The Ridiculous Visit of Dr. Car E. Less

Last year, after Ms. Campbell’s 6th grade class finished learning the laboratory safety rules and taking the test that followed, she approached Mr. Dawson with an ingenious idea. He remembers their conversation vividly and often replays it in his mind. 

“Mr. Dawson, can I talk to you for a second?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“I was thinking of playing a prank on my 6th grade class next year.” 

“Like, your current class which I’ll have in Intro to Chem next year?” 

“No, I mean the 6th grade class that I’ll have next year. I thought I’d ask you because you’re really good with pranks.” 

Mr. Dawson had giggled and blushed. He might have received more heartfelt compliments before, but none meant more to him than Ms. Campbell’s praise of his skills in his favorite hobby. Overwhelmed by a fluttery feeling in his heart, he couldn’t let out more than a soft “Um, thanks.” 

After a short awkward silence, Mr. Dawson shyly asked, “So what kind of prank are we thinking?” 

“I had this idea that someone could dress up as a professional scientist, but an irresponsible one,” suggested Ms. Campbell. 

Nodding, Mr. Dawson added, “And they would break all the safety rules and teach the kids the same stuff in a fun way.” Ms. Campbell nodded even harder. Could they read each others’ minds? 

It was not only the day he started planning his biggest prank to date, but also the day his crush on Ms. Campbell intensified. He wanted to impress her by making this stunt perfect. He had stopped by the dollar store on the way home to buy a brand new black composition notebook. At least once every week for a year, he would add one detail of the prank to the notebook, whether it concerned his lab-inappropriate outfit, safe substances that could look like dangerous chemicals, his exact dialogue and timing… anything, really. Mr. Dawson knew that a successful prank required dedicated planning, yet his short attention span wouldn’t allow him to sit with his notebook for long periods of time. He had overestimated the amount of planning space he would need, as he only filled the first ten pages of his notebook, but he was confident that his little safety demonstration would impress the students, and more importantly, Ms. Campbell. 

Now, Mr. Dawson sat at his desk with his back leaning against his spinning chair. In just two minutes, the bell would ring. Sure, he could kill those two minutes by starting to grade the laboratory safety tests. However, his shaky hands wouldn’t even allow him to pick up the black ballpoint pen on his desk, let alone the expensive red fountain pen he used for grading. He stared at his half-written lesson plan on chemical reactions for his seventh grade class. After what felt like an eternity, the cacophonous ringing of the bell finally sent him to Ms. Campbell’s classroom - that’s where he would head eventually, at least.

Blonde tangled wig and a change of clothes in hand, he first scurried to the teachers’ bathroom. He frantically unbuttoned his crisp white shirt and unbuckled his professional black trousers, throwing on a dirty Adidas soccer outfit instead. He smirked as he brushed a leaf off of his apple red knee length shorts, and some dirt off of his loose white shirt. Flammable and baggy, his clothes served as the perfect example of what not to wear in the laboratory. He regained his composure before exiting the bathroom and walking with purpose to Ms. Campbell’s classroom, while covering his bald head with the blonde wig. As he was waiting outside the door, he could overhear Ms. Campbell talking to her students about his upcoming visit. He blushed at the sound of her voice. 

She began, “Today’s class is going to be fun, because we’re having a-”

“Are we starting our trout-raising project?” one girl asked, impatiently and excitedly.  

Man, I’m so glad I teach the 7th and 8th grade. I like having mature students, thought Mr. Dawson. 

“No. We’ll start that next class, on Monday, but in the meantime, here’s the plan!” beamed Ms. Campbell. Her classroom’s door was left open a crack, allowing Mr. Dawson discreetly peer in. He saw Ms. Campbell’s class curiously gazing at the whiteboard as she picked up a black fine point Expo marker and started writing. 

Dr. Less, she wrote on the board in huge capital letters, the marker squeaking as it moved. Do markers really have to make that annoying sound? Static friction, why do you exist? Just why.

