So Tommy was sitting in Biology class today. Apparently Tommy was just a tad bored by the anatomy lesson being presented. As the teacher was lecturing, I am fairly certain that classwork at that particular moment did not include students drawing any part of the human anatomy. More specifically I am absolutely certain it did not include drawing the particular feature of the male anatomy that Tommy chose to lend his artistic talents to rendering on the back of the shirt of the student sitting in front of him.
Joseph, the wearer of the cotton canvas was, it seems, completely oblivious of the fact he was being drawn upon until Tommy finished his masterpiece with a triumphant stroke of his pen that managed to wake Joseph from his mid-lecture nap. The ensuing commotion ended with a buzz to my office as Tommy and Joseph’s (not so observant) teacher sent both boys to my office to have the situation sorted out.
Oh joy.
I alerted Mr. Madrigal that we had incoming mischief so he was waiting for them as they arrived. A quick inspection of Joseph’s defaced uniform and Mr. Madrigal decided to take Tommy into his office to deal with the greater of the two offenses, sleeping in class being less objectionable than vandalism of another student. Just before he closes the door, Mr. Madrigal says to me, “Ms. Mack, would you see what you can do about that shirt?”
Yes, yes, sportsfans. On top of all my other lovely duties (including, but of course not limited to, the cleaning up after a higher than usual number of regurgitory events and an inexplicable recent spate of godawful nosebleeds), it is apparently now in my job description to attempt to remove permanent ink depictions of male genetalia from uniform shirts being worn by no longer sleeping students.
- I would have liked to have Joseph remove his shirt and have a seat. Then I could have attempted de-defacing the shirt using my desk as a washboard.
No, no. That would have been too easy. Joseph had chosen today not to wear the required white undershirt under his uniform buttondown. Taking off his uniform shirt would have left me alone in my office with a bare-chested boy.
Now, believe you me, the presence of a half naked adolescent male would in no way inflame my sexual desires. Really, adults are one species and children are another. Anyone who doesn’t understand that the two are morally sexually incompatible simply isn’t an adult. This is yet another illustration of the truth recognized by all moral human beings that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.
So the kid would have been absolutely safe with me. I, on the other hand, am far too aware of the dangers to me of having a partially unclothed boy in my office under any circumstances.
Nothing would happen but nothing has to happen. Someone, anyone, just has to say something happened.
Nope. Not going to happen to me.
What a ridiculous world we live in.
So that’s how I came to find myself standing behind a boy taller than myself, with an alcohol soaked gauze pad, trying to dissolve the ink. It took a lot of effort, but, working the alcohol into the ink and rubbing briskly, I was able to obliterate most of the obscene artwork, leaving only a shadow of a stain behind.
During the procedure, though, as my fingers traced back and forth along the lines, pressing and pushing the cleaning cloth with enough force to make Joseph protest, “Geez, Ms. Mack, not so hard,” I could only shake my head and continue in my task, watching my female hand vigorously rubbing the depiction of a climaxing male organ.
Only my need to keep paying the mortgage could force me into performing this particular piece of NC-17 performance art.
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