84. SNOT! Uncensored

Uncensored thoughts
 

I’m bored.

When I write “I’m” in “I’m bored”, I feel the pair of round, buggy eyes boring into me. They belong to the stalactite. When I write “bored” his eyes are trying to read what I’m writing, upside down.

I look at him trying to convey the message ‘Why the f**k are you trying to read what I’m writing?’ as effectively as possible with my eyes and facial expression. It works to some extent. He looks down at his question paper. The stalactite that was dangling from his right nostril swings crazily before it is sucked back into the dark cavern of his nose.

I start again.

I’m bored. I've been watching over this bunch of ‘term test writers’ for over 40 minutes now and there are 110 more boring minutes to go. 

One fan out of the four suspended from the ceiling  makes a rattling noise from time to time.

It’s the one closest to me that makes the most noise.  It sounds like a rat-a-tat-tat of a light machine gun. No. The one closest to me is not the only one making that noise. The one farthest to me is also shooting back in short answering bursts, from time to time.

“Rat-a-tat tat tat tat tat trrrrt” Closest one fires a burst.

“Trrrrt- tat tat tat tat tat trrrrrrt” the faraway one fires an answering  burst.

Then there is a silence.
But not for long.
There it is again.

Maybe the cross wind blowing through the open casement windows makes this rattling.

Surprisingly, no one seems to notice or be bothered or annoyed by this, except me.
Why me?

I sit near the door.  From this vantage point I can see every term test writer except the ones near the wall who are sitting behind the stalactite.  I have to lean a little to my right to see them.

The stalactites eyes are on me again.  Round and bulging, carving into me like lasers.  His two large front teeth reminds me of a rat.  He is now staring at me, absently exploring his teeth perhaps for some residue from his breakfast with his left ring finger.

Stalactite! What a name!  Stalactites and stalagmites.  I never could remember which  was which when I was supposed to.  But later, I read somewhere stalagmites are the columns of lime rising from the cave floor and some day “might” meet their counterparts, the stalactites which are reaching down from the ceiling. So they are stalgMIGHTs. I mean stalagmites.

I mentally nicknamed (yeah, it works the other way, too. Not only the students nick name the teachers) the dude nearest to me, sitting by the door 'stalactite', because of the shoot of snot that slithers down and dangles in midair from his right nostril threatening to slop down on the question paper he is supposed to be working on, but really not.  This is a no win situation.  The shoot of snot never completes its downward journey, as it is snorted in violently from time to time, at irregular intervals, when it is dangling too low for comfort. But this courageous, positive thinking, diehard shoot of snot seems to never give up. As it slowly reappears in a matter of minutes. Wait a minute. Here it’s back. The leading edge of the slightly yellowish and green (or is it greenish yellow?) snake of goo is now about one centimeter down and out.  Now 1.5 cm...Yeah now it’s past the point of no returning.

Sniffle.

How wrong!

It is sucked back up into the depths of the right nostril in another temporary retreat.
There sure is a back up plan. Yes, I mean a Back Up plan.

The right nostril looks like a slimy sewer, lined with a thick layer of slimy snot, well lubricated. 

Now I’ve been here for 58 minutes.  92 to go. 

Stalactite’s eyes are burning into me.

I stare back.

He looks away.

I walk back to the other end of the room and resume writing. It feels very strange to write like this on paper, instead of a  keypad.  Those who are near me are curious to see what I’m writing. 

The pick’n flick artist here, for example.

Pick’n flick artist!

It makes me smile alone.

Like Food and Beverages Manager.

The F&B Manager.

F&B

P&F

Pick & Flick.

Pick & Flick Artist is a booger hunter with a specialty.

You think this is an easy job? Booger hunting needs dexterity. It may not be as easy as it sounds; pick & flick.

First you explore the nasal cavity.

Then you find one.

Then you dislodge it.

Then you take it out very, very carefully with the precision of a surgeon.

Then you examine, analyze and scrutinize it, for color (sometimes) odor and texture,

by squinting at it,
and
by squeezing it.

Then you roll it into a bar (boogerbar) and/or a ball (boogerball).

Finally you flick it.

I see the P&F Artist going through the motions. She explores her nose cavity for possible boogers. The deeper she plunges into her nose more vacant becomes the look that comes into her eyes.  Like in a trance.

Aah! She finds something lodged between the nose cartilages, I guess.  She picks it carefully like a brain surgeon.  Ever so carefully. There it is! Between her right thumb and index finger!

She rolls it.

Then she squints at it and analyzes it.

Teflon quality? Leather quality? Silicone glue quality?

First she rolls into a bar.

Next into a neat ball.

The she forms her index finger and forefinger into an 'O' with the rolled up booger lodged between the underside of the thumb and on the index fingernail.

Then she flicks it.

The booger ball plunges through the morning air toward the window.

What are the possibilities?

While I think about the possibilities, the pick and flick artist turned booger hunter returns to her nasal cavity for more prospective boogers.

In the meantime the clock shows half time.

While I think about possibilities I glance casually across the room just in time to see a stalactite make another hasty temporary retreat into the dark and deep depths of the nasal cavity of the stalactite. 

 

I remember the wise ass remark I've heard someplace. "You can pick your friends. You can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose." 

Booger hunter flicks again.

Then I start to consider the possibilities.

Possibility # 1:  The classroom is gets darker and darker as more and more boogers hit the window pane and stick to the glass obscuring the daylight. I walk over to the light switches and flick them all down.

Possibility # 2: The trees reaching out to the second floor windows are swarming with small birds. They are swallows.  They wait their turn until the next booger is airborne by the Pick’n Flick Artist. They know there is more than enough to go around.  As soon as a booger shoots out of the window, they take off from their perches and fight to catch it in midair.  That’s why they are called swallows, stupid!

Possibility #3:  I lean out of the window to see the green leaves of the tall trees near the window are not green anymore. Oops, it’s not a fungus. It’s the handiwork or nosework of the Pick’n Flick artist. Then I see the solution to the problem climbing up the tree trunk. An army of brown ants are already on their way. The first one who reaches the booger picks it up and carries it away. Oncoming ants give way.

Thirty more minutes to go. I take another walk around the room.

The dude sitting in the back row sneezes. It's a mother of all sneezes. A mist formed by the sneeze create a momentary rainbow with the help of the morning sunlight that falls into the classroom at an angle.  He rubs the snot filled nose with the back of his hands and rubs it all over his face. I steal a closer look to see if he has shiny slug / snail tracks on his face. Usually it should.

I walk toward the front of the class. The girl in the center of the class is using tissues to clean her nose. At last someone is doing the correct thing/ But oh! Her desk drawer is overflowing with used white soggy looking tissues. Already some are on the floor. I visualize myself in a little while using a shovel to clear a path in a sea of used tissues, for me to go around collecting papers.

They gotta issue a shovel in addition to the stapler to the invigilators in rainy season. 

There definitely is a bug going round.

The bell buzzes. The time is up.

"Please check if you have written your names and other details on the front page correctly. Stay seated till I collect the last paper."

I collect the papers and slip them into the paper band and get the hell out, away from the laser eyes and snotty atmosphere as fast as possible. I hand them over to the office on the ground floor.

Back in the staffroom pantry open the faucet with my wrists. I squeeze down the nozzle of the hand wash bottle with my right wrist squeezing out a liberal amount of hand wash liquid on to my left palm.

The liquid hand wash looks like snot!

Uncensored thoughts

 

PS:

If you ask if this is a true story

I'll say

"No comment."