Ever had the insatiable urge to just stomp on a ketchep or mustard packet just to see it explode in a mass of color?
My urge was quenched after my school day on Thursday. (teacher). I was fortunate, or not, to be witness to hundreds of the stupid things being exploded all at the same time at lunch at my middle school. Whoever says kids of today aren't intelligent has never seen the devients come together when the common goal of anarchy is presented.
Lunch time: I walk my class to the lunch room, as per normal, because middle schoolers find it physically impossible to walk more than five feet without giving in to the urge to touch, punch, kick, or generally beat down the kid next to them. An adult presence seems to quell this urge somewhat.
I released the hellions into the cafeteria, and the watchful eye of the asst. principal and gym teachers who pull the hell known as cafeteria duty (fourth circle I believe). No big. I do it everyday. I race walk back to my room, because I have only 20 min for lunch (otherwise known as 20 minutes of bliss away from all that is 12-year-olds). Within five minutes the principal comes on over the loudspeaker system. (Think M.A.S.H but at a school)
"Attention all available adults. Please report to the cafeteria. IMMEDIATELY" That's school code for move your ass there's a riot. So, I run. Just as I hit the double doors and bounce into the cafeteria girded for battle of some type, I feel about a dozen, kinda gentle, but gloppy sensations all over my body.
Unsure of what's hit me (thoughts of the infamous scene in Silence of the Lambs crowds my conscious) I duck and cover my head. Adults scream, kids howl with laughter, I hear gentle crying somewhere in the background. The cafeteria lights go out and the prinicpal is roaring at the 400 kids in the cafeteria in rage. Gathering courage, I peek out from under my arms (I had cowered against a wall near the door until the barrage was over - safety first), and notice all the red splatters across our normally white, sparkling cafeteria.
Gasping in shock, because I first thought it was blood, my eyes adjust, my brain catches up and I also see smears of bright yellow and forest green; at the same time the overwhelming smell of tomatoes and relish assualt my nose. Ah, condiment hell, I think with relief.
Then, my brain finally catches up to my adrenaline surge: those gentle gloppy feelings I had ealier - yeah - I was hit. Teacher down, teacher down. My nice pink shirt and tan khakis were covered in an array of condiment colors. Whoppee.
About 45 of the little darlings had conspired all week to attack the adults and each other with a condiment explosion extravaganza. A coordinated attack of stomping just as the maximum number of adults walked into the room assured student domination for the day.
I have to admit, it was quite ingenious to plan it all out, target certain doors, certain students. Scary little devient minds have they.
I spent the rest of the day, about 3 hours covered in ketchup, mustard, and relish. Ah, teaching. A wonderous profession.
My urge was quenched after my school day on Thursday. (teacher). I was fortunate, or not, to be witness to hundreds of the stupid things being exploded all at the same time at lunch at my middle school. Whoever says kids of today aren't intelligent has never seen the devients come together when the common goal of anarchy is presented.
Lunch time: I walk my class to the lunch room, as per normal, because middle schoolers find it physically impossible to walk more than five feet without giving in to the urge to touch, punch, kick, or generally beat down the kid next to them. An adult presence seems to quell this urge somewhat.
I released the hellions into the cafeteria, and the watchful eye of the asst. principal and gym teachers who pull the hell known as cafeteria duty (fourth circle I believe). No big. I do it everyday. I race walk back to my room, because I have only 20 min for lunch (otherwise known as 20 minutes of bliss away from all that is 12-year-olds). Within five minutes the principal comes on over the loudspeaker system. (Think M.A.S.H but at a school)
"Attention all available adults. Please report to the cafeteria. IMMEDIATELY" That's school code for move your ass there's a riot. So, I run. Just as I hit the double doors and bounce into the cafeteria girded for battle of some type, I feel about a dozen, kinda gentle, but gloppy sensations all over my body.
Unsure of what's hit me (thoughts of the infamous scene in Silence of the Lambs crowds my conscious) I duck and cover my head. Adults scream, kids howl with laughter, I hear gentle crying somewhere in the background. The cafeteria lights go out and the prinicpal is roaring at the 400 kids in the cafeteria in rage. Gathering courage, I peek out from under my arms (I had cowered against a wall near the door until the barrage was over - safety first), and notice all the red splatters across our normally white, sparkling cafeteria.
Gasping in shock, because I first thought it was blood, my eyes adjust, my brain catches up and I also see smears of bright yellow and forest green; at the same time the overwhelming smell of tomatoes and relish assualt my nose. Ah, condiment hell, I think with relief.
Then, my brain finally catches up to my adrenaline surge: those gentle gloppy feelings I had ealier - yeah - I was hit. Teacher down, teacher down. My nice pink shirt and tan khakis were covered in an array of condiment colors. Whoppee.
About 45 of the little darlings had conspired all week to attack the adults and each other with a condiment explosion extravaganza. A coordinated attack of stomping just as the maximum number of adults walked into the room assured student domination for the day.
I have to admit, it was quite ingenious to plan it all out, target certain doors, certain students. Scary little devient minds have they.
I spent the rest of the day, about 3 hours covered in ketchup, mustard, and relish. Ah, teaching. A wonderous profession.
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