Blown Away!

 By Michael L. Alumbaugh, © 2021

Proverbs 15:13 says, “A glad heart makes a cheerful face, but . . .” in my case, “Frivolous foolery festers furious frowns!” It was late autumn and my sophomore year. College mid-term exams had mutated into end-of-semester finals. I’d taken a third shift stocker job at Green Hill Grocers which hadn’t worked well with my farm boy metabolism. I was frequently dozing off in classes which, consequently, plummeted my grades from those teetering middle C’s to the lower D’s!

As I entered our house that morning, the rooms echoed their emptiness as all were either at work or school. Passing through the living room, I headed toward my bedroom to grab a few winks before my first class at 11. There I noticed remnants of my little sister’s birthday party littering the floor; a napkin here, a ribbon there, and a solitary balloon slowly rolling across the carpet, stirred by the breeze of my steps.

On the stereo was an unused balloon waiting to be inflated. As I stepped to reach for it, my foot booted the filled one and lofted it upward into the air, bouncing it gently into the ceiling, lightly ricocheting off the wall and floated back toward me. I clenched a fist and hit it! It flew back into the ceiling and then the wall and lazily came to rest on Mom’s recliner. As I advanced to resend it, it lay motionless, and then gave a startling “POP!” I gathered the remains, grabbed the fresh balloon and headed for the kitchen trash can.

In that short journey, young adult maturity resigned itself to more maniacal possibilities.  Tossing the ragged remains of the burst balloon into the bin, I proceeded to blow up the new one. Growing larger with each breath, I thought, “Just one more breath. Just one more. Then I’ll tie it off.” But before I finished that last breath, it exploded with a resounding “BANG!” The remaining mouth-piece and neck dangled from my lips. I gave it a disappointed final blow. It retorted with a “PPppppttttaaaattthhh!” The sound reminded me of someone with a serious head cold blowing their nose. I giggled.

That’s when it happened! That blathering balloon neck ignited latent adolescent juvenilian images long hidden deep within my artistic rational subconscious. I pondered a moment, “What if I hid this within a handkerchief or Kleenex? I could fain a cold, and blow my nose with reckless abandon!” I hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a tissue, laid it out on the sink, and strategically positioned that ragged mouthpiece on it. Then, I carefully picked up the now armed tissue, poised it over my nose, cleverly slipped the balloon end opening into my mouth, gazed into the mirror and gently, but firmly, gave it a blow. “PPPppppttttaaaattthhh!”  The sound it produced was disgustingly convincing! So much so, even a doctor would offer their professional assistance to comfort and relieve me.

Suddenly, an epiphany moment revealed itself: The library would soon be opening its doors to the studious and stalwart scholars preparing for their exams before semester holiday break. The opportunity of a lifetime!

I grabbed my jacket, my arsenal: the balloon end nestled into the Kleenex, and a couple more tissues for insurance, my class notebooks and my textbook,. Like a man on a mission, I shot out the front door and headed for my car. Speeding the five short miles to the college, I cleverly crafted my approach, playing through its diabolical intricacies. With the library floor plan in an L shape, I’d need to plan wisely.

Mentally prepared, I entered the hallowed halls of the library building, flew up the flight of stairs and stealthily infiltrated the confines through the metal entrance security doors. Next I surveyed the premises, locating the key players: the angelic and kind Miss Dickerson, a spinster and the head librarian, and her assistant, and a bit of a Grinch, Mr. Thompson. Next I identified key targets safely and comfortably nestled within the confines of study cubicles and tables.

Ah, yes. There was Miss Dickerson sandwiched between large bookshelves rearranging reference books. I slipped by her unnoticed. Next there sat Mr. Thompson just at the far end of the checkout area with his nose buried in the card catalog. He acknowledged my presence with a slight turn of the head and a twitch of the eye, grimaced and locked back into his indexing.  Then there was Bob the Fowler in the magazine area fulfilling his daily routine of newspapers, and probably secretly absorbing the comic sections.

Over in the far corner of the room was a couple studying each other, I assumed, while other students were rustling about incognito within the study cubbies. Then I saw her! There at a distant study table in an isolated area as far as could be found from view of the front desk was Cindy, a reclusive studious bookworm. She was obviously absorbed in research. The layout was perfect for my stratagem.

