The Halls of Halitosis
1977 was a pivotal year. That September I awoke from the feathery fantasy world of fourth grade, to ascend yet another flight of stairs, arriving at the third level of St. Agnes Seminary.
The upper echelons of the convent school bore the classrooms of the fifth and sixth grades, divided by a cramped, tiny space known as the school library.
My fifth grade teacher was Mrs. Lundy. As soon as I saw her, I knew I was in for a difficult year. Mrs. Lundy was a math teacher. Strike one. I was not what you would call a “math whiz”. I wouldn’t even say my skills were even adequate. Sr. Bernadette had imparted to me a deep and abiding fear of Mathematics, one that fostered with my mind a well of self-doubt and dread. I was not looking forward to learning any new math concepts. I had barely hung onto a “B” in multiplication and division. My grades were sure to plummet as I swam through the murk of this fifth year.
As a class, we soon shrugged off the novelty of being a year older and presiding over the third level of the school. The endless flights of stairs which had to be climbed each day were exhausting. As one ventured higher and higher, the air supply seemed too thin and become choked off. The convent had no air conditioning. There were no fans either. The small landing at the pinnacle of the climb was poorly lit and, by the time one reached it, there was a high probability of suffering a lung collapse. I wondered if I would survive this fifth year without sustaining a heart attack.
Upon making it to my classroom after this protracted climb, I would inevitably be soaked with sweat; as a matter of fact, the entire third floor reeked of the sickly sweet-sour scent of the perspiration of my peers. I prayed for oxygen on a daily basis. What made matters worse, was what awaited us once we collapsed into our seats. One look at Mrs. Lundy would kill my appetite for the day. She was a small-boned woman with short dull-brown hair. She had a profusion of teeth projecting outward from her face in a rather pronounced overbite. It looked like the cause of this problem was simply too many teeth in her mouth. Either that, or as a child , Mrs. Lundy had been one ferocious thumb-sucker.
It didn’t end there. I learned of the extent of the situation the first time I had to approach the teacher’s desk. As part of a daily routine, each student had to bring her homework up to the front of the room to be checked by our teacher. The first time I did this, I tried not to stare at the incredible cluster of teeth bursting forth from her face. I really tried. It was then that I noticed it. The smell. A very, very bad smell. It caught me off guard. I almost lost my balance, let alone my lunch. Initially, I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I looked around, trying to locate the source. It was difficult, because the stench was everywhere, it seemed.
As I turned my back from Mrs. Lundy, the odor seemed to lessen. Once I began to face her, it hit me again, though. The smell was overpowering and pungent. I am sure it was toxic to my system. It made my eyes water and my throat constrict. She urged me to lean forward, to come a little closer so she could correct my homework. I really didn’t want to do that. But, I had no choice.
Slowly, I bent down and then I was head to head with her. I felt myself losing consciousness and the room began to spin. I knew I had to get out of there quick, or I would pass out – or worse.
So I hurriedly asked to be excused to go to the restroom. Mrs. Lundy obliged and I took off. I ran down the flight of stairs, taking two at a time. I ran and ran, all the way to the underground level of the convent , all the way to the basement, where the bathrooms and the auditorium were located. Pushing the heavy wooden door, I hurtled myself into a stall just in time, gagging and heaving. Luckily, no-one else was in there at the time. I leaned against the wall of my stall and wondered how I could possibly go back to my classroom. Deciding to prolong my escape, I stood there and reveled in the fresh supply of oxygen, filling my starving lungs and waiting for the dizziness to pass.
I knew I would have to return to the room. The endless steps stood before me, and the prospect of ascending them suddenly didn’t seem so bad. I began the climb, going slower and slower with each step. This would be a great way to kill time and put off the inevitable. It took me fifteen minutes to reach the third floor. When I entered the classroom, Mrs. Lundy looked at me and commented on my lengthy absence. I told her I had gotten sick and sat down at my desk. The other girls just looked at me. I could tell which ones had discovered the smell. They were the girls with green faces. Some had their heads down on their desks.
It was too much to expect us to deal with this incredibly bad breath. We were unsure of what to do. As students, we basically had no rights to speak of. The rules were much different in those days. Unlike today, there were no child advocates interested in our best interests or our welfare. There was no-one to tell. We were stuck. By the end of the day, our whole classroom was bathed in the foul fragrance of Mrs. Lundy’s breath. The fifth grade class was held captive in the convent, confined to an airless attic classroom , forced to inhale the repugnant exhalations emanating from the gaping maw of our oblivious teacher.
She never seemed to notice a thing . It was probably the closest thing to Hell I had known up till then. I cried that day, cried all the way home. Once in my house, I ran straight for the bathroom, to my parents’ surprise, and grabbed the Crest toothpaste and the Listerine off the shelf. I brushed my teeth for a good ten minutes and then swished about a quarter cup of the mouthwash around in my mouth until it burned. I washed my face and sprayed on some nice-smelling cologne, trying to eliminate the mouthrot smell that seemed to be hanging on my clothes and skin.
I made it through the fifth grade, but I really don’t know how. My math grade plunged to a “C”, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was a passing grade so I could make my exit from the “Mouthrot Motel” to the sixth grade classroom and my new teacher, Mrs. Daly. I was overjoyed to see her white and shiny teeth, and the best part of all was that she always chewed gum. Alleluia……
