Gas Mask

Every so often I get a class after lunch that is goofy and full of---air. Smelly air. Flatulence. Gas. OK---farts.

Being juniors, one would think they could handle themselves in a mature manner and do what most adults do: breath shallow until the odor subsides and, in the mean time, SHUT UP ABOUT IT.

But, no. This goofy bunch kept it up, no matter how hard I tried to change the subject:

"Do you smell that?"

"OMG. Who did it?"

"It wasn't me."

"Yeah, right."

"It came from over there. I know it did."

"OK, let's get busy on the quiz," I interject.

"Jeez, that's disgusting," Maria says, tucking her nose inside her sweatshirt.

"No kidding. Somebody let another one. It can't be the same one."

"It was you, wasn't it Jerry?"

"No, really it wasn't. I like to claim these kind of things, and it wasn't mine."

"All right, you guys. That's enough. Get busy and finish your quiz and turn it in, OK?"

They hand their quizzes in and everyone navigates around the smell as they come to the front of the room.

"I just went by it. Stay away from Monty. He did it, didn't you?"

Monty grins.

I stay in the front of the room where it's safe. And here I was worried about the spread of H1N1.

Work Day

Friday was a work day, an apt name for the last prep day before students return to the hallowed halls of PHS. I made seating charts for five classes, a total of 115 students. That's a lot of names to learn, so I like to alphabetize them by their first names so it's easier. "J" is the most popular letter for first names this year: Jason, Jeremy, Jenny, Jacob, Jenna, John, Josh, Jesse, Jessica, Joe, etc. If I start stuttering, you'll know why.

Hanging the posters that fell down over the summer is frustrating. Seems there are always those stubborn ones that do not respond to poster putty, masking tape---or even duct tape. I have a full-size one of Mark Twain that always folds in the middle, the top half lapping over the bottom like he's taking a bow.

I made out my Sept. calendar, plugged in the holidays and special schedule days, like early release, then put in my lesson plans. I'm teaching the same classes this year as last, so it was a snap; just a few things I wanted to tweak. Then---there is cleaning out and pitching stuff I don't use anymore. Knowing what to keep and what to throw out---that's everything in life---and writing.

Reflection: Being a teacher in a small town makes me a mini-celebrity. When I go to any of the local eateries, or shop at any of stores, no doubt some of the other customers or the hired help is one of my students, or has been one. Once I was out walking the dogs on a spring night enjoying the solitude, and someone in a white tuxedo popped out of the moonroof of a limo, waved and yelled, "Hey, Mrs. Kies, how ya doin'?" On Monday I found out it was one of my AP students who was on his way to prom. Last week I was walking by McDonald's and one of last year's students bellowed out the drive-thru window, "Hi, Susan Kies!"

How do they find out we teachers have first names anyway?

If I feel furtive, I might risk a visit to the beer tent during our Dairy Days celebration in two weeks. I'll have to come up with a better disguise, though, for the sunglasses I wore last year didn't work.

On a smaller scale, I know how Brad Pitt feels.