ON THE ROAD

By Liz and Sonya Worthy

Staff Writers

n previous episodes we have been recounting tales of the crazy people we met on our 62 hour bus trip. But, it has dawned on us that we too are among the crazies. In our last segment, we spoke of how we might have been seen through the eyes of the prostitute. This week, we imagine the possible impact we might have had on Fat Brother B, a high school biology teacher.
We picture Fat brother B standing in front of his sophomore biology class stuttering over an explanation of the oxygenation process of water. He's loosing his train of thought, for the glazed over expressions of his front row students are beginning to remind him of the donuts in the teachers' lounge. He lapses into reverie: Would they be there? Did Dr. Peters have break before him? Or was that Friday? The donuts would be...wait....I'm in class right now. Where was I? Oxygenation of water. What's that? Donuts. Donuts. Donuts. MMMMMMmmmmm.....
Hearing a faint rustling, Brother B is on the verge of imagining his hand slipping into the donuts' crinkly plastic wrapper. The rustling, however, comes to a halt as the principle, Dr. Peters in the doorway of his classroom.
"Ummmmmmmm." Fat brother B mutters aloud in attempts to transfer his attentions from the assortment of sweets to the seats of students. Thinking quickly, he resorts to his all-purpose lecture starter: "Well class, once again an example can be taken from the girls I sat across from on the Greyhound bus."
The class groans. Dr. Peters turns on his heel and leaves in the direction of the teachers' lounge.
Brother B, biting his lip as his eyes follow the direction Dr. P is heading, continues. "Last week in our genetics' chapter we debated whether or not the twins were identical or fraternal. You remember. Monozygotic or Dizygotic?" Ignoring the sea of blank stares, he hurriedly continues on. "Now, these girls had. . .," he risks the scientific name ". . . Osteichthyes."
The class snickers. "Fish? You're making this up Mr. B.," hollers the boy in the front row, center seat.
"No. These girls really did bring goldfish along."
"Oh yeah, they were from Montana, right?"
"Yeah."
The class nods in unison, ready to believe anything.
"Well, they kept them in a plastic Skippy jar." And he thinks: peanut butter. peanut butter. peanut butter.
"And they kept a lid on it so the water wouldn't slosh out. If you are in my brother's physics class, you might remember his centrifical force lecture. As a bus turns a corner. . .Well, anyway, this is Biology."
The president of the school's chapter of "Friends of Other Oxygen Dependents" pipes up, "I know they were from Montana, but wouldn't the lid make them suffocate?"
Mr. B's face brightens, "As one of the founding members of FOOD way back in 1972. . ."
"What, that's you on the plaque in front of the school," the current president exclaims in surprise, "you looked so. . ."
". . .malnourished," finishes Mr. B for her as he mutters something about pre donut discovery before continuing. "Anyway, I felt obligated to ask the same question you have just raised. You might recall that chapter VIII, subsection 4B of the official FOOD handbook highlights important points from the age-old 'oxygenation process and geographic distribution' debate. Unsure as to whether or not Montana lay with in the 'questionable coordinates' I upheld my FOOD vows. The next time they let the fish out of the paper bag and removed the lid, I leaned over and engaged them in a conversation. As not to scare them with my vast biological repertoire, I pretended to be a history teacher. My worries, however, were put to ease as they showed me two equations which insure proper oxygenation. Now my students, as a senior member of FOOD and as your biology teacher, I wish to pass these formulas on to you. I have somewhat modified them, for in their original forms they were much to difficult to remember. . . ."
Mr. B resumes standing posture, having somehow in the midst of his lecture assumed a crouched-over hovering position, and positions himself at the chalkboard. Lapsing into math mode, he scratches out the familiar equation. He explains that the equation computes the recommended container surface-area for a given fish size. "Proper oxygenation occurs when there is enough area over which oxygen can diffuse."

8 = DONU ( t - s )
Putting down his chalk, Mr. B explains what he's written. "D is equal to the recommended surface area. O, N, and U are all constants. You just have to eat, I mean, um, memorize them. O is equal to 2/5, N is equal to 2, and U is equal to 1/2. T and S represent the body and tail of the fish, respectively. The equation, of course should be solved for D, where D is a measure of square inches."
The class nods and writes it down, relieved Mr. B is no longer doing that "hovering-thing". He then continues to scrawl out another equation on the board while explaining its purpose: to determine the necessary aeration intervals.

2 (D - R )^2 + 2 = P
He steps aside. "D is equal to the recommended surface area, as in the first equation. R is equal to the actual surface area when R is less than or equal to D. P is the prescribed amount of aeration time, measured in minutes per hour." Mr. B gives the class a moment to digest the information before continuing. In an attempt to receive brownie points from the president of FOOD," he adds, "Taking sufficient measures to insure they were indeed following proper procedure, I used my tape measure to recheck their figures, thus perhaps saving the lives of two goldfish, Siwel and Kralc."
"Siwel and Kralc!?" The boy in the front row, center seat yells.
"Well, I'd explain, but I have no idea. I couldn't ask because they kinda gave me this look and said I should know what that meant since I was a history teacher..."