A crisis of epic proportions was narrowly averted at school yesterday.
A colleague, hereafter referred to by the nom de fume, "Stinky," strode back-and-forth down the hall like a wayward paddle being wielded by a nervous parent in the original PONG video game. First to my right, then to my left, indecisive.
"There nurse isn't here yet. I just wondered...does she keep deodorant in her office?"
"Probably. Do you need some?"
"Yes! I forgot to put it on this morning after my workout."
"I have some that I keep here for just such an occasion. It's kind of old. I use it once or twice a year. But it's a stick roll-on."
"I don't care if you don't care."
"Nope. I won't need it again for months. It's right here." I stepped into my room and grabbed a small travel-size Secret off the top shelf of my cabinet. I palmed its light-blue plastic body, and smuggled it into the hall. Stinky palmed it and started on her merry way. I'm not sure where she was planning her application, but it was NOT in the hall under the watchful eye of a myriad of surveillance cameras. I'm thinking she snuck off to her lab, and refrained from slathering on the Secret in front of her waiting class of juniors.
I thought my property would be returned forthwith. Yet I had not seen hide nor hair of it by seventh hour. This morning I called to Stinky on her way to the bathroom. The whole world passes by my post in the upper end of the hall. "Hey! How long are you going to keep my Secret?"
"Well, I thought I should keep your Secret yesterday, but I'm not keeping it anymore. I'll catch you on my next trip."
The palmed hand-off was accomplished third hour. The kids are giving us funny looks. I refuse to tell them about my Secret.