Yesterday, a father came in to talk with me about the number of tardies his son and daughter have gotten so far this year. Of course, he didn't call to make an appointment. And of course, I dropped everything to meet with him since he has been a rather elusive parent. Much like Bigfoot.
He came in and sat down. In no time at all, the smell of him wafted over to where I was sitting. He smelled like a mixture of old cigarettes, body odor, dirt and feet. I've smelled skunks that smelled better than this dude. In an effort not to gag, I turned around in my seat to grab the lemongrass lotion and busied myself by squeezing out an enormous gob of lotion. As soon as the lotion was somewhat coating my hand, I pretended to listen to Mr. Stinkbomb while holding my fingers under my nose. It didn't do much to cover the stench.
And to make matters worse, it was obvious that Mr. Stinky has not become a big fan of the 'ol toothbrush. Surprisingly, he appeared to have his major cuspids intact. It was the strings that got to me. You know, the strings of gloppy goo that form in your mouth because of lack of oral scrubbing (not that I know from experience). Those strings stuck between his lips as he mumbled to me about why his kids were tardy. For God's sake, I was ready to never mark his kids tardy again if he would just get the h - e - double hockey sticks out of my office.
That gag reflex is a powerful thing. And when you surpress it, it puts pressure on your stomach. It makes for an excellent appetite suppressant and that is fortunate, as I'm on a perpetual diet.
Right as I started fighting the hallucinations, he stood up to leave. Mr. Stinky stuck out his filthy, gloved hand to shake and didn't seem to be surprised at all by my response. I simply waved good-bye. For the love of all things clean, I was fighting serious hurling urges.
Meeting Mr. Stinky explained so much about his poor children. I just wish the Department of Family and Children's services would do something. Apparently, it isn't a law that parents must be clean. At least, his children come to school clean most of the time. Even if they do wear pajamas and bathing suits in the winter.
On to a different story.... Today, we had a child sent to the nurse. The teacher was so flustered, she couldn't tell the nurse what was wrong. Finally, the kid said, "I drank from the toilet." After the nurse regained her composure, she made him say it again. "I drank some water from the toilet."
According to the teacher, while the class was taking a bathroom break, this child stuck his head into the toilet and drank. Much like a dog drinks from the pot.
And for the record, this child does not belong to Mr. Stinky. But I'm thinking of introducing Mr. Stinky to Potty Boy's mom.