Lesson Twenty: Stare. Stairs. Steer!

     Class was out and Jon’s lunch was over. It was time for him to clean the hallways using his ride-on floor machine.  These new behemoths cut the cleaning time of buildings by huge percentages.  Some hallways and open areas had the square footage of a football field and Jon was glad he didn’t have to mop them by hand.  His arms would be like noodles by the time he finished, if in fact, he could even feel them.

   Jon opened the storage room where his equipment was kept and confidently walked toward the Aggressor 5100 floor cleaning machine. The Aggressor was the newest model of floor machine that the district had dished out money for to make Jon’s job easier. They didn’t often unclench their fists to release wads of cash for machines, but Jon’s persuasiveness and detailed explanation of why a machine and not manpower would not only save money but also save them costs for L & I claims had an efficacious effect.  He got his machine.

   The Aggressor 5100 was about the same size as a small smart car.  It ran on eight 12-volt deep cycle sealed batteries and had dual 24” scrubbing brushes allowing for a four foot swath of cleaning to be done at one shot, a state-of-the-art water pickup system, a water ionization dispensing system that eliminated the need for chemicals and dual extendable 12” front brushes that could be opened and extended to hug the walls and edges as you cleaned which would effectively give you a total cleaning width of six feet.  A cup holder and headlight rounded out the amenities of this beast so that you could drink and drive responsibly, with non-alcoholic beverages of course, while doing so in the dark if need be.  The light was a 1000-watt LED fixture that could light up the area ahead of you with luminosity unheard of a few years ago. Instead of a small cone of light shining ahead of you, the entire hallway, side rooms, furnishings and even areas outside the windows could be lit up so that reading was easy on the eyes and the sun wouldn’t need to rise.  Jon used this feature occasionally, but not often. 

   Jon opened the lid and made sure it was full of water. He checked that the brushes were not worn down to pads the thickness of pancakes and checked that it was fully charged.  All was in order.  Jon gently dropped his coffee into the cup holder, donned his headphones, climbed on the gargantuan machine and turned the key. An almost imperceptible sound occurred as he slowly pulled it out of the storage room, a sound that was unexpected with a machine of this size. One would think a large machine created a “big” sound, but being electric, it was quiet.  The only sound one could hear was the tires humming on the floor or the vacuum running once it was turned on.  Otherwise, this beast was stealthy and silent. 

   Jon was scheduled to clean the hallways on the second floor today. Taking a sip of black energy from his cup, he carefully pulled up to the freight elevator which would lift him two or three floors, depending on where he was headed. The song Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard, drained into his brain via his headphones as he sipped his coffee and waited for the elevator to open.  The muted ding of the elevator announced the arrival of the car and Jon carefully backed the Aggressor inside.  The door shut and Jon and his mechanical floor cleaning bull rose upward.

   Arriving at the second floor, Jon exited the car and reconnoitered his surroundings.  A large open area lay ahead of him as wide as the plains of Nebraska, and hallways paralleled this open area on both sides disappearing into the distance until the walls appeared to meet at one point.  A teacher leaving his room at the far end looked like an ant in comparison to his surroundings.  This is when Jon appreciated his machine that would do the work and not his body. His head slowly bouncing up and down like a bobble-head toy in sync with his music, Jon quaffed his coffee, flipped the switches for vacuum, scrubbing and dispensing solution and headed across the open plains of concrete that lay ahead.

   Since school was out and most teachers had gone home, Jon cruised at a slightly higher speed than he normally would.  Whenever people were around, Jon made sure to drive slower to avoid any accidents. The Aggressor was big enough that Jon felt he could probably suck up anything, including a person who might fall in front of him.  That he didn’t need.  A speedometer built into the console showed that Jon was cruising at eight miles per hour.  The max was ten, but it was recommended that this speed never be used unless one were in a large open area where 360 degrees of vision were possible, and no people were around. Jon flipped the switch for the extendable front brushes and they slowly emerged from underneath the machine as if they were animals cautiously exiting a cave.  Pads intact and spinning at full speed, Jon snugged his machine up to the wall.  The pads hugged the baseboard as Jon zipped along.  Doorways passed Jon’s peripheral vision every couple of seconds and classrooms came and went from sight like movie frames on old 8mm filmstock. 

   Jon cruised down one hallway, swung the machine around and headed back down the other side, head bobbing, coffee in hand, eyes on the “road”.  Things were going smoothly, and Jon was feeling good.  Jon finished one hallway in about 20 minutes. His water level was around half, and his wastewater tank was not quite 40% full.  He was fine.  Jon drove around the last corner and started down the opposite hallway.  Accelerating, Jon decided to max out his machines cruising abilities and he watched as the speedometer climbed to ten miles per hour. Jon’s hair blew in the breeze as he flew down the hall.  Jon glanced down to set his coffee back in its holder and in that instant of time failed to see a teacher at the far end of the hall open his door and go inside. By the time Jon looked up a second later, the hallway still looked clear and Jon had travelled nearly 15 feet.  The average width of a classroom was 30 feet, so Jon was passing rooms every two seconds.  Schools Out by Alice Cooper filled Jon’s brain as he head-banged his way down the hall.  The teacher who had entered his room was eight rooms away or 16 seconds from where Jon drove.  Unbeknownst to Jon, the teacher was only putting some teaching materials on his desk and then he was leaving to go home.  Twelve seconds and counting.  Eight seconds. Six seconds. Four. Two.

   The hum of the Aggressor’s tires on concrete, the cacophony of the vacuum motor and the rock-and-roll music thrumming through Jon’s brain drowned out any sounds of the door to room 222 opening.  As Horace Hamilton stepped out of his room, Jon was upon him like a cat on a mouse.  In a split second, Jon realized there was a person stepping out of the classroom door and his brain sent signals at the speed of lightning to his arms and hands to turn the wheel in the opposite direction. Jon did so and avoided hitting Hamilton head on, but not before the extendable brush sailed over the top of Hamilton’s new tennis shoes leaving black, wet marks on the surface and creating a look of shock on his face. The extended brush slammed into the door frame and the force of the impact ripped the entire brush mechanism from the machine.  Pieces of metal, screws, springs and other mechanical paraphernalia flew out from underneath the Aggressor.  The machine bounced over the top of several pieces and the brush which was torn loose flew and slammed into the wall where it left a deep indentation in the sheetrock. Jon’s first thought was “oh no.  Another hole to fix.”

   Traumatized by such a close call, and with his feet throbbing from the weight of the brushes that had just mowed over his feet, Hamilton stumbled backwards into his room as he watched the back of Jon’s head and the Aggressor go by and turn wildly to the right headed straight for the stairwell.

   Jon, reeling from the close call and his heart pounding in his chest like a bass drum, struggled to get control of the machine.  With all sense of direction shattered and his thoughts tangled like a poorly wrapped skein of yarn, Jon forgot where the brake was or the emergency button to shut down the machine.  Still moving at 10 mph, Jon saw the stairwell looming larger and larger as he raced full-tilt toward them.  His feet pushing hard into the floor of the Aggressor trying to stop the machine with imaginary brakes and his eyes bulging from their sockets, Jon’s mind finally coalesced into some semblance of normalcy and sent signals to his fingertips directing him to push the huge red emergency button, NOW!  Jon scrambled to obey the nerve impulses directing him to do so and he finally slammed his fist down on top of the button.  It clicked and the machine shut down, but the momentum and weight of the Aggressor continued to carry him forward toward the top tread of the stairs.

   Sweat instantly popped from Jon’s forehead and slithered down his face in large drops creating rivulets of dark lines where sweat traversed through dirt on Jon’s face.  Jon cranked the wheel of the Aggressor to avoid going over the edge but not before he hit the edge of the handrail next to the stairs that created a protective overlook above the second floor.  Jon breathed a small sigh of relief in hopes that the ricochet of the hit would send him sliding parallel to the stairs and not perpendicular to them.  Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.  Although the single, front wheel of the Aggressor slid parallel to the top step, the back-right wheel dropped off the edge and continued to slide as the huge machine twisted sideways.  The back wheel kept the machine from continuing forward and moving away from the stairs, but instead held it in place the way a railroad car wheel flange or projecting edge on the circumference of the wheel keeps it on the rail. As the back end of the Aggressor slid to a stop against the stairwell wall, the machine began to slide backwards.   Jon leaned forward trying to act as a counterbalance to the machine so that the $18,000 monster would not bounce down the stairs.  It didn’t work.  The machine started sliding faster and within seconds Jon’s head again looked like a bobblehead, but not due to music this time.  Instead, each bounce over each stair shook Jon to the core.  Holding on for dear life, Jon rode the Aggressor like a bucking bronco at the rodeo.  Jon’s cup of steaming coffee bounced out of the holder and landed in his lap.  Now, not only was Jon bouncing up and down because of the stairs, he was also trying to cool his smoking manhood and blistering legs.

   Jon’s view up the steps was horrifying since he had no control over his machine. All he could do was hold on for dear life and hope the Aggressor didn’t flip over on top of him.  With a death-grip on the steering wheel, Jon continually whipped it back and forth trying to compensate for the backward momentum of the machine while he desperately tried to keep it upright.  Unfortunately, Jon felt the machine accelerating faster as it raced toward the lower landing, each bump adding a little more energy to his descent toward potential death.

   As Jon’s momentum increased, his anxiety level and grip on the steering wheel increased exponentially. Since Jon couldn’t see behind him, he didn’t know if anyone was standing at the bottom of the steps.  Although the noise he was creating as the Aggressor banged, thumped, squealed, screamed and filled the air with myriad sounds of horror, he knew that only a handful of staff were likely to hear since it was in the evening and most of them had gone home. His mind reeling, the neurons firing faster than lightspeed as his thoughts tried to coalesce into some logical way out of this predicament and his body’s tension strung so taut that a single prick of his physical “string” would snap it in two, Jon was on the razors edge of exploding. 

