Stories From Work II

The Bathroom (revisited)

The bathroom situation changed. There are no longer any co-ed bathrooms. The girl teachers take dumps in theirs and the guy teachers take dumps in theirs. Whoever had built the new men’s room, however, obviously got fired the next day. It has to be the worst case of plumbing engineering in the history of public bathrooms. It’s a relatively large room a little bigger than a standard bedroom. When you walk in, straight ahead is the sink. Immediately to the left is the stall. To the far left end, past the stall, are two urinals. These two urinals are (no joke) SEVEN inches apart, with all kinds of extra space to the left and right of them. They are not the squarish deluxe kind. They are the cheap kind–small, low, and potruding. There is no divider between them. So every time you take a leak, your hips touch the guy next to you; penises can be seen with ease through peripheral vision; and shoes are secretly doused with rebounding urine off the urinal. As you might guess, every time someone enters this architectural abomination, they always pee in the toilet stall, thus increasing the chances that I will have to wipe down the toilet seat when I need to take a shit.

One time I decide to give the far urinal a whirl even though the stall is vacant. I feel bold. I put my copies on the paper towel dispenser and urinate. Three seconds later, another teacher walks in and immediately starts peeing in the stall. He probably thinks I am a queer for choosing the urinal over the stall. Whatever. Four seconds after he walks in, a young guy my age walks in. I do not recognize him. He is probably a sub. Only the urinal next to me is open. I would have waited if I was him, but I think he feels like he has to prove something being a sub and all. He walks next to me, stands parallel with the urinal, and unzips his pants. My peripheral vision told me he had a little wiener, but I wasn’t looking. Luckily, my urine is already in flow so I have steered clear of the stage fright. But this guy is having trouble. He is an underdog in the battle with himself. I am still peeing. He is standing there stiff as a dead tree, like the first time I tried to piss in the communal piss bin at a Laker game, except he didn’t leave without pissing like I did when I was seven. The teacher in the stall finishes. I finish. We rinse our hands. We leave. I take ten steps out before realizing I left my copies in there. I return to the bathroom and find the sub now in the stall, peeing gloriously into the toilet water.

Farting

A student asked me once, “Mr. Glenn, do you ever secretly fart during class and then blame it on your students?”

I fart all the time in class. While I’ve learned how to control the sound, the smell can sometimes be devastating. Sometimes I wonder what other teachers’ strategies are for dealing with farts. Do they just let loose like me? Do they take gas pills? Do they mysteriously walk outside? Do they wait until the end of class? I think there should be a secret teacher website where we can share such strategies with each other without revealing our identities. I think I could really help the new teachers, especially the new female teachers who are insecure about poop. Here are some of my greatest farting moments up to this point in my career.

Fart Case 1

I had been drinking three protein shakes a day at the time. The only side effects of these shakes are huge muscles and bad gas. One day, I just lost control. The farts came out in ratios of three every five minutes. The smell of each lasted for over twenty seconds. After the second fart, a group of four girls in the front row began complaining vehemently. One thing I have learned from American high school girls is that they add an “uhh” trailer at the end of every sentence when they get irritated. For example, instead of saying, “Stop,” they’ll say, “Stoppuhh,” or when they are struggling with the math they might say, “I’m having trouble-uhh.” Here are some of the exclamations evoked by my stink:

“Oh my gawduhh!”

“Who is doing thatuhh!?”

“Mr. Glenn. It smellsuhh!”

“Ewwwwwwwuhh”

I opened the door, walked outside, and let my laugh explode into a controlled silence. The farts simmered soon after. Or maybe the four girls had adjusted to them.

Fart Case 2 

As I was helping Jane with her work, I farted. It was hot and steamy. The chance that it was “one of those” was 98%. The percentages held true. Any second a student was going to comment on the stench. I sensed the moment nearing, so I beat them to the punch.

“What is that smell?” I asked the class with a look of confusion.

The room went silent for a moment. Mike, one of the more talkative students immediately blamed his friend on the other side of the room.

“Damn Jose, that smells like one of your farts,” said Mike. The class laughed.

“Nah, mine don’t go that far,” Jose replied.

I forged a disgusted look on my face as I continued to help Jane. In the background, I could hear Mike and Jose still arguing. I smiled. 

Fart Case 3

I farted. A passive girl in the front row covered her nose with her sweater for the next minute. I continued with the lesson.

Fart Case 4

I farted. It was the only one of the day, but it was an atrocious one. Fifteen seconds into the stink, three of my guy students started the blame game. After realizing it wasn’t any of them, they chose to blame it on Wayne, the dorkiest guy within proximity of what was reasonable. Wayne was a timid kid who always did his homework. He denied the blames quietly. The guys wouldn’t stop. This poor guy was getting blamed instead of me. Girls in the class were laughing. I probably should have saved Wayne by telling the class to be quiet, but my laugh was leaking at the seams. I went over to my desk and acted like I dropped something. I obscured my head from view and laughed heartily. I couldn’t admit that I was the culprit. It would have been unprofessional. I let Wayne take the heat. Strangely enough, I still felt ethical about allowing such unwarranted blame. Farts dissipate in time.

Stories From Work I

Stories From Work III