It’s Snot Nice
It’s snot week here at Texas ENT Specialists, and as you know, we’re doing all things SNOT – including these awful snot puns. We’re not apologizing.
Snot sucks – although one should never suck snot. Blow it out! It’s carrying things your body needs to extricate. For whatever reason, as a society, we have a difficult time dealing with that slimy fluid coming out of our noses. But why? Boogers are as normal as breathing, needing food and shelter, and being afraid of birds. (Maybe that’s just me.)
I am ashamed of my own fear, or perhaps it’s more apt to say judgement, of snot. One very unflattering story that comes to mind was when I was in high school. I went to one of those Houston open-concept schools. You know the ones – instead of walls, they had movable partitions. There was absolutely no privacy, and while one class was desperately trying to master the Pythagorean theorem, the class next door may be yelling out technological advances of WWI. It was almost impossible to keep anything contained.
It was my sophomore year, which seems poetic now, due to our sophomoric behavior, and I was in Mrs. Olsen’s* math class. This was back when we had overhead projectors. Teachers would write on transparencies that were projected onto the wall, but the catch was, it projected everything. It must have been allergy season because poor Mrs. Olsen had quite the hanger-on protruding from her nostril. There it was, for the whole open-concept school to see. That overhead lamp shined a perfect shadow of her excretion, and as dumb immature kids, we could not keep it together.
You know when you’re not supposed to laugh, so you laugh even harder? Your whole body begins to shake, you turn red, you can’t breathe… It’s just awful. The whole class convulsed. We tried desperately to keep it together, but we couldn’t. Mrs. Olsen looked at us like we were aliens. “What? What is going on?” We were so young and immature, we didn’t know how to deal with the situation.
It was getting bad. As a well-mannered young adult, I was super uncomfortable. As I shook with fear and embarrassment, I needed this to stop. But how? Who would save Mrs. Olsen? I knew it wouldn’t be me.
And then it happened. Sometimes people surprise you. His name was Derek. He was a senior in a sophomore class. He drove a tricked-out Ford Mustang, knew how to get a keg, and had detention every day after school. That Derek calmly got up, walked to get a Kleenex, and gently handed it to Mrs. Olsen. And then it was over. We stopped laughing. Derek disarmed us all. That’s a class act, my friends.
So, what’s the lesson of this story? First, it’s just snot. We all have it, so for goodness sake, respect others when they accidentally bring it into the public eye. Secondly, don’t judge a Derek by his cover. He may be the one to hand you a Kleenex.
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