   Calculating how far he was from the bottom of the stairs based on the number of steps he had already passed, Jon figured he’d hit bottom in less than two seconds.  Because the human mind processes thoughts at such a high rate of speed, it was able to scan the steps he’d already descended and ascertain the damage that the machine had inflicted on the treads and risers. Chunks of rubber had been torn loose or were missing, pieces of splintered wood that acted as underlayment were scattered across the plains of stair tread, trim on the front edge of several stairs hung limp over the edge of the risers like spaghetti noodles over the edge of a cooking pot and paint was scratched from the railing in several places.  Oddly, he also thought how much work it would take to fix all of this, what the principal would say, how much it would cost, what the staff would say, how his supervisor would react to yet another “Jon” incident, and what might happen to him when he crashed.  And all of those thoughts within ½ a second. 

   Two seconds later Jon crashed backwards onto the first-floor landing. The front of the machine crashed onto the concrete with a sickening thud.  The sound of crunching metal, breaking parts and splitting plastic echoed through the hallway.  The force of the plummet down the stairs and the sudden jarring of the Aggressor caused the 1000-watt LED light to turn on with the intensity of a lighthouse beacon.  The brilliant beam illuminated the stairs and surrounding area with luminosity unlike anything the school lighting could produce. It was as if the sun had risen inside the building.  Jon winced and shielded his eyes from the blinding photons.  A box of crayons had been left on a table near the stairwell and began to melt into a colorful puddle as the beam of light pummeled the box and everything around it. 

   Horace saw and heard the ungodly sound of Jon careening down the staircase and limped quickly across the floor to check on Jon’s condition. Looking down the stairs, Horace could not see anything except an effulgent aura of light filling all the lower landing and surrounding areas. The transition lenses in his glasses instantly darkened due to the intense light emanating from below.  Squinting, he could barely make out Jon’s silhouette sitting on the Aggressor.

   “Are you okay?” Horace yelled.

   A few seconds went by and Jon replied with a weak and defeated voice.

   “Yes, I’m fine.  Just embarrassed and mad at myself.  I’ll be okay.”

   Horace didn’t say anything else knowing there wasn’t much he could do. He turned and limped away to lock his room and head home.

   Jon fumbled with the console trying to find the switch to turn off the light. Lambently, he ran his fingers over the switches.  Finding what he thought was the light switch, he clicked it.  The light did not go off, but a terrible growl and shriek of metal squealed in his ears.  Quickly pushing the switch again, he found it would not move.  Something had shorted out and the switch was now stuck in the “on” position.  The squeal and scream of metal on metal got louder.  The Aggressor began to shake violently as if Jon were on a bucking Bronco.  He grabbed the steering wheel and tried to find the emergency button which somehow had been released when the machine slammed into the floor so he could shut the machine off. Locating it, he slammed his fist down onto it again, but the button flew off and skittered down the hall.  The machine was saltating so badly Jon could hardly hold on.  Then, with an ear-piercing scream of metal ripping loose, Jon felt something underneath break away.  As it did so, a whizzing sound as if someone had spun a digeridoo overhead reached his ears and rapidly decreased in sound as something flew down the hallway.  Suddenly the light went out and Jon turned his head just in time to see the second pad holder and pad and part of the undercarriage of the machine flying at high speed into the distance.  He watched in horror as it smashed into the display case housing the awards and achievements of all the staff members who had gone to school there and come back as teachers and administrators.  The glass shattered, the pad holder embedded itself in the back of the display case and several of the plaques fell to the floor and splintered into a million pieces.  Jon felt vanquished as he dropped his head into his hands. 

   Climbing slowly from the Aggressor, Jon carefully stepped away from the machine and turned around. He surveyed the damage around him and that on the stairs.  His hear sank in his chest as yet another misadventure was notched into his belt. Not the kind of recognition he was desiring.  Picking up his phone, Jon defeatedly dialed the number of the school principal, Vance, to explain to him what happened.  Over the years, Jon had had his share of accidents and mishaps, but this one was going to be bad.  The cost of the new machine, the damage to the building and the destruction of the treasured display case were all going to add up to some very serious discussions behind closed doors.  Jon feared he may have drawn his last straw as a custodian at the school.  The phone rang and Vance picked up on the first ring.

   “Jon!”, Vance said in a chipper voice.  “What did you break now?” 

   Jon was stunned.  Was his track record that bad that Vance knew instantly the phone call was not good but bad?

   “I was testing the new cameras and saw you zip by on the new Aggressor”, Vance explained.  “Then you disappeared out of the cameras range. When I clicked on the next camera in line, I saw some smoke and dust near the stairwell, but you weren’t around.  So, I figured you must have broken something.  Hopefully nothing too important.”

   Jon’s heart felt like lead.  Where should he begin?

   “Well, it’s like this.”

   The meeting with Jon was set for the next morning at 8 a.m.

Lesson Nineteen: "Oh, Deere!"

            Sweat rolled off Jon’s head like beads of mercury running down an incline.  They glistened in the sunshine as the roar of the John Deere Gator echoed off the walls of the school. Moving at top speed, Jon was headed back to his office to unload the extractor, carpet cleaning tools and the “holy” rug that he’d ruined while cleaning an ink spot off it in the library.  The school principal, Vance, was out for blood when he realized that Jon had inadvertently splashed ink on the back of his light tan suit pants.  Thus, the reason he was moving at high speed; to escape Vance’s wrath.

            As Jon roared around the corner of the school, the rolled up, expensive, foreign, gifted-from-an-African-school area rug with a large hole in it flew off the back of the Gator.  It unfurled and flew like a magic carpet, the ends undulating in the breeze as it floated and fell to earth.  Jon glanced in his rearview mirror just in time to see it land on the pavement as a large Fed Ex delivery truck was leaving. The truck barreled over the rug.  In horror, Jon watched as the rug rolled around the large dual wheels on the back of the Fed Ex trailer and flopped around like an unwound slinky.  Unbeknownst to the driver, the rug became entangled in the undercarriage of the truck, but because the construction of the rug was nothing compared to the momentum, force and speed of the truck, it simply shredded and tore like tissue paper.  Chunks of the rug flew from underneath the truck as tattered faces of the animals which once graced its surface were left strewn on the road.  Jon’s heart sank like a millstone in the sea.

            Reaching his office, Jon quickly unloaded the carpet equipment.  Climbing back into the Gator, Jon’s plan was to get back to the shed where the Gator was stored and park it before Vance saw him. He just didn’t want any confrontation right now. 

            The Gator was stored in a shed behind the school and down a slight incline.  Jon needed to drive down the small hill, over a small bridge that spanned a creek and through a gate that opened onto a large field which the district planned on using for future construction projects as more students enrolled.  The shed was just beyond the gate and to the right. It also housed some extra equipment, building materials and other oddball things that could be used for other schools.

            Jon started the Gator and the deep, throaty sound of the diesel engine reverberated off the school walls. Jon cranked the wheel around and headed for the shed.  About half-way across the parking lot, Jon’s ears picked up the distant sound, although muffled under the roar of the diesel engine, of a “woofing” sound, almost like a heavy blanket being dropped on the floor. He glanced around and looked in all three of his mirrors, but didn’t see anything.  Barreling forward, Jon heard the sound again, this time louder.  Again, he glanced over his shoulder, looked in his mirrors and scanned the landscape around him trying to ascertain where the sound was coming from.  Nothing.

            As Jon neared the crest of the hill wherein he would start his descent toward the bridge, a sudden ROAR occurred right next to his left ear.  Jon jumped in his seat as he turned to stare into the fangs of the stray dog that he thought had left the property a few months previously.  Obviously, the dog had returned to seek revenge for his prior ice-sliding escapade into the curb during icy weather. The dog was jumping and leaping at Jon as it raced alongside the Gator.  Jon could feel the heat of its breath on his face and felt the tug and heard the tear of cloth as the dog sunk his teeth into Jon’s shirt while leaping from the pavement.  If Jon’s heart hadn’t already had quite the workout from his encounter with Vance, it surely did now.  Had he been connected to an EEG machine, his heart rate would have looked like a high-frequency readout on the screen of an oscilloscope, the waves and crests so close together that it was hard to tell where they started and stopped.

            In an endeavor to escape the mobile, teeth-encased, canine-head which was lunging and snapping next to his ear, Jon stomped on the accelerator and the Gator lurked forward with increased speed.  Glancing in his side mirror, Jon watched as Beowulf’s stature decreased in size and eventually slowed and turned to gallop off toward some other interest he’d suddenly been intrigued by. Jon breathed a sigh of relief and let off on the accelerator as the Gator barreled down the hill at 30 mph.  Scenery continued to whiz by Jon as he suddenly realized that the lifting of his foot off the foot-feed had done nothing to slow his speed.  Looking down at the speedometer, Jon’s heart began to race once again as his brain sent signals through his body warning him of impending danger.  The speedometer now read 36 mph and it continued to climb.  Frantically, Jon used his toes to try and pull up on the accelerator.  Nothing happened.  Panic rising in his body, Jon tried again.  The speedometer climbed higher as his descent down the hill’s incline and the effect of gravity increased his acceleration.  40 mph.  Jon’s hair was now horizontal as the wind blowing through the open cab caught each strand and lifted it up creating a streamer-like effect.  Jon’s mind was racing with ideas of how he could unstick the accelerator.  The bridge was a mere 100 yards away.

            Jon stretched out his right hand while holding the steering wheel with his left hand and he cautiously bent down to try and pull the gas pedal up with his fingers.  His eyes were barely able to peek over the dash, much like two large suns on the horizon at sunrise. His bent body ached as his muscles stretched, stretched and stretched some more.  His fingertips were able to just brush the edge of the gas pedal.  Jon had only millimeters to go before his ridged fingertips would be able to grasp the underside of the pedal and pull upward. Jon’s mind willed his body to stretch like Gumby and stretch just a hair more.  His fingers slipped underneath the edge of the pedal.  Jon’s mind breathed a sigh of relief and he pulled. 

