Oh, My Eye!

                  This morning I had a little bit of a struggle putting in my contacts.  First, an eyelash got stuck, then it was too dry, then it slipped off my finger.  In short, this morning included sight for sore eyes.  Yes, that was a bad pun, but I’m not going to apologize because it has inspired me to write about a prank pulled as a junior at Belleville East High.

                  Before I proceed, I have to acknowledge another, larger prank that was inspired by an itchy contact lens: April Fools Day, 1992, was a feat to remember.  Perhaps, with some time, I’ll rehash the incident.  Let me think about how it might affect the people involved first.

                  And just a year later, I had forgotten to plan anything special for pranking my fellow BTHS—East Lancers at school.  Sometimes that works out for the better.

                  Lunch was ending, and I needed to head to chemistry for a quiz or something equally heinous.  (Seriously, chem after lunch should be outlawed due to the toxic chemical and mental reactions that occur between polar opposites like…oh…students and chemical equations.)  I had gathered my crap and was heading to dump it by the back entrance of the cafeteria, which was on the second floor of the building.  I also need to point out that there were six lunch periods at this school, and mine was close to the last one.  I think it was Lunch 5B, which was coupled with a study hall for period 5A.

                  And then my contact started wigging out.  It downright hurt, so I stopped to rub my eye.  (Yes, I know I shouldn’t, but who’s telling this story?) A gentle rub did nothing, so I started digging, and soon my eye decided it should lubricate itself and produce tears.  Duh.

                  While I was searching for optical relief, one of the lunch ladies—red hair poking out of her hair net, latex gloves covered with indescribable food product—came over.  “Poor, dear.  Did you lose your contact lens?”

                  As Despicable Me’s Gru frequently verbalizes: “Light bulb.”

                  And so I lied, my eye pink and puffy and even a bit swollen by this time.  “My contact popped out somewhere over here.”  I gestured a wide arc with my hand toward the doorway that led to the stairs.

                  Immediately, the professional tuna casserole helper started yelling at kids to back away from the area.  She dropped to her knees and barked orders at random passerby to drop their trays and start scouring the linoleum for my missing contact, which was actually still in my eye.

                  By the time I got tired of the joke, and proclaimed that I had found the lens and placed it back in my eye, I had missed most of chemistry, and was guaranteed an excuse from the lunch lady (yes, I felt bad for her), there were at least thirty students, two lunch ladies, and an assistant principal down on hands and knees sweeping over the floor—the intensity similar to Tommy Lee Jones’s manhunt for Harrison Ford in The Fugitive.  It was that extensive.  Who knew, back when I got my contacts in 9^th grade, that they could be so much fun?

                  P.S.  I never had to make up the quiz in Mrs. K’s chem class either.