aid and grapes.