            The Gator continued to race down the hill. The speedometer now read 44 mph.  When Jon pulled upward, nothing happened. Pulling harder, Jon willed more strength from his muscles and pulled with concentrated effort. Still nothing.  He gave it one more go.  With a sudden “snap” Jon flew backwards in his seat. His head bounced off the back window and the Gator swerved just briefly as Jon arrested control from the laws of nature.  In his right hand he held the broken accelerator pedal.  Glancing down at the floorboard, Jon noticed the metal rod that connected the accelerator to the carburetor. It was still pushed all the way to the floor.  The edge of the rod was stuck under the edge of the hole through which the rod entered.  There was no way he could release the rod without being on his hands and knees and probably using tools to do so. Jon figured this was the end as the bridge was a mere 50 feet away.  At this speed he’d cross it in less than a second.  Jon’s mind was able to send signals to his body faster than the rate at which he was traveling, so a sudden “thought” occurred to him. HIT THE BRAKES!

            Jon, in his panicked state, had not thought to implement this simple step.  His right foot raised, and he stomped on the brake.  The Gator’s wheels locked up and the Gator began to slide forward.  But not fast enough as he skidded across the bridge and became airborne on the other side. Flying, Jon glanced out the side window at the ever-receding ground below.  Sweat raced around Jon’s head as if each droplet were in competition with his race down the hill.  The Gator was some 12 feet off the ground as it exited the far side of the bridge and floated in the air languidly for a few seconds.  As it began to descend toward the ground, Jon braced for impact.

            When the front wheels hit the ground, the momentum and sudden impact sent Jon’s body forward only to be restrained by his seatbelt.  Jon was so glad he’d strapped in this time.  Normally he just jumped in and drove.  The front tires compressed almost to the wheel and then resumed their normal shape as the back of the Gator came crashing down to the ground.  As they rebounded from the impact, the entire Gator bounced back into the air like a rubber ball and Jon looked like a kernel of popcorn inside an air popper as he was thrown up, down, left, right, forward and backward as all the forces of momentum and gravity played their roles. 

            The Gator resumed a normal driving position and continued forward releasing the last of its acceleration and forward movement. Large swaths of dirt and gravel spewed from all four wheels due to Jon’s slamming on the brakes.  Unfortunately, the sudden descent and force of hitting the ground from such a height had jerked the steering wheel from Jon’s hands.  The Gator’s front wheels grabbed the ground and turned toward the right.  As they did so, several lug nuts on the front left wheel were sheared off and flew like bullets across the field, a couple ricocheting off the trees that lined the edge of the property.  The wheel, now unsecured, flopped like a fish as the steering wheel shuddered under Jon’s hand.  With forces so immense, Jon was unable to hold on to the wheel.  It was ripped from his grasp and the Gator’s front left tire blew and then flew off the axle. Bouncing across the field, it crashed into a district vehicle that was parked on the field where the grounds crew worked in the woods clearing brush.  A huge dent in the driver’s door would prevent entry and the force of the impact shattered the driver’s side window and cracked the windshield.  Rebounding from the impact, the tire flew off the truck and rolled across the field where is shuddered to rest in the grass. 

            Meanwhile, the Gator dropped to the ground and the axle and undercarriage dug deeply into the ground.  This sudden resistance and continued momentum caused the Gator to stop quicker in the front than the back.  The weight of the Gator’s rear end was forced to overtake the front end and the Gator pirouetted back to front over itself.  Jon, still strapped inside, felt as if he were on a ride at the fair. The scenery around him spun and twisted.  The grounds truck turned upside-down and then right side up as he completed a full rotation inside the cage of the Gator. The momentum was such that a second rotation began, and he rolled again.  This time when the Gator slammed down to the ground, he was upright, and it bounced and wobbled to a complete stop.  Jon sat stunned.

            Steam began to rise from the hood and smoke trailed out behind the Gator.  Jon’s mind was reeling, and it took him a few seconds to get his bearings.  When the smell of diesel assaulted his nose, Jon knew he needed to get out of the Gator.  Unbuckling his seatbelt, Jon tumbled sideways out of his door and landed on the ground.  He crawled, stumbled and tripped his way away from the totaled machine.  Hearing a loud “bang”, Jon turned to see what the noise was. 

            Staring at the Gator from 25 feet away, Jon watched as black smoke began to grow and expand from underneath the lift-bed behind the cab. It curled out and surrounded the bed like a white blood cell enveloping a deadly bacterium.  The smoke continued to grow and expand until Jon could no longer see the Gator. All that was visible was a black, roiling cloud of putrid diesel-laden fumes climbing higher and higher into the sky.  Jon expected the worst.  Crab-crawling backwards, Jon was able to distance himself some 50 feet from the Gator when a thunderous “boom” and accompanying fireball roared into the sky.  The concussion from the blast knocked Jon on his butt. The heat created by the explosion of diesel raced over Jon singeing his hair.  His eyebrows instantly disintegrated and his hair curled into a tiny forest of Bear grass.  His face blackened as if he were some lost chimney sweep and his clothes instantly absorbed the greasy, burnt odor of burning fuel. 

            As the mushroom cloud rolled into the sky and then dissipated leaving a burning pile of rubber and steel, the grounds crew came racing out of the woods. 

            “What the…?”, yelled Antonio, a Hispanic 32-year-old from Guatemala.  He’d worked for the district for 10 years and knew Jon well.

            His coworker, Mortimer, a 69-year-old man of German descent stumbled out behind him.

            “Holy Cow! What in the world happened?”

            “I have no idea,” Antonio yelled above the roar of the fire. 

        "It looks like some vehicle.  I can’t tell though due to the flames engulfing it,” Mortimer hollered.

            Antonio just wagged his head in agreement.  Wondering if someone was hurt, Mortimer and Antonio cautiously made their way closer to the burning mass. The intense heat kept them from getting too close, but they were able to scrutinize the pile.  Slowly walking in a circle around the unexpected bonfire, both men carefully looked for any victims.  As they reached the far side of the melting mass, they noticed movement in the distance as they stared through the flickering flames. 

            “Look,” Antonio yelled elbowing Mortimer in the ribs. “There’s someone lying in the grass over there.” Antonio pointed his grass-stained finger in the direction of Jon. 

            “Who is it?” Mortimer queried. 

            “I don’t know, but we better go look and see if they’re hurt,” Antonio replied.

        The two grounds employees quickly ran around the quickly diminishing pile of rubble and toward the figure on the grass.  Reaching Jon, both men stopped in their tracks.  Before them sat a blackened, eyelash-missing, fuzzy-headed scalp of a man. Staring up at them, Jon’s cracked lips parted to speak, but not before some skin from both lips was left stuck to the opposite lip as burnt flesh peeled from one to the other.  Jon grimaced in pain.

            “Water,” Jon moaned.  “I need some water.”

            Mortimer, always the health-conscious employee, reached down and pulled a water-bottle out of his cargo pants pocket.  Handing it to Jon, he opened it with black, crayon-like fingers and gingerly took a drink.  Water dribbled out of his mouth and over his numb lips as he tried to quench his thirst. Handing the bottle back, Jon slumped in a heap and just stared dumb-founded at Mortimer and Antonio.

            “What happened?” asked Antonio?  “We heard a loud crash and then as we were running out of the woods to see what was going on there was a ‘boom’ and a ball of flame rolled into the sky.  Did you roll the Gator?”

            Jon’s eyes stared at the ground darting here and there like lighthouse beacons warning ships at sea of danger.  Slowly, he raised his head to look at his two colleagues.  Like some broken bobble-headed doll, Jon looked from one to the other.  His eyes were dark and lost.  His stare indicated confusion, anguish and his penetrating look at Antonio and Mortimer indicated he wasn’t sure who they were.  He tried to speak, but babble emanated from his mouth.  His tongue was thick, as if he had a mouth full of thick paste.  His mind wouldn’t clear.  It seemed like his brain was disconnected and floating in an unseen and black void. 

            About this time, Vance appeared at the top of the small incline and stood on the bridge surveying the situation.  An orange ball of fire crackled and popped, smoke wisped into the sky and two figures and a crumpled man dotted the field to the left of the disaster. Vance was perplexed as to what happened.  Recognizing Antonio and Mortimer, Vance quickly jogged down the incline toward them.  As he neared the trio, he suddenly recognized Jon, dark, lightly smoldering and confused sitting at the feet of the grounds employees.  Vance stood dumbfounded. He looked at the fire and was able to make out the frame of a vehicle.  In the distance he noticed a tire lying on the field.  The tread on the tire triggered a picture in Vance’s mind, a picture of the Gator racing away from him with a custom-made rug in the bed.  Vance had no idea how things went from a runaway Gator with Jon at the wheel to the Gator in ruins burning on the field and Jon charred and crumpled sitting at his feet.

            Jon noticed the feet of a man from the corner of his eye.  Slowly scanning the highly polished shoes and moving upward along the upright frame, Jon’s eyes at last met Vance’s eyes pupil to pupil. Vance looked at Jon forlornly.  His countenance was one of sadness, empathy and disbelief.  Jon looked back with the face of a sad and dejected puppy. 

            “Really Jon? Really?”

            Jon just stared at Vance, almost through him. With cracked and bleeding lips, he hoarsely said, “Yes Vance.  Really.”

            “Are you okay?” 

            Vance was truly concerned, although given the long history of Jon’s mishaps it didn’t surprise him that Jon had done something foolish and potentially dangerous again. 

            “I’ll be fine,” Jon said.  His head was clearing, and his mental lucidity was reshaping itself inside his mind.  Jon was beginning to grasp what had happened and the pain associated with the accident was beginning to surface throughout Jon’s body. 

            “I just need to rest and cleanup a bit,” Jon said.

         “You’re sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”, Vance asked. Red and his team will be here momentarily to teach a CPR class to some of the staff.  I can have him check you over.

            Red was a paramedic that Jon had had encounters with multiple times. Jon really, really did not want to face him again and try to explain what had happened.  To assuage Vance’s concerns, Jon said that he’d talk to Red if he got worse or found something amiss when he got moving again. Vance agreed. 