Double-underlining the name, Ms. Campbell announced, “Today, we have a guest. Dr. Less will be visiting our class!”

Holding back a laugh, Mr. Dawson tried to listen more intently, but all he could focus on was Ms. Campbell’s gray, flowy blouse and red dress skirt. It brought out the green in her eyes, which he often found himself lost in. 

“Dr. Less is a professional scientist, and he is going to be performing an experiment for us. Just to give you an idea of how we do labs. Watch closely, it’s going to be amazing!”

Mr. Dawson took that as his cue to push the door open and strut into the classroom. He flicked his hip-length blonde wig, which he definitely didn’t plan to tie back before the start of the experiment. 

“Hello, Dr. Less! How are you doing today?” welcomed Ms. Campbell.

In an upper-class British accent, Mr. Dawson replied, “Amazing! What about you?”

“We’re doing great!” chriped Ms. Campbell, showing him to the lab table. “Anyways, the kids seem ready, so do you want to get started?”

When Mr. Dawson nodded and cleared his throat, the class eagerly turned their seats towards the counter and waited for him to begin. 

To start his experiment, he held up a full 50-ml beaker. Mr. Dawson knew that the powdery, white substance in the beaker was just baking soda, but it captured “Dr. Less’s” interest immediately. “What is this strange thing?” he marveled. He turned the beaker around with one hand, bending down to look at each granule. The beaker now right under his nose, he slowly inhaled the substance - and pretended to quickly realize his mistake. “Ugh! This smells awful!” he exclaimed, feigning some sneezes. 

Most of the class immediately burst into laughter at his little safety violation, but a dark-haired girl wearing thick magenta glasses widened her eyes in shock. Flicking one of her long pigtails, she exclaimed, “Heck no. We’re not putting our trout-raising project on hold for this abominable guy.” 

“Riley, be quiet and just watch,” sighed a visibly irritated Ms. Campbell. However, her look of exasperation quickly turned to a smile when she looked at him.  

An infatuated Mr. Dawson measured 3 grams of the baking soda on a triple beam balance with his shaky hands. He utilized the funny faces that he had rehearsed in front of the mirror for weeks. Next, he dissolved the baking soda in water, and heated the solution on a hot plate. “I’m going to make a mixture with this stuff,” explained Mr. Dawson, pointing to three “colorful chemicals” in separate 50-ml beakers. In reality, the beakers only contained clear substances with red, yellow, and green food coloring. The red was water; the green and yellow were vinegar. He had chosen red and yellow because he knew they were Ms. Campbell’s favorite colors, and green because it was the color of her eyes. 

Before he could mix the “chemicals”, though, Ms. Campbell noticed something missing. “Do you want a lab apron? Or how about safety goggles?” said Ms. Campbell, handing Mr. Dawson a lab apron and a pair of safety goggles.

“Safety goggles? Man, I hate these things!” retorted Mr. Dawson. He flung his safety goggles into the wastebasket. Then, he tossed his lab apron into the shelf behind him. Watching the apron’s trajectory, he noticed that it barely missed the trout tank. Oops! 

At this point, everyone in the class was laughing hysterically, except the girl in pigtails and magenta glasses. Riley, he thought her name was, if he remembered correctly. “Not on the trout tank,” she declared, with crossed arms and an angry glare in her brown eyes. 

“Riley! Quiet!” snapped Ms. Campbell before Mr. Dawson could say anything. 

“Anyways, before I mix the chemicals, though, I want to taste the red one.” Midway through sipping, he exclaimed, “Bleck! It tastes just like blood! Maybe it is blood.” 

While Riley rolled her eyes, muttering “vampire weirdo” under her breath, Ms. Campbell laughed harder than ever. Mr. Dawson’s heart fluttered at the sound of her laughter. 

