BRRRRRP! BRRRRP BRRRRP BRRRRRRRRRP!

Okay, so I'm immature. This shouldn't be news to anyone who knows me. 

Anyone who knows me also knows that the classroom in which I teach has been completely boarded up and swallowed by the construction zone of the new high school.  It was fascinating and creepy all at the same time when the workers and I shared the same space separated by mere plexiglass windows.  Now, with the plywood up and the plexiglass gone, I can still hear the work but have no idea what's going on.  It's all left to my imagination.

When I hear giant clanging noises followed by men yelling, I imagine someone has dropped either a steel girder or a a support pole.  When I hear beeping, I imagine the forklift is backing up, hopefully not over someone.

Thursday I hear the distinct sound of rivets being screwed in with hydraulic machinery.  It sounds like the tire changing area of a pit crew in a NASCAR race: 


Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!

The students are taking an open-binder quiz, so they're all nose-into-their books.  I am sitting in the back of the room entering data on the computer.  The only one who seems bothered by the noise is me, and I start to giggle.  Honestly, I have been listening to these noises for two-and-a-half hours straight before this class, and it's starting to get on my nerves.

A couple of the kids turn around.  I force myself to look stoic and disinterested.

Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!

I smile and will myself not to react, but I cannot stop.  The noise reminds me of... And then my mouth opens and words fall out.

"Has anyone here ever seen the movie Blazing Saddles?" I ask.  Nope.  Nobody.  "There's a scene where the cowboys are sitting around a campfire eating beans," I explain to no one and everyone, "and they all start farting.  The sounds from the construction zone reminded me of that."  Then I apologize and urge them to get back to work.  They do, and I attempt to, also.  Suddenly --

Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!

Ohmigodohmigodohmigod, don't laugh.  Do not... But I cannot help it.  I giggle some more.  A couple of the students look at me, clearly annoyed.  I have to get a grip.  I have to hold it together. I have to --

Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!

I stare at my computer screen and my fingers stop moving.  I know if I move one muscle, I'm going to crack myself up over the industrial farting noises coming from the other side of the plywood.  I take a deep breath and notice movement out of the corner of my eye.  I turn and make visual contact with a girl who sits in the last seat of the middle row of desks.  She starts giggling, as well.  Clearly, even though she didn't see the movie, she totally gets it.

Once she starts, a couple of other students start giggling, and I completely lose it.  I start laughing so hard that I am crying a little bit.

"I'm sorry," I apologize in earnest.  "I am so immature."  As soon as the word "immature" rolls off of my tongue...  Brrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!  Brrrrp brrrp brrrrrrrp!

This time everybody laughs.  If we can hear the construction guys, I'm quite certain they can hear us.  I'd like to think at least one of them finds it as funny as we do.  To my disappointment, though, the noises stop, so the children get back to work on their quizzes, and I get back to work updating school files.

The superintendent did a walk-through recently and thanked those of us inside the construction zone for being patient and being good sports.  I'm not so sure that laughing at accidental artificial fart noises is exactly what she meant, but we have to keep our optimism up.  After all, joy trumps professionalism every time.    It was one of those teachable moments, and I apparently failed miserably in reminding the students that it's time to suck it up and act like the mature young adults they are and the mature adult I am supposed to be.

Screw it.

They'll have plenty of other opportunities to act appropriately.  I mean, get real.  We're taking a quiz and there are fart noises everywhere.  Things like this just don't happen every day, so for today, anyway, we're going to live on the edge.  The edge of the construction.  The edge of Mr. Taggart's bean-fueled campfire.  The edge of maturity.  They have the rest of their lives to grow up and behave, but for now it's okay to be twelve and giggle: That's the real sound that makes me smile.