            Antonio and Mortimer said they’d clean up the mess after it burned down, and Vance said he’d let Risk Management know so that the insurance process could be started.  Jon slowly rose to his feet and stretched.  His back aching and his body pulsing with pain, Jon winced, but toughed it out so as not to look like a wimp in front of his colleagues.  Vance eyed Jon one more time, told him to take care and turned to leave.  A slight breeze blew through the field and a small beautifully woven giraffe drifted down and landed on Vance’s shoulder.  Reaching up, Vance glanced at the piece of fabric.  Then the sudden realization of what it was and where it came from registered in his brain.  Vance turned, his face red and taut. He wanted to grab Jon by the throat realizing what had happened to the gorgeous gift the African school had donated to their building.  But upon seeing Jon’s beaten and haggard body and his pathetic ebonized face, Vance held his temper, turned around and stiffly walked up the hill. 

            Jon subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.  Antonio and Mortimer walked back toward the woods.  A dog barked.  Then growled.  Then lunged.  Jon’s half-burned pants were ripped from his body.  The dog, satisfied to have a “piece” of Jon, violently shook the pants to kill them completely. Growling, twirling in circles and walking backwards, the dog finally turned and ran off into the woods with Jon’s trousers in tow as his new “prize”.  Jon stood there, befouled, muscles burning, face aching, lips bleeding, pant-less and so worn out.  What a day! Jon thought, What a Day!  Jon slowly clambered up the hill, a stick of a man, half-dressed and beaten down. 

            Trudging upwards, Jon heard Mortimer bellow in the distance.

            “Our truck! What in the world happened?  Look at this Antonio.  Look. At. This.”

            Jon didn’t dare turn around.  He just kept walking.  Tomorrow was another day.  And it had to be better than this one.    

Lesson Eighteen: He Had No "Ink"ling

              The sun was beaming through the window of the library as Jon walked the building early in the morning before school started. He was unlocking rooms and getting school ready before classes started in another hour or so.  With a skip in his step, Jon felt good. It was going to be a good day.  It was Friday, and the sun was out. What more could you ask. 

            As Jon passed rows and rows of books lining the library shelves with topics ranging from science to fantasy to reference books on myriads of subjects, he noticed a black spot on the carpet near the end of one of the bookshelves.  Jon stopped in his tracks. The spot appeared to be a spider.  Spiders didn’t worry Jon too much, but he wasn’t real fond of them either.  Cautiously he inched forward wary that the arachnid might launch itself off the floor and onto his face wherein tiny spider fangs would sink into his skin and cause an infection or give him some hideous scar.  When he was within a couple of feet, Jon exhaled a sigh of relief realizing that this wasn’t a spider after all.  It was just a black spot on the carpet.

            Must be a piece of paper,” Jon thought.

        He reached down to pick it up, but all his fingers touched were carpet fibers, nylon carpet fibers. 

            What in the world, Jon muttered to himself. 

            Jon got down on his hands and knees to examine the spot closer.  Gently picking at the fiber, Jon’s mind realized that this was some spot of something, but he didn’t know what.  Mud?  Paint? Marker? Mold?  Jon prayed it wasn’t mold.  Mold was a four-letter word, literally, but metaphorically as well. Jon knew that you did not want to mention mold and school in the same sentence.  That just opened another can of worms.

            Jon stood up and stretched his back.  He glanced at the digital clock on the wall.  It was surrounded by posters portraying all sorts of things.  Movie ads, school-related quips, encouragement to read more and use technology wisely and so on. Ignoring all of that, Jon’s eyes focused on the time. 7:09 a.m. School started at 8:15 a.m. He had time.

            Jon finished his rounds in quick order and then stopped at his office to grab some spotter a few rags and a couple other carpet cleaning items.  Should be quick work dealing with this spot, he thought.  Jon re-entered the library, cleaning chemicals in hand.  Kneeling on the carpet next to the black spot, Jon prepped his tools.  Opening the spotter bottle, Jon carefully poured some on a rag. He then gently dabbed the black spot which was about the size of a pea.  Picking up the rag, Jon noticed a lot of black had transferred from the carpet to the rag.  Great! He thought.  This should take no time at all. 

            Jon added a little more spotter to the rag and dabbed it again. More black appeared on the rag, but the spot had now begun to grow. Jon’s forehead wrinkled with concern.  The pea-sized spot was now just a little smaller than a dime.  The black color had not lessened any either. It was still just as dark as night.  He put some more spotter on his rag and dabbed it again.  This time the spot grew to about the size of a penny and blacker residue befriended the rag.

            Why is this growing and not coming out, Jon mumbled.

            This time, to speed up the process and take care of this spot quickly, Jon squirted the spotter directly on the carpet.  As he did so, the spot grew larger.  It was now the size of a quarter and just as black as before. Jon panicked.  Then it hit him.

            This must be ink. 

            Now Jon was worried.  Ink was a pain to remove and to do so properly, one needed to use an extractor with water to rinse and suck the ink out of the carpet while the spotter broke it down.  If this was not done, then the ink spot would spread bigger and bigger. Jon thought about it for a minute.  He then decided he could probably take care of this spot with a rag by blotting and stepping on the rag to transfer the liquified ink into the microfiber material.  So, Jon squirted more spotter on the black spot.

            When Jon did so, the ink spot grew again.  Quickly, he placed the rag over the spot and began putting weight on it to transfer the ink to the rag.  Removing the rag, Jon noted that some of the ink had indeed transferred to the rag and was beginning to disappear.  He added a bit more spotter and repeated the process. Again, the rag absorbed more ink. Jon’s heart slowed a beat as he began to relax with the assurance that the ink might just be removed more easily than he thought.  He continued this process for another five minutes. The ink continued to lighten, but not completely. Jon decided to try a different spotter.

            Carefully squirting the next spotter in his carpet cleaning arsenal on the spot, Jon watched as the black spot bloomed darker once more. This spotter had more “kick” and had loosened more ink molecules than the previous spotter.  Ink that had been absorbed by the carpet backing was now being released without hindrance into the carpet fibers.  Capillary action was pulling the ink from the back to the tips of the fibers. Jon’s heart picked up a beat. Quickly he began blotting the spot with his rag.  Drops of sweat fell to the dark void and quickly disappeared as if they were being absorbed by a man-made black hole.  Jon continued working feverishly to remove the spot knowing full well that he really, really needed to get the extractor.  But his pride and determination moved him to continue with his quest.

            “Hey Jon!  What’s up?”

            The voice of the school principal, Vance, was not what Jon wanted to hear. A fear gripped Jon like some hand around the neck of a deadly snake whom one didn’t dare let go of for fear of being bitten.

            “Hi Vance.  Just cleaning up a spot here on the carpet.”

            Fortunately, Jon had the spot covered with the rag, so Vance did not see the full extent of the ink spot underneath. The spot was now the size of a small pancake. 

            “Always appreciate your determination and pride in taking care of our school.  You keep it looking great despite the constant use and wear and tear it receives.  Keep up the excellent work!”

            Vance’s face emitted rays of positivity as he beamed at Jon on his knees. 

            “Don’t mind me,” Vance said.  “I have a couple things to look at before a meeting with the School Board.”

            Vance sat down at a table near Jon and opened his laptop. 

            Jon’s anxiety ratcheted up several notches like a thermometer dropped in boiling water.  He just wanted to finish this job and be done with it.  Turning back to his task at hand, Jon squirted more spotter on the ink.  Then he began to use a tamping brush to “pull” the ink to the surface of the carpet where he could blot it up.  With quick, swift snaps of his wrist, Jon tamped the ink and watched it get darker and darker.  He blotted more ink.  Then he added more spotter and tamped again.  He repeated this process several times.  The ink lightened, but still had a dark hue to it.  Jon stopped to rest. 

            Stretching his back and neck, Jon closed his eyes as he tipped his head back and forced his chest forward to create an arch in his back. Several “pops” and “cracks” occurred as his back straightened out.  Leaning forward and opening his eyes, Jon’s heart almost popped out of his chest and onto the floor.  Sitting in front of him at the table, his back to Jon was Vance.  On the back of Vance’s light tan suit pants were a multitude of little black spots that made them look like spotted leopard legs.  In his haste to finish removing the ink and because of his constant tamping of the ink spot, he did not realize that tiny droplets of ink had been flying and landing on Vance’s pant legs. Vance had no idea what had happened since the spots were so light he would never feel then landing on his clothes.  Jon was horrified.  What should he do?

            At that moment Vance stood up and stretched. 

            Looking at his watch he said, “Time to get going.  Meeting starts in five in the conference room.  Good seeing you Jon.  Thanks again for all your hard work.”

            Stammering, Jon replied, “Thanks.  I try.”

            Vance picked up his laptop and walked toward the door. Jon’s deflated heart fell to the bottom of his ribcage as he watched the Leopard-Legged Administrator walk out the door.  He had no idea what Vance would say or do when he found the spots.

            Giving up on the idea that he’d be able to remove the spot with just rags and spotters, Jon clambered to his feet and went to get his extractor. Walking across the new white area rug that was decorated with beautiful animals and fauna which had been donated by an African school group that had visited his building the week before, Jon walked out the door.

            Reaching his office and equipment storage area, he filled up the extractor, grabbed the wand and some more rags, picked up more spotters, grabbed a high-speed blower to dry the rug when finished and walked back to the library. 

As he opened the door, his eyes were drawn to the area rug like metal orbs to a powerful magnet. He couldn’t move them. They were riveted to the carpet as if a tractor beam were pulling them toward its surface.  Right across the middle of the rug were large, black footprints.  As his eyes moved slightly upward to focus on the ink spot, he noted those same footprints on the library carpet. Jon suddenly realized that he’d stepped in the ink spot when he went to get the extractor and that he’d inadvertently tracked the ink out the door. Turning to look behind him, he could see the ever-lightening footprints he’d made a few minutes before. Jon almost puked.

