Wednesday, September 10, 2014

The Snake-Lizards Crawl In, the Snake-Lizards Crawl Out, the Snake-Lizards Play Pinochle Behind the Paper Crates No Doubt

Yesterday, as I was standing in the hall observing the flow of teen traffic, I saw a staff member approaching from the right. That's a feat in itself lately, because it means I can actually turn my head enough to see parts of the hall that are not directly across from my doorway.

Staffer was heading for the closet right next to my classroom. The one with the microfiche machine and three million reams of paper and some file cabinets filled with old records. It's always locked, but I know what's in there because, well, my room is right next door, and I have connections with master key keymasters. In fact, this is the room I used to plan on using for my own personal tornado haven, before our disaster procedures were revamped, sending us all way down deep into the bowels of the earth to the boys' athletic locker room that smells like bowels.

So, as Staffer stuck her key in the lock, I stopped her. "Oh. I think there's something I should tell you before you go in there. Last Tuesday, I saw a copperhead/lizard/newt/salamander laying in my classroom doorway when I returned from Labor Day weekend. I told The Pony to grab it with a tissue and throw it away, but he said it sure did move funny. And when I turned to see what he was talking about, I saw the tail rounding the corner of my entryway. I looked down the hall, but I didn't see it anywhere. I think it went under the door and into this closet."

Staffer listened to me, wide-eyed, like there was going to be a punchline. Like maybe I was telling her about the escaped mental patient with hooks for hands who frequented lovers' lane, waiting to kill happy young couples, and I was going to say, '...and do you know what they saw hanging from the door handle? A HOOK!' while I grabbed her shoulders to startle her. Then she saw that I was serious.

"Oh. Now I'm scared. I wish you hadn't told me that."

"Well, wouldn't you rather know than be surprised? I was just trying to help."

"Um...I don't know. Now I'm nervous."

"But you'll be prepared if it jumps out at you from those stacks of paper cartons."

"I...I guess so. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Thevictorian."

"You're welcome."

Uh huh. Val is a people person. She's a giver like that. It was the least I could do to make Staffer's day a little easier.


  1. See, I've seen a bunch of those lately. Well, "a bunch" meaning two. But that's two more than I've seen in this area, ever. I think the hook-punchline is that they are taking over. Or maybe coming from the bowels that smell like bowels. Hee hee.

  2. I think I'd want to know, rather than be surprised by something crawly in a small closet.

  3. I think you did the right thing. I'd want to know, for sure! I'm just surprised there are still microfiche machines.

  4. I am surprised you didn't embellish a bit and call it a possible python. Microfiche...still?

  5. A camper came up with a blurry picture on her cell phone of a long tail hanging out from a hole in a tree. She thought it was a snake, her husband was convinced it was a lizard, since the "tail" was tapered. I guess she thought I was going to remove the creature. She was mistaken. I will only attack poison vines!

  6. Then this sound came from Val's classroom: "hahahahahahahaheeheeheeheehee!"

  7. joeh,
    Yes. In the dictionary beside "thoughtful" is Val's picture.

    Funny that you mention bowels. Our school plumbing has an issue, and every afternoon the whole building smells like bowels.

    See there! I KNEW I was doing a good deed.

    Oh, dear! Then don't go into the supply closet next to my room, because not only is there a copperhead/lizard/newt/salamander waiting to run up your leg...there's a MICROFICHE machine just inside the door. SURPRISE!

    A baby copperhead is quite dangerous, because his venom is so concentrated. A baby python might cut off the circulation to your baby toe, and turn it purple for a few minutes. Please allow Val to do the heavy lifting in the nightmare department.

    Yes, we still have a microfiche machine. Sorry that our records are not holograms of each and every student since dinosaurs stopped walking through Backroads. You should have heard the racket before we got the microfiche! That constant clanging of hammer upon chisel as records were engraved on the cave wall was downright distracting.

    So, um...does that guy think snakes are shaped like Tootsie Rolls? Because all the snakes I know are tapered. I can't believe the campers expect you to remove nature from their camping environment. Next they'll want you to remove the "wet" from the water in the pool.

    WHAT? Has my picture been removed from beside "thoughtful" in the dictionary?

    Are you warning me there's a hyena on the loose? I really need to get something to block that crack under the door.

  8. I'm with a couple of other commenters. Microfiche? Still?

    1. You big city folk and your high-tech contraptions. I suppose your records are stored in the CLOUD. It's not like we gather around the microfiche and read it every day. That copperhead/lizard/newt/salamander could make a good nest in there before it's used again. Just because we have graduates who apply for jobs and need their school records, do not questions our ways. We are like noble savages. And we'll tell you about it while we gather around the fire pit as the cooks roast our beast for lunch. You'll have to take a turn rotating the spit, but it will help you develop one big arm like us.