The handled wooden box is always dark and moist on the bottom, glistening with milk that seems to always leak out of the supposedly sealed half-pint cartons. I enjoyed the freedom that came with the job, the daily escape from the classroom a few minutes before lunch, but I always hated the sour milk smell that permeated the small windowless room at the end of classroom block. My very infrequent memories of the scent still make my nose shrivel with distaste.
Milk monitors in Great Britain and Australia had the additional responsibility of monitoring their peers’ consumption of sometimes sour or curdled milk. Fortunately, I only had to pass it out to the kids whose names were included with each day’s delivery.