            Jon gave himself a few minutes to get composed and then set to work.  First, he began extracting the carpet with water.  Rinse after rinse removed more and more ink.  He used his spotters and tamping brush several times loosening the ink and then ran the extractor over the area to rinse it thoroughly.  Repeating this for 10 to 15 minutes, Jon was able to remove enough of the ink that it was almost completely gone.  There would always be some ink that had permanently stained the fibers that would never come out, but for the most part it looked clean.  Jon then set up a blower and turning it on he thought about Bernoulli’s Law that was now at work.  That law stated that air moving over the surface of the carpet would create less surface pressure which in turn would allow the moisture to rise to the surface where it would be vaporized as it was whisked away into the surrounding air.  Unfortunately, several magazines and flyers were also affected and blew off the shelves and all over the floor.  Jon repositioned the blower and cleaned up the mess.  Now to cleaning the area rug. 

            Jon started working on the darkest of the spots.  Again, he used spotters, the tamping brush and the extractor. The first spot was the darkest, so Jon had to use more spotter than succeeding spots would dictate needed to be used.  As Jon squirted spotter, tamped and extracted, the spot started fading.  After another five minutes, Jon could see the spot disappearing.  He also noted on the last stroke of his extractor wand across the affected area that several carpet fibers suddenly pulled out of the carpet and whooshed up the wand and into the extraction waste tank. 

            “Holy”, Jon didn’t finish his defamatory outburst.   A large hole gaped at Jon. Ragged along the edges, it was the size and relative shape of a shoe.  Jon was flabbergasted.  What had happened?

            Jon stopped, paralyzed and too stunned to move.  Thoughts raced through his mind like rocks being skipped across a pond.  And then one stone hit a tree limb in his minds pond and bounced off the inside of his skull.  This area rug was a high-end rug from another country.  Most expensive rugs had to be cleaned with special cleaners.  His use of spotters and water had over-saturated the backing thus releasing the carpet fibers.  His last wand stroke and the power of the suction had literally pulled the fibers right out of the backing. The backing would eventually begin to dry and in doing so would shrink leaving ripples in the surface. Jon’s heart fell through his ribcage and into his acid-filled stomach.  Waves of nausea swept from his gut to his head.  Jon had ruined an expensive gift from Africa!

            Jon reached down and grabbed the end of the area rug.  He was going to remove it and take it to his office. Maybe he could find someone who could repair it, or maybe he could find a replacement online. As he faced the library door and lifted the opposite end of the rug, his face suddenly appeared in the hole he’d created as he lifted the rug into the air.  At the same time Vance walked back in.

            “Holy”.  Vance didn’t finish his sentence. He stood staring at Jon’s face framed in the hole in the rug.  Animals of all kinds woven into the carpet fabric surrounded Jon’s deer-in-the-headlights face.

            “I know”, Jon said sheepishly. “There’s ink on the carpet.”

            “No”, Vance exclaimed, “I mean there’s a huge hole in the rug.”

            Jon didn’t answer.  He just rolled up the rug as Vance walked toward him.  Vance’s eyes could have burned holes in the rug bigger than the one Jon had created.  He stared at Jon.  Jon stared back. 

            “I’ll get it fixed or replaced”, he said.  “It’s my fault.  I’m so sorry.”

            Vance’s face reddened to the point that Jon thought he might explode like a ripe tomato being stepped on.  What made things worse was that Vance said nothing else.  He just turned and walked away.  Jon watched as the Leopard-Legged Administrator left the room. 

            Jon turned to pick up his equipment and roll up the rug when he heard a distant voice in the hallway. 

            “Hey Vance.  I like your pants.  Is today a practical joke day I wasn’t aware of?”

            “What?” Vance queried.  “What are you talking about?”

            “Your pants.  They look like cat spots.  Are you supposed to be half-cat half-human?”

            “I don’t have…What the!”

            Vance’s exclamatory howl at seeing his pants speckled with ink reverberated down the hallway.  As loud as it was, it could probably be heard all over the school without the use of the intercom system. 

            Jon’s heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings knowing Vance would come looking for him. Leaning down to pick up the rest of his stuff as quickly as possible, Jon heard the animalistic cry of anger and frustration beckoning to him from the hallway. 

            “Jon! Jon E. Mopp! We need to talk, now!”

            Jon finished picking up his stuff and laid the holy rug on his extractor. Then, scurrying as fast as possible, Jon headed out the back door of the library.  He perused his surroundings with rapid eye movements that would be the envy of a chipmunk who’d drunk too much caffeine.  Then he spotted it.  The John Deere Gator parked about 50 feet away.  Quickly he moved all his equipment to the Gator, loaded it into the back with bullet-like speed, jumped in and started it and headed back to his office.  This was one time he WAS NOT going to face Vance until things had cooled down.  He did not want to deal with confrontation or belittling now.  He felt bad enough and needed time to chill.  Stopping on the accelerator, Jon took off. In his rearview mirror he saw Vance’s tomato-colored face pop out from behind the library emergency exit door and saw his arm raised in anger as his form shrunk in size.  Jon’s day could not have gotten any worse.  Or could it? 

Lesson Seventeen: Snakes in the Class

  

             Jon glanced out the hallway window.  It was dark out, and yet it was only 5:00 p.m. He shook his head.  I hate this time of year he thought to himself.  Because it was the middle of winter, darkness enshrouded life early for several months.  It often made work more difficult because Jon couldn’t just do what he needed to do outside because it was too dark to see.  But what could he do?

  Jon’s shift was normally a morning one.  But today, Jon was in late because he’d been called in to deal with a smoke detector problem. And on top of that it was a Friday night. Jon had walked around the building checking to make sure everything was okay after he’d replaced the smoke head and reset the fire panel.  He just wanted to be sure there weren’t any “real fires” that might have started while the fire system was offline for the last hour.

  Jon neared the science wing.  This was his last stop before coding out and heading back home.  It was dark inside the building and the darkness outside created a scenario wherein it was almost like wrapping darkness inside of darkness.  Even his trusty Maglite was having difficulty penetrating the thick gloom.  Of the four science rooms in this area, Jon thought he’d swing through the one farthest from civilization. That science room used to be an old boiler room before the building was remodeled a few years back.  To reach this room Jon had to go down a short hallway that dead-ended at a door.  Going through the door, Jon stepped down four steps into a dark, lab-like area that housed the biology classroom.  Having previously been a boiler room, it contained hidden areas and side rooms where equipment for the heating system used to reside.  Concrete pillars protruded from the floor and pierced the ceiling as they held up part of the building overhead.  As Jon cast the light from his flashlight around the room, eerie shadows grew and shrank with the movement of his beam.  Jon stepped inside.

  Jon didn’t mind the creepiness of this room since he knew the school inside and out. He knew every hidden nook and cranny and had been there long enough to see the building remodeled a couple of times.  So, he knew that where current walls now existed often enclosed empty areas behind them that were blocked off during a reconfiguration. 

  Jon wanted to check this room because the science teacher, Mr. Horace Scarey, not only taught biology, he also had a few animals he kept in his room as part of his curriculum.  He had a few rats, insects, an ant colony, frogs and snakes.  Of the creatures in his room, Jon was most fascinated by the snakes. 

  Jon didn’t like snakes, but he had a compelling intrigue regarding them.  He knew they weren’t slimy, or dangerous, at least not Mr. Scarey’s snakes, but still their ability to slither, creep, crawl and writhe in total silence and with such stealth piqued Jon’s curiosity.  Sometimes during class, Jon would drop by and watch Horace handle the snakes and show the kids.  They were very friendly and accommodating considering how much they were handled.  It’s almost as if they knew they were the center of attention and wanted the adoration given them by the hundreds of kids that saw them each year.

  Jon walked across the room with his Maglite in hand.  Shadows bounced off the walls and cabinets and an occasional glint and reflection of his beam would bounce off one of the glass enclosures on the opposite side of the room.  Jon made his way through the labyrinth of desks and chairs and finally reached the glass snake terrarium.  He looked around and behind the enclosure trying to see where the snakes were hiding.  Since the terrarium was filled with sticks, grass, rocks and other things for the snakes to hide in, it was often difficult to see them.  Plus, the terrarium was rather large measuring two feet wide by two feet high by six feet long.  This gave the serpents plenty of room to move about.  And since there were only two snakes both about two feet long, they could easily curl up and hide without anyone seeing them, although their tiny, beady eyes were probably watching whoever was peering into their enclosure at any given time.

Jon stopped in front of the terrarium and carefully peered inside.  His eyes roved around the enclosure like searchlights scanning the night skies. He looked under the twigs, peered around rocks, searched the clumps of grass and willed the sand to part to expose the hiding places of the snakes.  But to no avail.  Jon could not see them anywhere. Jon stepped back to one end of the terrarium and again scanned the entire length of the terrarium looking for any movement, any indication as to where the slithering creatures might be hiding.  After a solid ten minutes, Jon’s shoulders drooped and he straightened up and stretched his aching lower back. He stood in dismay and utter disbelief realizing that he couldn’t find two small snakes in a finite-sized enclosure. 

As Jon turned to leave and make his way back through the darkened maze of a room, his eye caught movement in the right side of the terrarium. Freezing in place, Jon turned and leaned down to get a closer look.  Again, he saw movement.  And then he saw the snake.  I knew you guys were here somewhere Jon mumbled, a wry smile creasing his face.  But Jon’s mind raced with caution and bewilderment.  His brain told him something wasn’t quite right.  The movement almost looked like it was out-of-sync with the size of the terrarium.  It was as if the movement were farther away, like looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars.  Jon squinted and looked harder.  And then it struck him.  The snake he saw was not in the terrarium.  It was BEHIND the terrarium!

Jon’s heart jumped in his chest so hard that he literally felt it bounce off his rib cage.  Terrified that the snake would crawl around the terrarium and attack him, Jon started backing up very slowly keeping a close eye on the serpent.  In the dim twilight of the room and his flashlight beam, the snake’s eyes glistened like tiny golden jewels as he stared deep into Jon’s soul.  His tiny tongue, forked, long, green and quick flicked in and out of his mouth like a diabetic needle meant to draw blood.  Jon’s eyes looked like huge, golden cookies as he slowly began to leave the room in reverse.

