Of (Dead) Mice and Men

The other day I was leading the students up from the lunchroom for their daily "washroom break." More than almost any other task, I dread this, primarily because it combines two embarrassingly difficult tasks: leading students silently and in two single file lines (boys and girls) through the hallways, and maintaining order among these single file lines while groups of three are released into the washrooms (what the kids -- and maybe the grownups, too?? -- tend to call bathrooms here) to "use it" (again, what the kids call doing their business; e.g "I gotta use it!"). This day my single file lines were decidedly sloppy and noisy, but it wasn't until I heard a chorus of squeal/shrieks from the boys' washroom that I really got a bad feeling.

When I walked into the washroom, I found Brody, McNulty and Ziggy scrambling against the walls by the urinals, trying to get as far away from the opposite wall as they could. When they saw me they all exclaimed in excited panic, "Mr. M! Mr. M! There's a mouse!" I followed their pointing fingers across the washroom to a tiny gray lump lying motionless against the wall.

"I killed it!" squealed Brody with a mixture of pride, shock, and disgust. Apparently Brody had "accidentally" stepped on the tiny mouse, something I didn't think was entirely plausible.

Deciding that quick, decisive action was required, I pulled off a long strand of toilet paper, wadded it up and quickly scooped up the mouse carcass and deposited it in the trash can. Of course, the entire 5 seconds that this action took was accompanied by grossed-out cries from my little comrades. Of course, immediately afterward, they spread the word that there was a dead baby mouse in the washroom trashcan, creating something of a sight-seeing destination for every boy as they entered and exited their washroom.

Once I finally got the fellas ushered out of the washroom and back into the class, I was beckoned over immediately and with some unspoken urgency by Brody, who was raising his hand and looking intently at me. Thinking he must have had some pressing question about the math "Do Now," I went over to Brody, who asked me with grave concern, "Mr. M, how did that mouse get in our school?" Thinking it unwise to tell him that there were probably more mice in the school than children, I simply shrugged, said "I don't know, Broady, he must've come in in somebody's backpack!" He didn't think this was funny either, of course, but it did seem to be an explanation he was willing to buy.