In Which Carmen Hides in her own House
May. 20th, 2005 03:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraThere was supposed to be a senior picnic today, but of course that meant that it rained. This is a subclause of the Umbrella Rule called the Outdoor Gathering Principle. When large groups of people congregate outdoors, the combination of their rising body heat and the CO2 from their exhalations attracts stormclouds which dump massive quantities of water on said people in an ongoing natural effort to exterminate mankind before mankind depletes the ozone layer and thus ensures the extinction of a swath of Earth's inhabitants. This has, of course, been scientifically proven through multiple studies of weather patterns as compared to collections of humans at graduations, reunions, and outdoor concerts.
Given the fact that the combination of the picnic and the weather report practically ensured that it would rain, I had no intention of attending. This morning at about ten, I received a phonecall from a friend of mine. "The picnic's been canceled," she said as I stood at my window watching the steady downpour. "Our sponsor says to come to school at our own discretion." Which means, in teacherspeak, please don't show up.
That suited me fine--a few friends and I had planned to go to N's house to watch Star Wars as a lead-up to going to the movie tonight. I took a quick shower, dressed, combed my hair, and was collecting my SW DVDs when the phone rang again. Juggling the DVD cases in order to encourage them to return to their box and settling the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I said something like "Hello--oh crap, A New Hope just died."
"Carmen?" asked the person on the other end.
I gave up on the DVDs, dropped them onto the couch, and took the phone into my hand. "Yeah," I said. "L?"
It was indeed L. "Look, I just wanted to warn you," she said. "I just got a phone call from our attendance counselor and the principal. Looks like they're telling kids that if we don't come to school, they're giving us detention, parental note or no."
"What?" I said. I have never received detention in my life, though I've certainly done enough to be detention-worthy.
I could imagine L shrug as she said, "Just warning you. It sounds like they're serious this time."
"Thanks," I said. "I won't answer the phone."
She laughed. "Good idea. Might also want to consider staying away from the windows."
"I'll do that," I told her. We exchanged goodbyes and I hung up before calling Mom and warning her that I wasn't going to school and that I also wouldn't be answering the phone. She thought the whole situation rather funny. So all day, I've been jumping every time the phone rings, hoping it's not the school, and waiting for the answering machine to pick up for me so I can decide whether or not to answer.
The moral of this story, kiddies: Crime Does Not Pay.
Given the fact that the combination of the picnic and the weather report practically ensured that it would rain, I had no intention of attending. This morning at about ten, I received a phonecall from a friend of mine. "The picnic's been canceled," she said as I stood at my window watching the steady downpour. "Our sponsor says to come to school at our own discretion." Which means, in teacherspeak, please don't show up.
That suited me fine--a few friends and I had planned to go to N's house to watch Star Wars as a lead-up to going to the movie tonight. I took a quick shower, dressed, combed my hair, and was collecting my SW DVDs when the phone rang again. Juggling the DVD cases in order to encourage them to return to their box and settling the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I said something like "Hello--oh crap, A New Hope just died."
"Carmen?" asked the person on the other end.
I gave up on the DVDs, dropped them onto the couch, and took the phone into my hand. "Yeah," I said. "L?"
It was indeed L. "Look, I just wanted to warn you," she said. "I just got a phone call from our attendance counselor and the principal. Looks like they're telling kids that if we don't come to school, they're giving us detention, parental note or no."
"What?" I said. I have never received detention in my life, though I've certainly done enough to be detention-worthy.
I could imagine L shrug as she said, "Just warning you. It sounds like they're serious this time."
"Thanks," I said. "I won't answer the phone."
She laughed. "Good idea. Might also want to consider staying away from the windows."
"I'll do that," I told her. We exchanged goodbyes and I hung up before calling Mom and warning her that I wasn't going to school and that I also wouldn't be answering the phone. She thought the whole situation rather funny. So all day, I've been jumping every time the phone rings, hoping it's not the school, and waiting for the answering machine to pick up for me so I can decide whether or not to answer.
The moral of this story, kiddies: Crime Does Not Pay.