Carefully reaching behind him, Jon cautiously made his way through the maze of desks, chairs and supporting pillars.  Never once did he take his cookies off the jewels that stared back at him in the murky gloom and never once did he blink.  As he retreated some ten feet from the terrarium, Jon suddenly realized something horrifying.  Where was the second snake?

Jon’s heart beat even harder.  It felt as if it was leaving a dent on the underside of his ribs it was pounding so hard.  Frantically he began to glance this way, that way and back again toward the first snake. Jon was so terrified that he failed to ascertain how far backwards he had trekked.  At that moment, Jon miscalculated his steps and tripped over a desk.  Falling backwards, his arms flailing, Jon’s Maglite flew out of his hand and bounced off the wall behind him.  It hit the floor, rolled in a semi-circle and stopped where it shone across the floor toward the counter where the terrarium sat.  The beam was split into several shafts of light as it was cut by the legs of the chairs and desks. This added an eerie luminescence to the room and cast the terrarium in a dark, haunting shadow. 

Sitting up like a Jack-in-the-box, Jon’s eyes immediately were trained on the spot near the terrarium where the jewel-eyed creature had been.  He blinked once, twice, three times but in shock Jon realized the snake was gone.  Now Jon had two serpents to fear in the darkness. 

Crab-walking backwards while trying to regain his stance, he plowed into a pillar behind him dropping him to his butt.  Jon’s furtive eyes quickly moved back and forth with lightning speed scanning the room like a radar beam in search of the missing ophidians. Coming face-to-face with these creatures would almost certainly cause immediate death, or so he felt.

Jon got to his knees and stood up.  Leaning down and quickly retrieving his Maglite, Jon quickly shone the beam in all directions.  He was looking for any movement he could see in this translucent haze.  Jon glanced over his right shoulder toward the classroom door.  Quickly estimating the distance between himself and the door, Jon began to move toward the room’s egress. Ever aware of his situation and what he was in fear of, Jon never once stopped his continual scan of his surroundings.  A sudden noise to his left stopped Jon in his tracks.  A sound like sandpaper on wood filled his ears.  Jon had no idea what was causing the sound, but he didn’t like it.  It ran shivers down his spine.  His arms bubbled with gooseflesh.

Wanting to leave the room even faster than before, Jon turned to run the last few feet to the door.  His Maglite in hand, he turned, stepped forward and was instantly blind!  Jon’s mind raced trying to understand what had happened.  Instinctively he reached up to his eyes to feel for the sudden cause of his loss of vision.  When he did, he felt something smooth and cool on his face and as his hand began to remove it he realized it was one of the snakes that had dropped down from an overhead light and had draped itself across his face.  Jon screamed a silent scream, his voice non-existent and his mouth agape.  Realizing that his hand still held the snake, Jon flung it across the room.  He heard a muffled “thump” as it hit the wall and then heard the tell-tale sounds of the snake brushing against something in the dark as it crawled to who-knew-where. 

Lifting his Maglite once again, Jon shone it toward the exit.  He was only a few feet from escape.  He had four stairs to climb and then freedom.  Quickly his mind calculated what he needed to do.  Run, jump four steps, sail through the door and run as fast as he could to the end of the short hallway.  Within milliseconds of this calculation, Jon’s feet began to move. Oblivious to the obstacles blocking his path, he plowed through desks and chairs toward freedom and safety. But it was not to be.

As his forward momentum propelled him forward, his body followed.  As his front foot left the floor to move and his back leg followed, his eyes saw the golden jewels of the second snake sitting on the penultimate step. He was neatly coiled as if he were a living slinky.  His tongue flicked the air detecting all elements of his surroundings.  Unfortunately, since Jon’s body was already “in flight” with both feet off the floor and his center of balance tipped forward in a position of flight, he couldn’t stop fast enough to avoid the serpent just ahead. 

Trying to throw all his senses and bodily movements in reverse, Jon’s body contorted itself into a pretzel as it tried to stop, turn, twist, jump, and move all at the same time.  His ophthalmic cookies were bigger than ever and his brain pulsed with neural activity at speeds greater than that of light as it tried to signal his body to respond. To an onlooker, Jon’s body looked like some martial arts warrior as it sailed through the air in a twisted, flailing form, gravity slowly dropping him in a beautiful laws-of-nature arc onto the second-to-the-last step just inches ahead. Jon closed his eyes waiting for the impact of his face with the ophidian. 

His mouth agape, his eyes closed and his body in motion, Jon’s face squished squarely into the body of the coiled serpent.  His mouth felt the soft, cool skin of the snake slide across his lips.  His nose could smell the reptilian odor of this coiled, living mass.  His hands attempted to stop his forward momentum but both hit the snake head-on right alongside his face.  As his feet followed the sudden stop of his head and body, he crumpled in a heap on the steps with the snake underneath him.  Jon attempted to scream, but instead got a mouthful of the snake’s body slithering across his tongue.  Jon nearly fainted.

Jon’s brain had shut down the pain portion of his body and was in flee mode.  Scrambling like a newborn on ice, Jon couldn’t stand up quick enough or with any grace whatsoever.  The snake too did not want to die and it was squirming as fast as possible to get away.  However, with his limited vision, all he could do was move in any direction possible!  And he did, right down Jon’s shirt.

Before Jon had stood completely erect, he realized where the snake had gone.  Frantically, he tried to reach in and remove it.  But it was too deep.  The snake had fallen to the bottom of his tucked-in shirt and was burrowing as fast as possible to get out.  Finding a small indentation near Jon’s belt buckle, the two-foot ophidian burrowed his head downward and underneath Jon’s belt.  Jon felt his cool, smooth body sliding across his belly and down his inner thigh.  Instinctively, Jon squealed in terror and ripped at his pants.  The snake continued to move south.  Since Jon’s pants were a bit tighter at the bottom than the top, the snake found the space to move in becoming restrictive.  The snake began to panic.  As it tried to force its way out, it realized the area between the pants and Jon’s skin was tight, maybe too tight.  Making a U-turn, the snake started back up Jon’s leg.  Jon felt what was happening and was jumping up and down trying to dislodge the serpent like a man on a hot plate.  As he did, the snake would fly up and down inside his trousers. Jon screamed like a baby.

The muscles in the snake’s body and his instinctive abilities to navigate rough terrain enabled him to endure the constantly up-and-down movement of Jon’s jumping.  Thus, the snake could continue his ascent creeping toward the top of Jon’s pants.  Jon reached down and ripped his shirt out of his pants in hopes of grabbing the snake and jerking it out of his clothing.  However, Jon’s constant jumping created a comical scene as the snake’s head bobbed in and out of the top of his pants as it tried to extricate itself to freedom.  The Jack-in-the-Pants ophidian had lost some of the mischievous gleam in its eyes. Instead, they had morphed into orbs of blackness.  Dilated jewels of death beamed in and out of Jon’s pants.  Jon tried catching it on each exit from underneath his belt and each time he missed.  Panicked, Jon jumped harder.  The snake in turn squirmed faster and more franticly.  And then, with one mighty jump, the snakes body emerged six inches beyond Jon’s waist-girded, belt-encircled body.  Grabbing the snake by the head, Jon pulled quick and fast removing the snake from his clothing.  In terror, Jon flung it backwards over his head.  In the distance, he heard something like wet bacon slapping against skin.  It was then that he heard the scream of another human.

Jon turned to see who was there.  His shirt torn from his pants and hanging askew, his belt loose from the buckle due to the quick extrication of the serpent, his hair tousled and his eyes now the size of pies, Jon found himself staring into the serpent entwined face of Horace Scarey.  Jon’s heart quit beating and sank to the bottom of his rib cage.  He felt it beating in the pit of his stomach. 

Jon shakily turned around and illuminated the room by turning on the room’s lights.  There, amongst overturned chairs and desks stood Mr. Scarey. He had entered the back of the room from an outside door that was rarely used.  He’d returned to pick up a few things he needed to grade papers over the weekend.  Horace reached up, delicately picked the snake off his face and returned it to the terrarium.  He then scanned the labyrinthine classroom and spotted the second snake coiled in the far corner of the room.  Without saying a word, Horace made his way through the maze of toppled furniture and retrieved the second ophidian.  He put it back in the terrarium, closed the lid and latched the cover tight.  Then he turned to Jon.

Jon hung his head sheepishly. 

“So, what happened here,” Horace asked.

Jon slowly raised his head.  He looked at Mr. Scarey. “I was just locking things up for the night and came in to check on the snakes.  Then I noticed they were out of the terrarium and that’s when all hell broke loose.  I tried to leave but was accosted by these serpents.”

Horace chuckled under his breath. 

“These guys are harmless.  They wouldn’t hurt a flea.  You know that.  You’ve seen me work with these guys for years.”

“I know.  It just freaked me out,” Jon stammered.

Horace continued.  “One of the students must have left the lid unlatched and they escaped.  They’re always looking for a way out.  Sorry they scared you so badly.”

Jon smiled weakly. 

“Sorry.  I didn’t mean to cause trouble and really didn’t mean to throw that snake on your face.  In all the commotion, I didn’t even hear you come in the back way.”

“Don’t worry about it.  No harm done.  Why don’t you get home?  You probably need some rest after this ordeal.”

Jon knew he was right. 

“Thanks Horace.  I do.  See you Monday.”

Horace nodded and turned to get the items he’d come for from his desk.  Jon turned and walked up the four steps into the short hallway.  He locked Horace’s door and headed back toward his office. After signing out for the night, Jon headed home. 

He pulled into his driveway and parked.  As he approached the front door his three-year-old son greeted him at the doorway. 

“Daddy, daddy you’re home!”

“Hi Elmer,” Jon said with a gleam in his eye. He hugged his son and kissed him on the forehead. 

