Most days passed with an alarming sameness.
Spelling class, reading, math.
Recess. History.
Lunch.
English. A science experiment.
Homework.
Over and over.
But now and then, something glorious would happen, something to make those long elementary school days all seem worthwhile. Because every now and then, some kid would throw up.
We’d talk about it for weeks.
Don’t say you don’t remember. Don’t act as if you’re above it, above remembering one of the most basic experiences of childhood. You might forget the class motto or the words to your alma mater, but it’s difficult to forget the day the guy who sat in front of you threw up on his Keds.
These are the ties that bind.
When it happened at our school, the janitor — ours was one of the kindest men ever to walk on Earth — would amble in with a sack and start sprinkling stuff on the, well, he’d start sprinkling stuff on the pile. We watched this from a distance: there was an imaginary 6-to-8-foot circle drawn around the offending pile, and only our janitor, willing and intrepid, could — or would — enter it.
But here’s my question: What was that stuff he sprinkled? It looked like some kind of thick sawdust to me. Possibly pine shavings. All I know is that
I’ve never seen this product anywhere else. If someone throws up in the rec hall at church camp or even in a hospital, mops and buckets and towels appear.
But no sawdust stuff.
This is evidently a product sold only to and used only by elementary schools. I don’t think there was even a brand name on the bag. The product was wrapped in mystery and remains that way, an unsolved puzzle from elementary school, something you never learn the answer to.
Like pi.
After the ceremonial sprinkling, The Big String Mop for hazardous waste spills such as these would make an appearance along with its faithful sidekick, The Big Rolling Bucket with the vise-like apparatus on it that would squeeze out the mop when you pressed its handle.
I always wondered where they dumped that mop water. In another county, I prayed.
Eventually, the damp spot “where it happened” would dry and some degree of order would be restored. Couldn’t do anything about the smell, though. It lingered, a haunting reminder, an olfactory calling card that would not die until it got good and ready. Two weeks was the minimum, whether they brought in The Big Fan from the auditorium or not. Trying to blow the smell away was like trying to blow an incoming wave back into the ocean.
Like the smell, word spread quickly from classroom to classroom.
“Somebody threw up?” This was always asked not with worry but with anticipation. It was followed by other standards:
“Who?”
“Where?”
“Did they get to go home?”
“Did it GET on anybody?”
And a personal favorite: “What WAS it?”
I admit it’s sad that some of us find an almost silly moment of glee in remembering moments like this from our misspent grade school educations. No everyone has this genetic flaw. So if this story has offended you, please forgive me; you might try sprinkling a little sawdust on it.
Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu