pickle boy

Yesterday (while looking fabulous in his striped shirt and paisley-ish tie ensemble) James noticed a disturbance in the back of the room. A generally quiet student yelled out, "Mr. McDonald it really stinks in here!" At exactly that moment James described a tidal wave of stench that blew through the room. He did a quick visual assessment - along with other frantic students - and identified a "problem" student who was leaning backward in his chair, arms outraised, expression of shock on his face as he looked himself over - somehow unsure of what had happened. He was covered from dripping fingers to soggy feet in slimy flourescent green liquid - more of which was dripping off the surface & down the legs of the desk and puddling on the floor.

Students were squealing frantically while trying to escape the area. "WHAT IS THAT?" James demanded - fearing toxic urine would be the answer. The boy didn't speak. Someone else called out, "I think it is pickle juice."

James proceeded to investigate. Pickle boy did not own up to the allegation and instead sat in the puddle miserably. Amazingly, during his investigation, James could find no remnant of a pickle or jar or baggy or anything slightly resembling a pickle anywhere. None of the students saw the boy with the pickle either before or during the incident. It was as if he had been slimed by some greater pickle force.

James sent the boy away to get cleaned up and pull it together while he tackled the responsibility of removing the pickle stench from the room. The smell didn't leave and this was his first period, 6th grade class (his 'good' class), so the odor became worse as the day continued. "Pickle ass," is how he described it while repeatedly shaking his head. He had no idea when deciding to come to New Orleans to teach that this could be a possibility. There is no protocol for a situation such as this one, no guidebook, no advice. "What do you with a pickle boy?"