Yesterday, I served as a chaperon for the marching band. Beyond chaperoning the trip to Florida in the spring, I have never done that before and probably never will again.The first football game of the season for the local high school is against a school about 20 miles north of here. In the spirit of good sportsmanship, the two schools combine their marching bands into one big band to perform for half-time, and yesterday was one of their rehearsals. Our kids climbed up into four big yellow school buses and headed north, and I was with them.
I sat in that bouncy seat and tried to remember the last time I rode in a school bus. I believe it has been more than 25 years. I haven't missed the smell. After taking my seat in the front, one of the first things I noticed was a box in a bracket next to the first aid kit. It was stamped in big red letters that read "Bodily Fluid Clean-up Kit." I wondered what might be in such a kit, and I hoped I wouldn't find out.
While the bands practiced, the group of chaperons lined ourselves up on the sideline and kept ourselves amused. Some of us read, some of us crocheted, some of us chatted, and I knitted. I chatted a bit, too. We furrowed our brows at the kids who couldn't stay in step for their lives. And we smiled when they played tight and strong, sounding as if they had been practicing together for weeks.
You know how women run in packs when it's time to find a toilet? I "went for a walk" with two others to find a restroom. We were shocked to find the school restrooms chained shut, so we followed a set of stairs down to a locker room. The coach let us in and allowed us to use the toilets inside. Nice gesture, until you actually walked into the room. The smell of rot and mildew and sweat and unwashed urinals nearly knocked us to the floor. We tucked our noses inside our collars and managed to take care of business in record time, and on the way out the door, as we passed a chalk board used to leave notes for the football team, I wrote a note for the team--Flush the Urinals--exclamation point and underlined.
For dinner, we were each handed a plastic bag that contained two hot dogs, little packets of ketchup and mustard, a bag of Cheetos, and two cookies. We sat in the slight rain with 300 sweaty kids and ate in our laps, grateful for the food, such as it was, because a room full of parents just like us had spent the day putting it all together.
On the way home, what ever smell was noticeable on the bus on the way there was ten-fold, and the noise level that was mere white noise earlier in the day was amplified and punctuated with piercing laughter. It wasn't until the severe scolding for throwing a water bottle out the window and for opening a bottle of nail polish did the ragamuffins settle down.
No, I don't think I'll do that again. At least I didn't have to become familiar with the contents of the Bodily Fluid Clean-up Kit.
Comments
bleach, gloves, a stanley knife and newspaper.
It really wasn't a bad experience, and these are all relatively good kids, except the one who threw stuff out the window. He's notorious.
Not a single soul, Rich. Can you imagine?
I don't think I could ever chaperone kids - at least not without body armour, earplugs, stun grenades and a cattle prod.
And that "food"! Ick!
I commend you on your bravery beyond the call of reason.
And why do men's bathrooms always have to be so disgusting?! Loved your passive aggressive approach though, leaving a note reminding them to flush the urinals, ha ha ha!
My bathroom is spotless and clean and uncluttered and lovely. When my ex lived with me it was a stinking mess of unguents, bizarre implements with unfathomable uses, bottles of aromatherapy oil with the tops left off, toothpaste squeezed from the middle, gacky bath salts that made me gag and towels left in a heap for me to fold.
Sometimes I'm glad I live alone.