Never Underestimate Pixie Dust

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE PIXIE DUST

           I saw the sign on the door. ‘All you need is faith, trust, and a little Pixie dust.’ Cute. Based on one of those movies made by the defunct children’s movie corporations. Looked to be a relic from the 1950’s.
           Unfortunately, we’ve done a lot to protect our teachers and children from the lack of rules and regulations in the 1950’s. That is actually a good thing on the surface. What I mean by unfortunately, it’s going to be unfortunate for this classroom.
           I hope she’s not the kind to shoot the messenger.
           I knocked, only as a formality, and walked in, smiling my thin smile. For those in the elementary education business, it’s a smile that’s only on the surface. A Monday smile. “Howdy.”
           The teacher, a bit on the smallish size, short, probably shorter than her students, gave me a Monday smile back. “Hello. How is maintenance doing today?”
           As far as I was concerned, the formalities were over, so I ignored the question and got to the point. “It’s the sign on the door. No, no, faith and trust are good. But I’m afraid the state of California has found Pixie dust to be a carcinogen.” She sputtered, her face going red, so I made quelling the tempests motions with my hands. “I know, I know, we aren’t in California, but ever since the White House got moved to Sacramento….” I let that one trail off.
           “Well, there’s not really that much Pixie dust lying around in here.”
           Teachers. It’s always the same. First, it’s anger, then comes bargaining. “I’m afraid we will need to move your class for a full week.”
           I thought she was about to cry. “Into the gym? For a week?”
            You wish, lady, I thought. “We thought about that, but PE is bowling this week. It’s going to have to be under the tree.” She looked out at the snow and the sycamore, bare branched and not providing cover from even the pigeons. I felt bad, but there was a job to do.
           And I wasn’t thrilled either.
                                                                       ***
           There was Pixie dust everywhere. On the underside of chairs, in the lights; I’ve seen it before. There were at least six Pixie keggers in this room. I let the guys in their hazmat suits do the work as I wandered to the window. It goes to figure, Spring was on the way, the weather was going to get better (yeah, right), and I watched the class of sixth graders doing math under the tree. The poor teacher was flitting to and fro, kind of like a hummingbird, probably just trying to stay warm. Wait, were those wings?
           “Ow!” I turned to see Bob, his hazmat suit compromised by a hat pin. “Why do Pixies always use hat pins?”
           “Should’ve joined the union, Bob.” I turned back to see if I could see wings, but it looked like a frozen teacher, nothing more. “Maybe I’ve inhaled too much Pixie dust, Bob. I’m starting to see things.” I turned back to the work at hand.
                                                                       ***
           Luckily, with Bob being nonunion, I was able to finish the job a day early. The teacher, miss Pixie dust, wouldn’t even give me a Monday smile when she passed me in the hall. I sighed. I just does what I’m told, ma’am. Poor lady.
           I went to my office, a closet really, to check the emails. “You have got to be kidding!” I exclaimed, causing more dirty looks from my open door. Oh boy.
           I printed the email, went to the door, noticing the words ‘Pixie dust’ now had a circle around them with a red line slashed through, and knocked. I went in, Monday smile in place, and held the sheet up. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the powers that be have problems with the word ‘Trust’ now. It offends the right wing, so we’re going to have to clean it up. They have tumbling in the gym this week, so….”
           She looked out to the tree, being pounded ferociously with an ice storm, then turned back to me, and….
           I woke up on the floor, miss Pixie dust flitting and flying around me, wings visible and obvious. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me! Oh, please, oh, please, be okay!” She inhaled and burst into song.
           I had a problem hearing the lyrics. I stuck a finger in my ear, dug deep, and it pulled out with Pixie dust flying through the air. A lot of Pixie dust. It hung there in a huge rainbow of colors in the fluorescent lighting. Magnificent!
           Then I heard the words, “A spoon full of sugar…”
           I stood up, waving my arms. The lyrics faded. The rainbow was between me and her smiling face. It wasn’t any Monday smile; it had the force of a March wind. I showed her the paper, very clearly checking the ‘Work Completed’ box. I looked around, maybe still dazed, and watched the Pixie dust settle. It took a few minutes. I turned to her, gave her a smile, a real smile, and said, “You Pixies have one heck of a left hook, ma’am.”
           Her smile intensified, and I had to get out of there. There’s only so much I could take. It’s in the union contract.
                                                                       The End