Barrio Broom Chronicles: The Aroma of Uncertainty

My name is Ricardo Flores. I’m the custodian for Northwood Elementary. It’s a…building. A large, echoing building filled with small humans who, frankly, seem to exist solely to generate messes. My job is to clean up after them. It's a noble calling, I suppose. Or at least, that’s what my abuela tells me. She also says I should be a lawyer, but abuelas always have opinions

The mornings are the worst. Not because of the early hour – I’m used to waking up before the sun, thanks to my rooster, Pepito. No, the mornings are bad because of the smells.

Today was particularly challenging.

I was making my rounds, armed with my trusty mop (I named her Dolores, for reasons I won’t bore you with), when I entered Mrs. Henderson’s third-grade classroom. Mrs. Henderson is…enthusiastic. She wears brightly colored sweaters and talks to the children like they’re particularly dense puppies.

The smell hit me immediately.

It was…complex. Rich. Intriguing, in a deeply unsettling way.

My first thought was, "Chocolate." A glorious, decadent aroma of melted chocolate, the kind that makes you want to abandon your mop and just…inhale. I briefly considered buying a box of donuts. It was that kind of smell. Then, a second wave hit me. A…different note. A slightly damp, vaguely cheesy, undeniably human note.

I paused. I’m not a young man. My nose isn’t what it used to be. But I’m not that old. I can usually distinguish between the scent of a perfectly good churro and, say, a discarded gym sock.

This was…both.

I stood there, Dolores dripping slightly on the linoleum, trying to decipher the olfactory puzzle. Was it chocolate? Were the children having a secret, unauthorized chocolate party? Or was it…sweaty children? A whole room full of tiny humans, exerting themselves in some unknown, intensely physical activity?

I discreetly sniffed again. The chocolate was still there, a faint, sugary promise. But the underlying…essence…of small, active bodies was undeniable.

I considered asking Mrs. Henderson. "Excuse me, Mrs. Henderson," I would say, "are your students consuming chocolate, or are they engaged in some sort of…vigorous exercise?" But I imagined her response. A bright, overly-enthusiastic explanation about a "chocolate-themed learning activity" combined with a detailed description of their "creative movement exercises." It was too much. Instead, I decided to simply mop. Mop with a grim determination, pretending that the aroma wasn't assaulting my senses. I focused on the rhythmic swish of Dolores, the satisfying squeak of the mop head against the floor.

As I mopped, I noticed a small, brown smear on the floor. I leaned closer. It was…chocolate. Definitely chocolate. But it was also…slightly sticky. And had a faint, lingering scent of…foot. I sighed. It was chocolate. It was sweaty children. It was Northwood Elementary.

I added it to the list. Chocolate-foot residue. Priority: Medium. After the glitter explosion in the kindergarten wing. That’s a whole other story.

And Pepito needs his breakfast.