Here I sit, on another Wednesday morning, perched on the dusty shelf of some boring old math classroom. I’m surveying the newest round up of freshmen students, sneezing into their hands and picking their noses discretely, thinking they’re being sneaky about it. Slobs.Oh, great. Here we go. I find the first taker of the day slumping towards me, beady little eyes focusing right on me. I feel the grimy hands of the freshman boy close around me and try not to retch.
I’m tossed into the air repeatedly, like I’m a football or something, until we approach the drinking fountain that I’m too well acquainted with for my own good. The kid spots one of his acne-covered friends and I fall to the floor. I wince at the sudden sensation of hurtling towards tile. Well that hurt. He has the audacity to leave me there, and I’m still grumbling about it when I see them.
Tiny little green germs, thousands of them. Perhaps millions. The floor is absolutely covered in them, and they’re charging at me. AlI can do is gape in horror as they cover me. I feel so dirty. I beg and plead for the freshman boy to pick me up and save me from this horrible fate but no, he continues to chat with his gross friend…and I lie there helplessly. I hate my life.
I’ve been mishandled so many times already today and it’s only the start of third hour. What kind of sicko takes you into the stall with them?! I’m still fuming over my last attacker, a junior girl who didn’t wash her hands, when a sophomore football player takes me by surprise.
Before I can register what’s going on, I’m sitting behind one of those rusty-looking sinks in the boys’ bathroom, staring at the tile wall, trying (and failing) to ignore the thousands of little green blobs making their way all over me. Merciless beasts.
I wait for a minute, then two minutes, then three, then four. By now the germs are at least an inch thick, sliming their ickiness over every inch of me. The unwashed hands of that junior girl would feel like a sanctuary now.
Where is this kid?
The severity of the situation begins to dawn on me. I am positively furious – was I ditched? Did that bum leave me in such a horrid, germy place? Why? How could people be this cruel? I see another boy walk in, one of my brothers clutched in his hand and hope that he’ll notice me, and take me out of this dark place. No such luck. The other hall pass goes behind the sink right next to me, and I can nearly hear its silent scream of horror as some of the germs on me leave, scrambling for the cleaner, more vulnerable space.
After nearly two hours sitting in my personal, grime-infested hell, I’m rescued. Granted, I’m still covered in crawling green germs, but as I’m set down in my haven of the shelf by the whiteboard, I can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief. The reek of unflushed toilets makes you woozy after a while.
The day is beginning to draw to a close, and I feel weirdly peaceful with the arrival of sixth hour. Just one more hour to get through after this, and then I can get some rest. Unfortunately, one horrible, terrible event stands in my way: lunch rush.
This is when at least four pairs of beady little eyes settle on me at once. It’s just a nonstop line of icky hands transporting me to-and-from the drinking fountain, to the classroom, to the boys’ bathroom, to another pair of grubby teenage hands, to the girls’ bathroom, where she DROPS ME ON THE TOILET SEAT, and back to the classroom again.
The fight in me has vanished at this point. I am vulnerable to the germs that continue to overwhelm me on every single surface of this dastardly school.
Seven minutes until the day is over. At this point, my resolve has crumbled and I feel my heart break as I see yet another kid approach me, a malevolent gleam in his eye. I plead for him to have mercy – this day has been dreadful already – but it’s all in vain. The moment he carries me out of the room, I’m dropped to the filthy floor.
If that’s not rude enough, he begins to kick me down the hallway, as if I’m a soccer ball. I am clearly a hall pass, is he blind?! I’m placed precariously on one of the paper towel dispensers and don’t even put up a fight when the germs swarm around me. Out of spite I hope the children transporting me throughout this dirty building will catch a few of these grungy illnesses I’m carrying around.
I’m kicked back to class, carried the last few feet so the teacher won’t scream at him for “mishandling” me, and a few minutes later, the bell rings. The class of sophomores hustles past me, not noticing my condescending glare.
God forbid what things will be like when flu season comes around.