Mr. Bailey

Well, I'm still going to community college.

That in & of itself has provided numerous ridiculous situations, but none of them have fully encapsulated the community college "experience" as one student in particular who is in my Trace Evidence class. On the first day of class this semester, he strolled into the classroom late, which is his M.O. every day. My instructor didn't use his first name, & only referred to him as "Mr. Bailey." Well, Mr. Bailey, a young man around my age, sat in front of me to the right, & multiple times throughout the period he would fling his arms back to stretch & almost hit me in the head; it was then that I noticed each & every one of his fingernails was about half an inch longer than the tip of his finger. During this first class, Mr. Bailey would interrupt the instructor to ask questions that didn't really pertain to the subject matter (in this case, since it was the first day of class, the syllabus). At one point he asked how many credits he needed to shoot a gun.

Oh.

Over the next few weeks I learned quite a few things about Mr. Bailey, such as the fact that he procreated, wouldn't participate in group lab assignments due to being in a fugue state & wandering all over the classroom, & that he enjoyed coming to class high as a kite (this last one I learned the hard way, when I realized I had a contact high while sitting about 7 feet away from him).

But Mr. Bailey's finest moment came this past Thursday, on September 18, 2014. While it was a ridiculous day in many other instances (which may or may not garner a post of their own), the highlight was definitely courtesy of Mr. Bailey. We were doing a lab where we split into groups & tried to match hairs under a microscope. Since this required participation, Mr. Bailey wandered around the classroom, picking up random objects. On the other side of the room from where I was is a pulley that activates a decontamination shower, since this is a science lab. At one point I look over to where Mr. Bailey was & saw him walk right up to the lever, pull it, & release the water on himself. At first I just stared in shock, then turned around to look at the older gentleman who sits by me; he just stared back at me.

Then there was total silence from everyone.

Then laughter.

Then our instructor, a former homicide detective, yelled, "MR. BAILEY! FIRST OF ALL, PULL UP YOUR DAMN PANTS! SECOND, CLEAN UP THIS MESS! GRAB SOME PAPER TOWELS & CLEAN THIS UP! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Mr. Bailey was so shocked/embarrassed that he couldn't talk & instead of going for the paper towels he tried to use a roll of paper (I actually felt bad for him about that). As he was leaving the room our instructor said, "Folks, this is why you don't do drugs."

And that's the moral of the story.