Close Call

Today my life was spared by providential placement of a bathroom pass and the heroics of a young stranger.

I wandered into the after-school care area late this afternoon. The attending proctor handed me a laminated bathroom pass. She thought it was a joke, as I had need neither for a bathroom nor for a pass. What followed was no laughing matter.

Good-humoredly, I accepted the bathroom pass, taking a few playful strides toward the “Teachers Only” room at the end of the hall. It was then that a first-grader stopped me in my tracks. She was pointing. Initially I thought the object of her focus was behind me, but the force of her gaze upon my left shoulder alerted me to the contrary. Still needing clarity, I inched toward her and gestured for more information. It was descending quickly toward my clavicle. I had no time to spare. I glanced down and, with my wits still about me, used my laminated weapon to precipitate Ringo from my shoulder and send him skidding across the floor.

The beetle reached the “Teachers Only” room before I did. He was denied entry. He didn’t have a pass.