Mr. Dawson smirked to himself when he noticed the 6th grade’s safety rule posters displayed on the wall across from him. At the top of one group’s poster, “Thou shalt not go without thy safety goggles” was written in large red calligraphy. They also wrote, “Thou shalt not taste chemicals unless the teacher specifically says so.” Mr. Dawson was both going without his safety goggles and tasting a chemical that he shouldn’t have been tasting. Mission accomplished. Wait- not quite yet though, I haven’t yet broken all of the rules. 

After Mr. Dawson finished mixing the three colored chemicals, he looked at the first solution he had made with the baking soda. “This isn’t warm enough yet, so let’s speed up the heating process with a blowtorch!” The 6th graders exchanged confused looks, as this wasn’t a lab technique usually covered in the safety unit. Well, yes, it wasn’t- because it was an unsafe one.

He struck five matches at the same time and lit the blowtorch with them. He turned the hot plate off and placed the blowtorch near the beaker. The blowtorch whirring in the background, Mr. Dawson held the matches, pretending to ponder over how to dispose of them for a few seconds. He was mentally preparing himself for his most risky stunt, one that he had rehearsed for months. If he executed it the wrong way, he could at best leave black marks on the expensive terrazzo floor, and at worst catch his clothes on fire. 

He gingerly juggled the hissing matches until they fell on the floor, although he displayed sheer imprudency on his face. He stepped on the matches, putting out the flame, and threw them into the wastebasket. Then, he quickly poured a bucket full of water inside the wastebasket and continued with his experiment, acting as if nothing ever happened. The crackling of the flames ended with a whoosh, which turned into Mr. Dawson’s Phew! 

Scanning the floor, a relieved Mr. Dawson thought Phew! I pulled that one off! With my long wig and flammable shorts! And no noticeable marks on the floor. The rest is easy. He grinned again as he noticed Rule #7 on the poster he was looking at earlier: “Thou shalt be careful around thy flames!” 

“Now here’s the fun part: I’m going to mix the contents of these two beakers together,” beamed Mr. Dawson. “But I’m getting a little hungry, so I think it’s time for a little snack first.” After saying this, a naughty thought entered Mr. Dawson’s head: if snacks aren’t allowed in the lab, does that mean that Ms. Campbell can’t be in the lab? He caught himself blushing, so he decided to focus on the class. 

Doubtfully, the 6th graders looked at each other. Everyone’s safety poster did include something along the lines of “Thou shalt not eat and drink in a science lab,” although only one used Shakespeare’s dialect. However, he was confident that the class, except Riley, had caught on to his approach to lab safety by now: if there’s a rule about it, break it. He enjoyed watching them erupt into laughter, especially Ms. Campbell. 

“Do you want to have some Pringles?” he asked Riley. He basked in their reactions of ooh, aah, uh-oh and this is going to be good. His decision to offer Pringles to the most uptight student in the class earned a wink from Ms. Campbell, which he returned. He began to fantasize about a first date with Ms. Campbell, but Riley’s loud voice snapped him back to reality. 

“Do I look like I would eat junk food? In a science lab? Heck no, you loser!” 

“Riley!” shouted Ms. Campbell. The snobbish 6th grader rolled her eyes. 

Briskly and messily, Mr. Dawson filled his mouth with Pringles and gobbled them down. He slurped half a can of Dr. Pepper soda down his throat. He smiled to himself when he realized that the students were watching one doctor (Dr. Less) gulp down another doctor (Dr. Pepper).

After his messy snack break, which was sufficiently inappropriate for a laboratory setting, he chirped, “Watch what happens when I combine these mixtures!”

“You forgot to add that one,” noticed a blonde student wearing a green headband. She pointed to a beaker full of blue Listerine, which Mr. Dawson had hoped would look close enough to dish detergent. 

“You mean this?” Mr. Dawson pricked up the beaker and took a big sip. 

