My memory is fuzzy, but I seem to remember that all classes in the chemistry lab had to be moved to the library that day, at least until the source of the smell was located.
Ooooo, that's a chewy sentence! I like it; it can stay.
Because wherever class was held that day, it couldn't have been in the chemistry lab, which was certainly toxic.
Loner Lab Assistant Dude stayed in the room all day, rooting out the search of the smell, or so we were told. I had my doubts. If I had been Loner Lab Assistant Dude I think I would have put off the search as long as possible, reading comic books and drinking cheap beer in the storage room because they ain't nobody who wanted to enter that room to check on his progress. Also, brain damage from stray chemicals might not have been a big problem for him.
(Photo stolen from 315ssuahC on Flickr)
The source of the smell was located: an open container of a sulfur compound, pardon my ignorance of the exact compound. Now who could have done that? All eyes fell upon Loner Lab Assistant Dude, but none of us cared, because really? A change of venue for the class? Are you kidding me? That's what high school kids LIVE for.
The sulfur was found, capped and promptly re-shelved. End of story.
Wait -- no it wasn't. Why would I bother telling you THAT?
Trying again: The sulfur was found, capped and placed upon the desk of our beloved teacher, Miss Acid. In plain sight. Within easy reach. With neon lights above it urging someone to STEAL THIS.
That's all true. All except for the "beloved" part.
"Psst -- Laurie," my friend Dave psst'd at me. "I need you to check something for me."
Little did Dave know but I would have gone to the ends of the earth on my hands and knees to check something for him, so, of course, I did what he asked.
"Walk through the school office after class," directed Dave. "Look under the couch right outside of the principal's office."
With stars in my eyes because I was on a mission from Dave, *sigh,* I strolled nonchalantly through the school office, glancing under the designated couch. There was the sulfur container, uncapped, unnoticed. Sniff sniff -- just a bit of sulfur in the air.
I burst through the doorway out to the quad where Dave waited, smiling as only a teenager who just planted a huge stink bomb can smile.
"Did you smell it?" he asked.
"Yeah, it's starting to stink up the place," I answered. What a great prank, I thought. No one gets hurt and Miss Acid gets blamed for her ongoing lack of control of those honor roll hoodlums.
The sulfur must have been discovered by Those Meddling Secretaries, because the administrators were not administrating from the library the following day. Bummer.
Dave went on to college and a brilliant career as a business owner and world-wide manufacturer.
Miss Acid was not invited back to teach any more chemistry ever, ever again.
And I'm still sitting here.