Snippet #1776081

"G-Greek? Good ol' Pompeii. . ." Jas said, then in a mutter he added, "I could do with a nice volcano right about now."
But he left out why it was that he wanted to be burnt to ash: to free him from the torment of talking to her. With that said, he began inching away, his hand on the wall at all times.
"I've got to - to - yes! Do that thing, for that person, in that place - yes, right away! So sorry you can't come - not that I don't want you to. . .I just, um, oh look a petunia!"
He shifted into another hall and ran, his feet making loud clomping noises as he did so. After he had put considerable distance between him and his vicious (yet cheerful!) pursuer, Jas decided that he would head to the staff room to get some water and eat some gummy bear vitamins.

But then he remembered that he still needed to clean the tyre marks. His minor mental crisis had distracted him from his obligations. Walking in a round about way, he made it to her class room and shut the door behind him. He looked first at the tyre marks on the floor and second at the tyre marks on the desk. It looked like some documents on the desk had suffered some tyre marks as well. He gulped, fearing Dark Snow's thirst for blood and vengeance. Then he went to the back of the class where he figured some cleaning supplies would be in the cabinets. He found a bottle but the label was torn off. It smelt odd, but he figured that was normal.
One cleaning supply is the same as the next, right?

Jas brought the bottle with a cloth to the front of the room. He sprayed the floor and the desk with the stuff then set to work on rubbing the former area. Rub. Rub. Rub. He felt faint from the smell, but other than that he didn't see a difference in the tyre marks. He got on top of the desk and, on his hands and knees, started rubbing it hard. He was sure he looked funny. It occurred to him then that it wouldn't look funny if Lala was doing it. Then his mind slipped into the gutter and he imagined his wife as a sexy high school student cleaning up the mess on the desk like a very bad girl. He shook his head.
What is British society doing to me?
He wondered, his face red with embarrassment. He had fantasies of his wife before but it was usually a lot more relaxed - controlled. He tried to retain some semblance of discipline with that aspect of his mind, but he didn't always succeed. After a few minutes had passed, he stood up from the desk and faced the results of his work. Horror fell upon his face and stayed there a while.

The thing in the bottle had been bleach.

He fled from the scene of the crime and headed for the staff room to wash the bleach off his hands before the worst was realized. He presumed his hands would be bleached like the desk and floor had been bleached.
In my defense, I got the tyre marks out. . .
He told himself as he twisted through the halls. He entered the staff room in a daze, heading to the sink and washing his hands and face (then hair) obsessively with soap and water. When he looked down at his clothes, he froze. They had various spots of discoloration - he looked like a leopard at a polka dot parade. He was just about to undress when he became presently aware of the teachers in the staff room. He turned around and waved awkwardly.

He really was an idiot.