“Bleh! This tastes awful!” He desperately spit out as much as he could into the wastebasket, before rinsing his mouth with Dr. Pepper soda. “Ugh — that was bad,” sighed Mr. Dawson. He hoped his acting skills weren’t diminishing. 

“But do you guys want to see the experiment in action?”

The class excitedly nodded. 

“Well, here I go.” He combined the mixtures. A pink, foamy substance formed and bubbled up, the kind that you see when mixing baking soda with vinegar. A transparent substance of the same color spilled out onto the counter. 

Each chemical equation of Mr. Dawson’s experiment had a big mess as one of its products. Mr. Dawson, satisfied with his performance but still wishing he could have done a little better, watched the sizzling volcano along with the class. “I feel like he’s going to leave without cleaning that up,” he could hear the blonde girl whisper. Her hypothesis was supported when Mr. Dawson declared, “Now it’s time for me to go, and I’ll leave it up to you guys to clean this mess. Bye!” With that, he walked out the door of the classroom, slamming it behind him. The class stared at him as he left, stunned and puzzled.

After leaving, Mr. Dawson leaned his ear against the door to listen to Ms. Campbell’s soothing voice. “Now, I didn’t tell you his full name - Dr. Car E. Less, because Dr. Less ‘could not care less’ about science safety rules.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed all her students in unison. 

“Mm-hmm!”

TWO YEARS LATER

Ms. Campbell had loved Mr. Dawson’s silly demonstration so much that she asked him to do it every year with her 6th graders. Mr. Dawson gladly agreed, pleasantly surprised at the offer. Every year, he strived to add something new to his prank - last year, he applied lipstick with one hand while he mixed the three “colorful chemicals” with the other. This year, he had bought an Erlenmeyer flask prop that created a realistic-looking scene of broken glass when thrown against the floor, although it wasn’t made from real glass and it could magnetically be reassembled. He was intently practicing how he would “accidentally” break his flask when a low-pitched voice threw him off guard. 

“Mr. Dawson, what are you doing? This isn’t the 6th grade Car E. Less demonstration.”

Mr. Dawson jumped, but when he regained his composure, he scanned the dark-haired girl. His eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized her. When he posed as Dr. Less in front of her class two years ago, she was far from the tall girl wearing blue contacts, who was standing in front of him. Her dark, wavy hair was intricately styled in a half-back fishtail braid.

 “Riley?” 

“M-Mr. Dawson. I know I was in Ms. Smith’s chemistry class last year, and I haven’t seen you much since then, but I remember that Car E. Less experiment. I didn’t want to admit it at the time because I was obsessed with looking like the smartest one or something. But…”

“Wait, even you liked it?” 

“Yeah, I thought it was really funny.”  

“Wait, how did you know it was me?” Mr. Dawson had assumed that the generally low IQ of middle schoolers, especially 6th graders, would prevent them from finding out. 

“I saw you putting on the Dr. Less wig while walking to class on the day you did it last year. My class was right next to Ms. Campbell’s.” 

“Oh.” He tried not to let the disappointment of being caught show on his face. “Can you, like, not tell anyone?” 

“Okay.” 

Although he appeared cool and composed on the outside, he was panicking on the inside. In two days, he was supposed to perform this charade for the third year in a row. The revelation that Riley had known Dr. Less’ identity for about a year did hurt his confidence a little. However, he remembered the laughs from the students and the encouragement from Ms. Campbell. He smiled at the idea of his crush appreciating his stunt once again. He returned to grading papers, but focused his thoughts on what he truly loved most: playing pranks and interacting with his students. Speaking of his students, he always warns them against procrastination and underestimating themselves, yet he never listened to his own advice. While marking an A+ with his red fountain pen on Ben Coleman’s safety test, he resolved to ask Ms. Campbell out after the teacher meeting today. No more waiting for her to make the first move, no more worrying that he wasn’t good enough. And if that didn’t go well, at least the joy of teaching his students again could cheer him up tomorrow.