Having stayed up late due to a
Tetris marathon amongst good friends, I was not out of bed until 10:30 this morning. I carefully scrutinized the clock and discovered that it did, in fact, say 10:30 instead of noon. If only it were possible to sleep in contacts with no risk of permanent eye damage and constant nagging from my mother, the clock would be so much easier to read.
I paged mom on her Nextel and told her to pick up some bagels on the way home from her massage appointment. Once the delicacies arrived, I ate four in the course of eight hours. Not too bad!
In between bagel consumptions, I managed to find the time to get dressed, shower, braid my hair, put in contacts and apply the minimum amount of makeup required for leaving the house. I then gathered my marching band uniform into its original garment bag and cardboard box for the hat, dug my concert dress and sparkly belt out of my neglected trunk, got together a few open house invitations and my community service project, and it was off to school for the last time ever. I stopped by Aaron’s house first and picked him up (I needed some extra hands).
I went to the band room in search of Mr. Christopher first, but he was quite absent. Aaron and I then went down to Mrs. Clement’s room, where I handed in my CS project. My mom had read the three page required paper I had typed for this particular project, and told me I was not allowed to turn it in. It went something like this:
My community service, completed on March 8, 2001, consisted of spending eight hours guiding freshman bands and their directors around our lovely West Ottawa high school. It led to nothing but frustration and anger on almost all accounts. Becky Malis and I became the sole targets of several stress-induced displays of dissatisfaction from a number of local teachers. But overall, it was a rewarding experience, allowing us to generously help the needy and very lost visiting bands during the hectic district MSBOA band festival with nothing but snide comments to congratulate us on our voluntary donation.
I arrived at school at seven thirty in the morning after dragging my brother out of bed to get him in the car at such a ridiculously early time. His car is out of commission due to some irresponsible behavior on his part, so I am responsible for getting him to school every morning. I was supposed to arrive at quarter to seven, but the coordinator and tyrant, Mr. Christopher, did not inform me of this. I waited in the entryway for my band to arrive, but was soon encountered by a mass of Black River students who had no guide. I took them to the West Balcony and got everyone situated and comfortable, and then led them to the warm up room. This is when I ran into Mr. Christopher for the first time that day. He was irate, saying the band I was supposed to be guiding was, in fact, in the performing arts center, lost and alone without my wisdom. This was news to me, considering my instructions said they were to arrive at seven thirty. It turns out that was their performance time, and they had gotten to school at six thirty only to be greeted by empty hallways. Of course I felt bad, but there was nothing I could do but apologize.
I turned the Black River children over to Mr. Christopher, since their official guide had never shown up, and went off in search of my reliable partner, Becky Malis. I soon found her running through the halls, having only just arrived at the late hour of eight. She did not receive the same lecture from Mr. Christopher as I did, thankfully. We ran off arm-in-arm to find the director of our Holland Christian Freshman band to apologize for him arriving so early, but he would not listen to out pleas. His massive toupee, the exact color of his scalp, nearly quivered with rage.
Becky and I showed the band back to their cases and coats, and then ran out in the snow to find their buses and warn the drivers of their late departure. It was snowing quite heavily, and Becky was wearing short sleeves, while I had thought ahead and donned a hoodie of questionable warmth value. I was nominated to be the one to knock on the bus’ doors and try to find the correct driver to relay of message to. It was cold, but obviously I survived.
This routine continued for the rest of the day. Becky and I ran around, frantic and used, catering to the needs of cranky directors and their silent assistants. We were once sent off in search of a clarinet reed and mouthpiece, which one band member had accidentally forgotten to bring.
Around noon, we were starving, overexerted, and extremely downhearted after our gracious act of volunteering the help with the festival was met with such distaste by almost all those involved. We left for ten minutes and ran to Blimpies to get some lunch, only to return to school to find Mr. Christopher in a rage because he needed us to take over the job of another absent guide. We informed him that sustenance is necessary, but he refused to be sensible.
I eventually got around to leaving for home around four o’clock. Tired and somewhat irritable, I slept for four hours, woke up for dinner and homework, and then went back to bed until the next morning.
Did I
retype it? No. I just printed out a new copy, said I made a few revisions, waved it around ,and ran out the door. Ha!
I ended up leaving my uniforms on the floor next to Mr. C.’s office, and slid the $12 dry cleaning bill under the door. Then I was free.
Actually, I had to go to work. It wasn’t fun, but my manager allowed me to go home early after I washed sixteen dozen undecorated Naturewood saucers that had been sitting in the rain for two weeks. How gracious.