The Noteworthy Bowel Movement

*Names changed to protect my fellow students, the guilty turd, and the pooper scooper.

First grade proved difficult in 1975 rural South Dakota. Our teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, was training a student teacher sent to us by Satan himself. The prodigy's name was Miss Spiezer, but we called her The Spider.

The Spider hated small children, and I believe that is why she wanted to become a teacher. What other profession pays you to torment a group you hate? To her credit, The Spider was particularly good at catching us on her web.

Several characters resided in our class, which made it difficult to maintain order. The Spider found this particularly vexing, so she implemented several policies to "keep us in line". One mandate included a strict restroom procedure. After every recess, milk break, and lunch, we were marched to the facilities as a group and expected to tinkle on demand. Some of us were unable to fulfill this expectation.

During class, The Spider refused to grant any restroom passes. One unlucky student, Angie, had a weak bladder. We all knew when Angie needed to make a run for it, as she would do the most marvelous potty dance. The Spider ignored the dance and insisted the poor child could hold it "if she really tried".

One memory of the dance is forever emblazoned on my mind. During math, students took turns working problems out on the board. Angie struggled to complete the task since her need to urinate caused a strange board climbing stunt. The Spider looked on as the poor child lost the battle and wet her pants in front of us.

Angie burst into tears. The Spider grabbed her arm and marched her out of the classroom. Mrs. Reynolds returned to the room and tried her best to calm us down, but to no avail. We were crushed.

The next few days dragged miserably forth as The Spider still refused to allow us restroom passes during class. One youngster among us hatched a plan. Shit was about to get real!

On a bright and beautiful spring day, we returned from recess to find an immense pile of crap on the floor of our classroom. The Spider's fury radiated from her face, and I lost the desire to laugh at the prank. She screeched at us to sit down and called for Mrs. Reynolds' assistance.

Demands were issued to rat out the pooper. I had no idea who had committed the crime, and apparently no one else knew either. The identity of our hero stayed a secret.

The two adults conferred at the front of the room until they reached a decision. We were told to write our names on scraps of paper and place them in a bucket. The Spider picked a name out of the hat, Richard, and told him he needed to pick up the poop.

Chaos ensued! Richard sobbed while solemnly trudging toward the pile with a bucket and paper towels. As he reached toward the stinky mass, a cascade of vomit shot forward and landed on the number two! Students howled. Students cried. Students gagged.

The Spider turned white and was speechless for the first time since being introduced. She walked out of the room and was never seen again. Mrs. Reynolds took control of the room for the remainder of the year.

Rumors circulated after "the incident", but no one knows for sure the identity of the renegade shitter. As years pass, I hope the pooper remembers his brave feculence as fondly as me.

*My 56-year-old self cannot swear to the validity of the details in this story, but I do solemnly swear a student pooped in the back of my first-grade classroom and another student was told to clean it up.