“Daddy.  Look what I have!”

Jon’s eyes looked at his son’s tiny hands.  As if in slow motion Elmer reached out and handed Jon a snake.  Jon almost dropped his boy on the ground.  Jon stared dumbfounded at Elmer.  Then he saw Elmer’s lips moving.  As if hearing him speak like he was under water he heard a distant voice exclaim, “Mommy bought this for me today.  Isn’t it cool!”

           

  

Lesson Sixteen: Dunnekin and Doughnuts

            “Loo”, Jon muttered out loud.  “What a funny word.”  Jon continued reading in his mind from toiletinspector.com.  The word comes from nautical terminology, loo being an old-fashioned word for lee.  The standard nautical pronunciation (in British English) of leeward is looward.  Early ships were not fitted with toilets but the crew would urinate over the side of the vessel.  However, it was important to use the leeward side.  Using the windward side would result in the urine blown back on board: hence the phrases ‘pissing into the wind’ and ‘spitting into the wind’.  Even now most yachtsmen refer to the loo rather than the heads…Other theories are that it derives from the term “gardyloo” (a corruption of the French phrase gardez l’eau loosely translated as “watch out for the water!”) which was used in medieval Edinburgh when chamber pots were emptied from a window onto the street.  However, the first recorded usage of “loo” comes long after this term became obsolete…Also that an early British toilet manufacturer produced a model of cistern named “Waterloo” (in honour of the Battle of Waterloo), and the term derives from ‘going to the Waterloo’, and then abbreviated to simply as ‘going to the ‘loo’. 

Jon chuckled as he sipped his morning coffee.  Yet another day began for Jon as Friday got under way.  The sun was out, the air warm and the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn color as fall slowly overtook summer.  A half-eaten doughnut sat beside Jon as he sat with his feet up on his desk waiting for his shift to start.  He’d gotten to work early as he hadn’t been able to sleep.  So, he picked up some doughnuts and coffee and figured he’d relax a bit before the day began. 

            As Jon read through the website detailing other names for toilets, he laughed to himself at some of the names and their derivations from early languages.

            Lavatory:  The term lavatory, or lav, derives from the Latin, which in turn comes from Latin, to wash. It used to refer to a vessel for washing, such as a sink or wash basin, and so came to mean a room with washing vessels. Since these rooms often also contain toilets, the meaning evolved into its current meaning, namely the polite and formal euphemism for a toilet and the room containing it.

            Jacks: In Tudor England a privy was first referred to as a jakes in 1530. In modern Ireland the cognate term jacks is still used, and is a very common method of referring to the toilet.
            Bog: The bog is a colloquial expression in British English for a toilet. Originally "bog" was used to describe an open cesspit and the word was later applied to the privy connected to it. More wide-spread is the usage bogroll, meaning toilet paper. See also tree bog, not to be confused with the swampland meaning of bog.

            Jon almost choked on his coffee.  “Bogroll”!  That’s a good one, he thought.  I think I’ll start using that term when the staff asks for toilet paper.  “I’m on my way with your bogroll.”  “How many bogrolls do you need?”  “The toilet was clogged with a lot of bogroll.”  Jon shook his head.  That would be pretty funny.  He read on.                      

Dunny: The Dunny is an Australian expression for an outside toilet. The person who appeared weekly to empty the pan beneath the seat was known as the dunnyman. The word derives from the British dialect word dunnekin, meaning dung-house. It is now an informal word used for any lavatory and is most often used referring to drop or pit lavatories in the Australian bush.

            Jon almost lost it when he read “dunnyman”.  Oh man!  Now I can really have some fun.  “Dunnyman is on the way with your bogroll!”  “Jon, we have a clogged toilet in the student’s restroom.”  “Okay, Dunnyman is on the way.”  Jon could just imagine the look on everyone’s face when he started using terms like this.  Hilarious!   Even though he didn’t necessarily empty a pan, his having to clean the toilets and unclog them certified he did basically the same thing.  Jon looked at the clock.  He had five minutes before his shift started.  He scanned the other terms on screen.

            WC for Water Closet.  House of Office.  Khazi.  Netty. John.  Privy.  Crapper.  Vin. Latrine. And Jon figured there were more names not mentioned on this site.  What a hoot!  Jon stood up, stretched and took the last swig of his coffee and finished off his doughnut.  Time to get to work.

            Jon headed out to begin his day of activity.  Everything from work orders to repairs to cleaning the lunchroom to whatever radio calls might come in throughout a typical day.  Then, around 2:00 p.m., Jon got the call.

            “Office to Jon.”

            “Go ahead, this is Jon.”

            “Jon, we have a problem in the boys’ restroom near the admin area.”

            “Okay.  Wet or dry problem?  That will tell me what I need to bring up.”

            “Sounds like it’s wet.”

            “Thanks.  I’ll take a look.”

            Jon went to the nearest custodial closet and grabbed a toilet plunger, some dry absorb compound, a pair of gloves, tongs and some rags.  He never knew what he was going to find, so he wanted to be prepared.  It seemed like every time he was told the mess was huge, it was small and vice-versa.  So, he always went in expecting the worst.

            When Jon entered the restroom, he scanned it for any obvious signs of trouble. Two urinals and two stalls on the left as well as a couple sinks.  Paper towel dispensers to the right looked fine.  No paper or debris on the floor.  Ceiling looked good. No toilet paper wads stuck up there.  No water on the floor.  Jon figured it must be in a toilet.  He gVanced in the two urinals.  Nothing.  First stall.  Toilet looked good.  Second stall, handicap one.  Holy crap!  Jon chuckled to himself momentarily at his serendipitous joke. The toilet was plugged.  But not just plugged.  It was P.L.U.G.G.E.D. And it was bad!

            All Jon could see was a small white mountain of toilet paper sticking up past the edges of the lid. It looked a lot like a small snow-peaked mountain.  Both rolls of toilet paper on the wall were empty, so Jon figured it was all now packed inside the toilet.  Jon mentally patted himself on the back for remembering to bring the tongs.  Tongs were a must when it came to clogged toilets that went above and beyond the norm.  And this job was definitely that!

            Jon grabbed a garbage can and locked himself in the restroom so no one would walk in while he was trying to clean up this mess.  He carefully set down his absorbent, put on his gloves, hung the rags over the handicap bar on the wall and grasped his tongs, ready for action.  Then he began grabbing huge globs of wet, dripping toilet paper out of the toilet and dropping them into the garbage can. 

            Phew, Jon thought.  Looks like this won’t be as bad as I thought.  There could have been far worse things in this toilet than toilet paper!

            Barely had those words raced through Jon’s mind when as he lifted the next mini load of paper out of the toilet he noticed his tongs were nicely coated with a brown sheen much like a dipped ice cream cone.  Jon realized he’d thought the best too soon.  This was not just a toilet bowl full of paper, it was more like a chocolate filled marshmallow.  Someone had decided to create an art project right inside the bog!  Jon mentally stumbled over that expression. 

            Where in the world had that come from?  And then he remembered he’d been reading about toilet names earlier that morning.  Jon shook his head.  I guess I’m the Dunnyman today, he thought to himself.  Looks like the bogrolls did a number on this toilet!  Maybe we should get the kid who did this in here to clean out this “jack”!  Well, Jon thought to himself sarcastically while curling his lips and rolling his eyes, why don’t we just have him clean all of the “vins” at the same time.  Maybe he should just sit in this homemade dunnekin for a while and enjoy the fruits of his labor. Jon chuckled to himself as the odor began to permeate the air and his nostrils.  Jon shook his head to clear his mind of the haze that was beginning to creep from his sinuses to his brain.  Toilet odor was never one you got used to.  It had such a pungent and piercing way about it that the odor seemed to find every little crevice to sneak into.  It just didn’t seem to go away!

            Jon tried to breathe as little as possible as he continued scooping chocolate filled toilet paper out of the toilet.  After another two or three tong-filled scoops, Jon could see the bottom of the bowl.   Jon was relieved. 

            Carefully setting the tongs in the garbage can, Jon decided he could flush the rest of the contents away.  He’d done that a million times. Sometimes it took a flush or two, but it would usually go down shortly thereafter.  He reached up, grabbed the flush handle and pulled.  A whoosh of water raced around the sides of the toilet washing the remnants of toilet paper down the hole.  Jon stretched, and smiled.  Not too bad after all, he thought.  He gave it another flush just to be sure.  Again a whoosh and then the dreaded rising water in the bowl caught Jon’s eyes.  Jon grimaced.  He was so sure this job was over.  He got off at 3:00 p.m., and it was already 2:26.  The water stopped halfway up the side of the toilet bowl.  Jon decided to try again.  Sometimes the pressure of the water and the weight of it in the bowl would force the clog through the pipes.  Jon flushed.

            With a roar the water swirled into the bowl.  Jon watched as the water began rising toward the rim.  The flush mechanism for this toilet was rated at 1.6 gallons per flush (gpf).  That meant it would only flush for a few seconds and then stop.  After five seconds Jon began to fidget.  The water was still roaring and was rising quickly toward the top.  Jon immediately wiggled the flush handle in the hopes that is would create enough disturbance to close the internal diaphragm so that the water would shut off.  Nothing happened.  Now Jon was beginning to panic.

            As he watched the water rise, Jon noticed a slight orange hue in the bottom of the toilet just beyond the drain hole, somewhat like the sun coming up over the horizon in the morning.  Momentarily bewildered, Jon suddenly realized what it was.  Someone had stuffed an orange into the toilet and it was plugging the hole.  Unfortunately for Jon, the water was also rising.  Jon wiggled the handle again and again.  The flow did not stop. In fact, with every wiggle of the handle, Jon was releasing another 1.6 gallons of water into the bowl and the orange was acting as a wonderful stopper in the bottom of the toilet.  Jon’s heart sank.  He stood watching as the water began to cascade over the edge and to flow outward from the toilet and across the floor like some river overflowing its banks and covering a flood plain.