 I made my way past Mr. Thompson and turned the corner toward my first victim. She was positioned perfectly between the dull unchecked research manuals and reference catalogs. No one would be sneaking up behind me unnoticed here. At the opposite end of the long table, I removed my jacket, sat down, opened my study notes, placed an ink pen in close proximity and opened my textbook. She didn’t seem to notice.

The room was characteristically solemn with the occasional sound of page turning and position readjustment in seats, a bit of sighing or sniffles and the typical book replacement on shelves.

 Shuffling my papers as if delving deep into the study delirium, totally not my persona, I casually commandeered my secret weapon, carefully positioned the balloon equipped facial tissue within my hand and, resting it on my knee under the table, waited for the perfect opportunity.

With head slightly tilted downward and nose positioned close to the textbook in front of me, as if in deep concentration, I scanned the target area for potential breeches in security. Then, I fixed my gaze on Cindy. She was totally absorbed. I raised my hand to my face, covered my nose with the tissue, inserted the aerating arsenal into my mouth, inhaled, and gave a long steady exhale through the mouthpiece. “PPPTTTHHHHTTTPP!” It sounded satisfyingly snotty as it reverberated off the walls! 

Cindy’s head jerked up in surprise! She trained her eyes on me. I offered my discomforted puppy dog eyes look, pretended to wipe the residual mucus from my nose and resumed my studious downward gaze. She gave a sympathetic sigh, smiled tenderly and returned to her studies.

Savoring the deafening silence of the room, I waited anxiously for my next slobbering toot. Turning a few pages, I fumbled with my pen, repositioned my trigger finger under the table and waited for my next assault. Minutes seemed like hours. General sounds within the academic confines resumed with body movements and rustling of pages.

At last the moment had arrived! I cleverly scanned the horizon for any unusual movement. Everyone seemed to be in their proper places. I repositioned myself in my chair, shuffled a few more pages in the guise of studious research, raised my hand to my trusty schnozzola and blew, this time with gusto. “PPPPTTTHHHHTTTPPPPP!” The grotesque blast rattled the rafters! Heads rose freakishly, searching around the room desperately to discern what had just happened. Some wiggled restlessly in their seats while others just snickered. Cindy, on the other hand, gave me a ghastly gruesome glare. Her eyes pierced the deepest recesses of my silliness. “If looks could kill . . . “ You know the rest.

“Ah, yes!” I inwardly gloated, “What a gratifying response. Mission accomplished.”

“But wait! Why not bask in the glory of this moment of triumph?” I reasoned. “I’ve accomplished grand things here. And, as they say, Three’s the charm.”

Once again I waited, savoring each silent second with renewed delight. Resuming my copious study façade, I listened and casually surveyed my audience, but this time in reckless abandon. Again the perfect opportunity presented itself. I raised my weapon of mass mock slimy slathering, inhaled, and gave a bountifully hefty heave. It produced what only could be described as a solid sonic sloshy symphony!

At that, Cindy scowled viciously, gave a heartfelt ghoulish growl, began gathering her belongs and got up to relocate. But as she did, unnoticed by me, Mr. Thompson came storming toward me from behind and in one fell swoop grabbed me by the nap of the collar with one hand, my paraphernalia in the other and escorted me out the double door!

Once at the stairwell, he gave me a firm shove and growled a stern warning. “If I ever hear you in here again, I will have you permanently barred from this college library! Do you hear me?”

And with a burning glare he turned, reopened the doors and pensively entered his collegiate domicile.

But as he did, his steps slowed. He turned slightly toward me as I headed down the stairs. Our eyes met.  I then saw an expression on his face I thought I’d never see. “Was it my imagination?” It was a look of remembrance, a fleeting memory of some past escapade, a similar stunt perhaps. He offered a consoling smile and disappeared within that academic abyss.

 With a combined sense of shame and camaraderie I wandered out the front doors. A feeling of remorse mixed with appreciation for his dedicated sensibility welled up within me. That day our boyish paths crossed, forming an invisible bond of mutual respect between us. The lesson he offered me then has lasted to present day. Since, I’ve cherished the phrase, “Practical jokes aren’t very practical.” Or as Will Rogers once said, “Everything is funny, as long as it’s happening to somebody else.”  I’ve mentally stored these lessons under “mucus_mem.brains.”