How do you unlock the secret of running a successful assembly on bathroom manners? With a doo-key!

 I have often been asked about some of the odd and/or outlandish activities of which I sometimes find myself engaged in at school...with people wondering why I participate in such antics. "It's my duty," I respond, with my usual humbled conviction to my craft.

But never so much as on Friday.

First and fourth grade teams have historically been yoked together to host the initial grade level character building assembly of the year. It's a LOT of pressure. Shoot too low and you are ridiculed mercilessly for your lack of effort and creativity. Aim for the stars and you are persecuted for setting the bar too high. We learned back in July that we were to be assigned the very auspicious...very dignified...classy topic of bathroom manners. After some strident and indignant arguing, it was decided (for me) that the best course of action was simply to just hold our breath and hope for the best.

It was time to get down to business.

Naturally, we were a bit down in the dumps during our first meeting. This was not the ideal topic in which we wished to showcase our talents. "You don't suppose that there is a costume..." I mused, typing doubtfully on my phone. You betcha, there was. From there, you couldn't stop the flow of ideas. 

Occasionally, we'd get stalled or there'd be a clog in the creative flow...but soon, things were running smoothly. The team threw up a real stink at one point when decided we needed ten plungers for an engaging activity for the children. "I am NOT purchasing ten plungers," one of our crew stated decisively. We briefly debated all of us buying one but I finally volunteered to take on that heavy load. "Urine good hands," I assured everyone. "I won't let you down."

The next step was getting our good-natured cleaner on board the potty train. Naturally, she was quite receptive to ANY idea that might get kids aiming to improve their bathroom behavior. I explained our idea to her.

"You know how, if you are in the clutches of a serial killer, you are supposed to personalize yourself with him...drill your name into his head...build a relationship?"

Christy nodded. Working as a school cleaner was as close to being in the clutches of a serial killer as you can get. Except she was in the clutches of hundreds of pint-sized serial killers...all intent on destroying your will to live. 

And that was how our little movie was made.

Now...I don't actually fancy myself a commode-ian, but, me, dressed up as a giant toilet paper roll, earnestly interviewing Miss Christy in the lavatory about her life-long vendetta against germs as she toils endlessly to model respectful, responsible, and safe behavior was definitely some Academy Award winning $h!}. The unnecessary but entertaining concluding montage that was triggered with the flush of a toilet, the startling appearance of a grinning kid who announced that the toilet paper had just run out, was underscored by the theme song from the old Benny Hill show as Miss Christy chased me up and down the halls. 

The day of the ASSembly arrived. There was no need to be nervous. We had everything covered.

My friend Jordan and I introduced the program. She was flawlessly professional. Comedically brilliant. Personally, I was feeling flushed. If ever there was a time to wet myself from nervousness...this would be it. I kept tripping over my toilet paper train. The first grade team held up letter tiles to spell out our mnemonic word to help students remember the steps to keeping the bathroom safe and clean:  FLUSH. We had had it planned that they would intentionally spell it wrong several times to give students a chance to guess our word. I watched as two of our teachers realized that the "f" and the "u" should not be neighbors and immediately re-positioned themselves on stage. I giggled as I watched the show. Good thing that they hadn't tried making the word "poo." They might have only ended up with "p" because they were missing some bowels!

We successfully made it to the end of the assembly. We said words into microphones that no grown women should EVER have to utter. We created visual pictures in the minds of our audience that will NEVER be erased. We made our physical education coaches and pre-schoolers laugh so we know that we were pretty much on target. And, for one brief shining moment, dressed ridiculously as a roll of toilet paper, I was the life of the potty.