            Jon’s heart sank.  This was not how he wanted to end his day.  Quickly thinking, Jon popped the vandal proof cover off of the water shut-off on the toilet.  He grabbed his 10 in 1 screwdriver, pulled out the bit and flipped it over to the slotted side.  As he pushed it into the screwdriver the bit slipped, bounced off the toilet seat and splashed into the running water.  Without hesitating, Jon plunged his hand into the water.  Pieces of toilet paper swirled around Jon’s arm and clung to his shirt and arm.  Jon’s fingers touched the bit which was lying on the bottom of the bowl.  As he went to pick it up, it shot out of his fingers like a lemon seed and lodged underneath the edge of the orange. Jon cursed under his breath.  He tried again.  Each time he got a hold of it, it would slip and jam farther underneath the orange.  Now it was so far under the edge of the orange that Jon could not get enough of a grip on it to pull it out.  Jon’s anger began to rise.

            Jon’s pants were soaking up water as he knelt on his knees.  Capillary action was pulling the water up his pant legs and toward his crotch.  Before this was over Jon would be soaked.  Water continued to cascade over the edge.  Jon gVanced the best he could to his left and could see the water covering the restroom floor.  At least there was a drain so much of it would go down that.  Still, the mess was growing.

Jon thought for a minute and figured he could maybe pull the orange out and allow the water to drain since he couldn’t shut the water off.  Using his fingernails, Jon sank them into the soft skin of the orange until he felt he had a good grip on the fruit.  He slowly pulled.  The orange moved a little.  Jon’s heart jumped with excitement at the prospect of dislodging the citrus sun.  Slowly, carefully, stealthily, Jon pulled the orange forward all the time fighting the constant jets of water that continued to keep the toilet full.  Jon got the orange about halfway out and felt the water pressure and suction beginning to pull the orange from his grip.  Jon dug his nails in deeper.  

            Continuing to pull, Jon fought the current and pull of gravity down the toilet drain.  Suddenly the orange popped loose and floated to the surface.  At the same time Jon’s hand slipped off the orange and went down the drain.  Jon gave a tug to remove his hand but to his horror he realized it had gone in far enough to become lodged up and over the slight curvature that was built into the toilet drain.  The water that had quickly receded when the orange was removed began to rise again, but not quite as fast since some water could seep past Jon’s hand and down the drain.  Jon’s body slumped forward as he leaned on the edge of the toilet seat in despair.

            Jon wiggled his hand and wrist and tried to dislodge it.  Working on this for 10 minutes, Jon suddenly felt his hand loosen.  A spark of excitement raced through Jon.  He repositioned himself to get a better angle so as to remove his hand and in so doing kicked the garbage can over.  Its contents spilled out and covered the back of his legs and shoes.  Jon could feel the chocolate marshmallow oozing into his socks and shoes.  Disgusted and gagging, Jon tried harder, believing he might even break his wrist.  Just about the time he was ready to give up, his hand slipped out of the hole, the water roared down and now the only thing Jon saw was the continual swirling of the water which continued to run.  Jon massaged his wrist.  His 10 in 1 bit was gone.  However, since the tool was a 10 in 1, Jon could use the smaller slotted bit on the other end.  He carefully removed it, flipped it over and reinserted it into the body of the tool.  He then turned the shutoff screw clockwise and the water stopped.  The restroom became quiet except for the trickle of water going down the drain.  Thank goodness for the drain Jon thought. 

            Jon looked around the stall.  His bag of absorbent was three times its normal size.  He carefully tipped the garbage can back up, picked up the mini bag of concrete which the absorbent had become and threw it in the garbage. Jon slowly rose, his knees burning from leaning on them for so long.  Water dripped off his pant legs and onto his shoes. It trickled down the sides and onto the floor.  It felt like he was walking on sponges as water squished out of his shoes with each step.  Jon unlocked the door.  He stepped out and headed for his office to get some new toilet parts, a wet-vac and disinfectant filled mop water.  

            Jon returned a few minutes later. As he neared the restroom door, the tell-tale smell of sewage assaulted his nose.  Jon stopped and looked around.  Was the odor from the plugged toilet or was it from something else?  Jon didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so he opened the restroom door and entered dragging behind him the wet-vac and other tools.  As he rounded the corner, Jon realized where the odor was coming from.  The drain had backed up. 

            Jon’s hopes were dashed as he realized that his initial positive thinking that the drain was working were wrong.  The drain worked for a bit, but because of lack of use and the failure of the custodial staff to regularly pour water down the drain to keep it clear and flowing, somewhere downline the pipes had a build-up of who-knows-what stopping up the pipes.  Now Jon had bigger issues to deal with. 

            As he stood there looking at the drain, he could see it bubbling and gurgling as the water tried to go down it while at the same time trapped air was being released.  He knew it would drain, but very slowly as it worked its way past the clog.  However, the amount of water that had filled the drain was now more than it could hold as it had backed up to the point of no return.  Jon would have to suck up the water already on the floor and hope that the drain would eventually empty itself out downline.

            Jon plugged in the wet-vac and went to work.  Using his wand for water, Jon began sucking up the murky, chocolate-colored water that swirled in pretty patterns across the tile.  The water from the drain was still gurgling, but it seemed to be dissipating.  That made Jon feel better.  Jon continued cleaning the water off the floor and finally noticed that the drain had quit making funny noises.  Maybe the end was in sight.  Jon worked his way across the restroom and inched his wand into the last stall where all of this had begun.  A puddle behind the toilet was all that was left to suck up.  Jon worked his way into the stall and started sucking up the water when he heard his wet-vac, which was eight feet behind him and sitting over the drain, begin to make a funny sound.  Jon stepped out and looked at the machine.  At the same instance he looked down, the wet-vac made a horrendous bang and smoke rolled out of the top.  A couple louder pops and then with a great whoosh the top cover blew off with such force that the concussion in the bathroom popped Jon’s eardrums and reverberated down the drain where the human mud had not yet quite settled.  The reverberation inside the pipe caused the “fudge” to blow back out of the drain and onto Jon and the surrounding walls.  Fire began to lick out of the top of the lid which was lying on its side in the corner, the electrical cord still snaked across the room to the outlet.  Quickly, Jon ran to the wall and pulled the plug out but not without getting a good shock that sent him reeling backward and onto the floor.  What had just happened?

            Jon’s mind raced.  Why did the wet-vac blow again?  This had happened not long ago when he had been stripping floors?  And then he knew.  He had cleaned it out the day before, but when he put the lid back on today, he had forgotten to put the ball float back inside the float cage.  The water rising inside the wet-vac backed up into the motor causing the explosion and fire.  And the plug had needed repaired.  The ground prong had been ripped off, but Jon had not yet replaced it.  So, Jon received all 120 volts of electric current from the wall zipping through his body.  He lay there grimacing and shaking his head. After a few minutes he stood up.  He looked at himself in the chocolate spattered mirror.  His body was covered in “dunny”, his hair was frizzled from the shock, pieces of bogroll hung from his body and his face was a bit darker from the soot that had emanated from the top of the wet-vac.  Jon shook his head in dismay.  How could I have been so dumb?  Now I’m not just Dunnyman, but Dumbyman!  What an idiot.  And the float and plug!  I knew better.  But being in a hurry, he thought to himself, has caused me to disregard safety and injure myself. And then the fire alarm went off as swirls of smoke drifted lazily throughout the restroom and into the smoke detector sensing mechanism.  Jon cried.

            Within minutes, the door to the restroom opened.  Jon was wrapping up his wet-vac and trying to clean up the best he could.  Normally when an alarm went off he went to the enunciator panel to see where the problem was.  Today he knew. What was the point? The fire department would be here shortly. And voila!  Here they were.

            “You okay?” the burly fireman asked.

            “Yes.  Just some stupidity on my part”, Jon replied sheepishly.

            “You look pretty frazzled.  Maybe we better have a paramedic take a look at you.”

            “No, no.  I’ll be fine.  My pride is more hurt than I am.”

            Looking at the wet-vac, the fried electrical cord and Jon’s frizzled, darkened face and hair, the fireman said, “safety first.  Let’s have you looked at.  Water and electricity don’t mix.  You never know what might have happened to your body and especially your heart.”

            Jon knew he wouldn’t get away with just leaving. 

            “Okay.  But can they just look me over here?  I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

            “We’ll let them decide”, the fireman responded.

            “Red here with you guys”, Jon asked.

            “No, he has today off.”

            Jon was relieved.  More than once Red, a big fireman with red hair, thus the nickname, had responded to Jon’s misadventures.  He was glad he wasn’t here today.

            As Jon shuffled toward the door following the fireman, he rounded the corner just in time to meet the principal, Vance, head on.

            “Wow!  You look horrible!  Are you okay?  What happened?  Why did the fire alarm go off?”

            “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you”, Jon replied, hanging his head in despair.

            “Try me”, Vance said.

            “Maybe later”, Jon retorted in a tired, embarrassed voice.  “I need to sit down for a bit and be checked out.”

            Vance nodded in affirmation without saying anything.  He turned to leave.  Taking two steps he stopped and looked back at Jon.

            “Hey Jon.”

            Jon answered by just looking at Vance.

            “I had a student in my office earlier today.  After he left I noticed my orange I had sitting on my desk for a snack was missing.  I’m sure he took it. Can you keep your eyes peeled and let me know if it shows up? I’m thinking he either just took it and threw it away or he is planning on using it for something uncouth.  I’ve found plenty of fruit thrown against the walls or elsewhere during my career.  So I think he’s planning something.”

            Jon continued to stare at Vance as if he’d seen a ghost.  Vance looked at Jon bewildered.  Jon’s eyes told Vance he understood, but for the life of Vance he couldn’t figure out why he looked so perturbed at his simple request.  Vance turned and walked off down the hall.  Jon sat there thinking. And then it struck him. Why not put the orange now lying in the garbage can back on Vance’s desk after all was said and done?  Besides, it had a peel.  Nothing inside was contaminated!