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The apples, the pencils, the books. The pumpkin spice. The slight (?) chill in the air. It’s back! Fall that is. And to everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn. As the air cools down, the breeze kicks up, and the leaves crumple up and die, the days fade and so does your tan. School is back in session, and I’m back at work.
But here’s the thing – a little secret, if you will… I missed my 7-to-6 job. I love my job. Hate me if you want, it’s okay… but, ugh, there is so much I love about being a teacher! I love seeing their little faces every day; watching them light up when they solve a math problem or scream when the baking soda – vinegar volcano explodes; I love getting random notes that say, “Mrs. MacKay your the best.” (Side note, still not married, kids – still a Miss! – and your grammar still needs work!) I love taking field trips and listening to off-key chorus concerts and going to rec league soccer games and dance recitals on my weekends and having kids light up when they see me watching. However, that’s not my favorite part about being a teacher.
Truly, what’s not to love?!? The free monthly dances? The fact that all of my pants have some sort of ‘what the fuck is that’ stain? No, maybe it’s that every day after lunch I usually have to ask at least one kid, “Is that chocolate or mud or…?” Could it be the fact that I will NEVER forget my name, because I hear it so many times during the day that it echoes in my head while I try to sleep at night? No, no, it’s probably all of the parent-teacher meetings and conferences, twice a year, while I try to show a parent that no, your child is not gifted, he’s actually reading at grade level. Is it the fact that I get summers off (lolz)? No, those are all fine and dandy, but really, what I love about being a teacher is the fact that I can fart whenever I want to do so, and get away with it.
Yeah, you heard that. I. Get. To. Fart. Whenever. I. Want. Cutting the cheese. Poppin’ a fluffy. Cropdusting. Gripping it and ripping it. Tootin’-It-And-Bootin’-It… Or, as one of my favorite students ever called it, “A Knock-Knock” – as in, a turd’s knock. Yes, passing gas: it’s my favorite part of being a teacher. Let me explain: There’s always a stinky kid in class. I bet you can close your eyes and recall that one stinker from grade school. (Poor soul.) Whatever the circumstances were, that kid seemed to have a cloud around him (or her, because dammit, I remember you, Charlene) like Pigpen, consisting of a certain substance and odor that no one could exactly pinpoint of which it was made. Taco Tuesday? Lunchables? Egg Salad sandwich? No matter the circumstance, the kid just plain old reeked and it seemed to linger and follow him (or her, CHARLENE!) everywhere in the room.
But have you ever considered… maybe it was your teacher stinkin’ up the joint all along? Because more than likely, it was. That’s right, teachers love to fart in their classrooms, without hesitation. Like a dog marking his territory, I let ‘em go: this room is mine! Whenever I feel those tummy rumbles are a comin’, I don’t put pump the breaks. Hmmm, could it be loud? Yup, fart, anyway. Possibly a squeaker? Gonna fart. Not too sure what it’s going to sound like? Eh, do it, fart. Silent fart? Oh, hells yeah, let-er-rip… because it never matters. Every student, in every classroom, from pre-K to college, is farting. A classroom is just one big dutch oven.
A few years ago, when I taught an older grade, I had a student who was definitely going through some stomach issues. Because I’m an incredible detective (handwriting analysis is one of my many strengths, and I didn’t win my sorority’s social media stalker award for nothing) I pretty much knew who my main culprit was – but the rest of the class had no clue who was leaving our classroom smelling like an Old Country Buffet. What they also didn’t know was that their own teacher – me! – was having some health issues that year… which began to wreck my digestive system and thus, coming out in a pure methane form. God, I can still picture the looks on some kids’ faces when it hit their noses. Priceless: None of those kids ever suspected it was their sweet, kind, teacher. I watched them turn on each other like a scene from ‘The Crucible.’
Now, please don’t think that I’m an absolute monster. I have never scored a child lower than he or she deserved because I didn’t like them. I have never punished a kid because his/her parent sucks balls, and I certainly have NEVER ripped ass near the kid who I knew was the main culprit/smelled on his or her own. No, instead, my greatest pleasure would be to crop dust the biggest asshole in my classroom. (And honestly, if you’re an eleven year old asshole – you deserve to taste nothing but your teacher’s sweet, tangy misery farts.) Not to say that I only crop-dust the Junior Douches of America. Oh no, my classroom is an equal fart deployment opportunity zone; anyone is within range. I’ve actually gone out of my way to pass wind in another area to detract the stank that I know is emanating from an unfortunate child, and thus herd the children back towards the stinky child. I know that some innocents have gotten in the crossfire, but that’s elementary school for you. It’s a cold, rough world. Or a warm one, depending on your seat.
Is my job the most glamorous job on the planet? Absolutely not. I went on a date the other week and had Magic-Marker on my hands and upper lip. I will never get a yearly bonus for excellent performance and I will never get to travel for business in business class. But can you imagine trying to pass wind in your business meeting? Letting one slip in front of Mary from accounting? Just letting a little tiny butt sneeze go at your cubicle? You can’t even regular sneeze at a cubicle without people wanting to murder you! So… let your stomach gurgle and rumble, and keep all your airline miles and hotel points and bonuses. I get to fart whenever and wherever I want to do so, yet still get a hug at the end of the day from the kid I tooted on. And that’s enough for me..
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