| The Wizard Of Schnaz
It's not what you think, though.
Picture him in a gymnasium with a large group of other boys his own age.
Picture him in his Physical Education class.
Picture a P.E teacher who is trying to teach the class about the finer points of boxing.
Finally. picture this same boy with a very bad, very nasty, head cold.
He's not a good boxer, being small and having very short arms.
Nonetheless, a giant, a bully with pimples on his face, is chosen as his opponent. It's not a fair match but the boy gamely enters the ring anyway. As the bell rings classmates crowd around the perimeter to watch.
The boy with a head cold is sniffing continously, trying to keep his nose from leaking onto his upper lip. It's not working though and he can feel the pressure building. He needs to blow his nose. He needs to blow his nose really bad.
But there's still a minute-thirty left in the round. It's too long, he knows he'll never last. In desperation he takes his eyes off his opponent and tilts his head back.
Ahhh! Much better! The stuff has drained into his mouth. All of it! Now, just swallow real quick like and get back into the fight!
But, suddenly, his opponent strikes with a cruel right cross to the chin. The boy sees tiny bright white lights before his eyes as his head jerks violently to the left. His mouth opens involuntarily as his body falls like a rock to the floor.
He regains consciousness to the sounds of cheering and laughing. The teacher is helping him up. There's more laughing, some boys are on the floor, holding their side, trying to catch their breath. The young boxer is confused, doesn't know what's going on.
Then he sees a group of boys who aren't laughing. They're fighting over a box of Kleenex, wiping off their gym clothes, their arms, their faces. They're gagging and saying things like, "Agghhhhh!"
Suddenly the boy realizes what's happened, remembers that he never had a chance to swallow. He's embarrassed and humiliated.
But the smiling teacher takes his right arm and raises his gloved hand above his head. There's a loud cheer from his classmates, excepting of course those who are still cleaning up.
He's won the match by default!
Today they're learning about the trampoline and the boys gather tightly around it, grasping the rails.
The teacher does a few instructional jumps; a turn, a lay-out, a sommersault. He says they're ready now, who'll volunteer to be first? No volunteers? Okay then, how about the boy with the really bad head cold?
The boy, of course, is caught by surprise. Tries to weasel out. But no dice, he can't get out of it.
So he noisily tries to suck a bucket of air into his plugged nose then climbs onto the trampoline.
As he begins his jumps, trying to gain altitude, he feels his nose filling again, but it's hard to jump and suck at the same time, so there's not much he can do about it.
The teacher commands him to do a turn. He does it. "Excellent! Perfect!" the teacher shouts out.
Now for the lay-out. "Great! You're doing good!"
And finally the sommersault. He's doing good.....but something happens as he grabs his knees and begins to turn over.
That massive glob of stuff packed inside of his nose chooses that moment to come free, to escape the nostrils that held it......to fly completely across the trampoline and land with a solid "GLUUUMMP!".....right between the two thumbs of Harold Jenkins, the class sissy.
All talk ceases, the cheering stops, the gym is momentarily silent. Everyone backs away from the trampoline in unison.
Everyone, that is, but Harold Jenkins. Harold remains motionless. His eyes are frozen on the large yellowish mound, sitting like a teaspoon of old mayonaise, on the edge of the trampoline, right between his thumbs.
Slowy he lifts his hands from the rail, turns them over, checks them carefully. His face turns ashen.
Then Harold Jenkins rushes toward the shower room, gagging loudly. He's in a quandry because he needs to cover his mouth with his hands, but still doesn't want to touch them to his lips.
The boy, still lying on his back on the trampoline, glances at his teacher, silently begging forgiveness. The teacher, though, just curls his lips slightly, then shakes his head in resignation.
"Get a towell!" he commands the boy, before turning to the rest of the class.
"The rest of you......let's play basketball or something."
Some things in his life are different now, but some things are still the same, too.
He's no longer in school. Instead he's a printer, working for a weekly newspaper.
And once again he has a very bad, very nasty, head cold.
It's Saturday, the shop is quiet except for the chugging of the small printing press.
Everyone else is at home. No one works on Saturday, except the boy.
No one that is except for Richard, the middle-aged, well dressed, well mannered, somewhat aloof, bookkeeper.
The boy is glad to be alone. Alone he's free to blow his runny nose as often as he likes, or to snuffle it back if he wishes to.
He's almost finished for the day, is cleaning up, getting ready to go home, when Richard appears beside him. He's dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and a blue tie.
On his feet he wears a pair of expensive Wingtips.
He asks the boy for his timecard so he can begin payroll.
The boy is surprised by Richards sudden entrance, he quickly wipes his nose with the back of his hand.
He wants to blow it, but decides to wait until Richard has left. Richard never stays in the ink-stained print room too long.
Today though, Richard is friendly. He stays. He talks about work, about the weather, about the boy's family.
The boy tries to be friendly in return, a difficult task since his nose has started to drain into the back of his mouth.
Suddenly, without any warning at all, he has to sneeze.
He tries to hold it back, but he can't. It's irrepressible.
And as it happens, as his eyes close and the sneeze takes its natural course, he can't control the substance that has drained from his nose and into his mouth.
At the height of his sneeze it spurts forward like a bullet, flying through his lips like a giant spitwad from a giant straw.
An instant later the boy opens his eyes, looks at Richard.
Richard is looking downward, his face twisted in shock.....in disbelief.
The glob of nasty stuff has landed has landed on the top of his left Wingtip, has spread across it like a spoonful of tapioca pudding.
Neither person speaks. No words are spoken. There's only an uncomfortable silence as Richard continues to stare at his feet for a few moments more. The situation is uncomfortable, to say the least.
The boy is embarrassed, but soon sees the humor in what has happened. He can barely keep from laughing.
Finally, Richard looks up, still not quite believing what his eyes have seen. Not believing what he saw resting on the top of his expensive shoe.
"Sorry," says the boy, handing Richard a slightly used shop rag.
Richard smiles a forced smile, then gingerly wipes the top of his shoe with the rag. Holding it by a tiny corner he hands it back to the boy.
"Be seein' ya", he says,
He turns to go then, walking stiffly and holding his left pant leg away from his leg so as not to brush the afflicted shoe against his suit.
The boy sits down on the workbench. He covers his mouth with one hand. His body shakes with silent laughter.
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Picture if you will, a young boy, a freshman in high school, shall we say. Although he's a bit small for his age, he's happy and well adjusted.