Anyway, pretend this is the name of my post:
How Trail Mix Was Single-Handedly Responsible for an Unwanted Mid-Day Shower I was Forced to take in a Highschool Change Room
Our High School isn't a linear system, so we only have 4 course per semester. Because I'm a band geek--err, awesome chick, and our band teacher didn't want us playing for only half the year, him and the gym teacher have decided that we have band and gym all year, and they are every other day. And because, there are 1100 hundred simplistic kids who need to somehow fit in a gym block, to keep things easier, all of the band girls are in one class, and all the band boys in another.
So, here we are, a group of 30+ grade-nine band chicks in a P.E. class. As you may imagine, the caliber of athletic performance is not particularly high. Our gym teacher, Mr Rogers (no, not the guy in a green cardigan who has a show on PBS) happens to be the nicest man on this planet, and his concern is us finishing the 3.5 K run in under 82 minutes (meanwhile the grade 9 band BOYS have Mr Anderson...), because that's when the block ends. I DIGRESS. I ran it in just over 25 minutes and came out just better than average, so I sat, waiting for the n00bs who walked it in around 35 minutes. Because our teacher thinks we've had enough exercise, we're sent to the change room and given around half an hour to change and get ready for the next class.
In the change room, I remember I have my trail mix. Trail mix, in case you didn't know, is a godly composition of peanuts, almonds, peculiarly salty raisins and m&ms. It's so good, sometimes I suspect it's made from pegasus droppings. I was eating this delightful snack when all of a sudden, I was attacked. Hungry, grade-nine band chicks wanted my trail mix more than they wanted to see a muscular man shirtless, and what was a pleasant conversation turned into a free-for-all battle. I jumped higher than I ever have before into a shower stall. I locked the door and stood on a platform in the shower stall, valiantly protecting my trail mix and myself.
The shower stalls are pretty deep, and the platform I was on was in a little mini-closet sized area that was separated from the shower by a divided that covered a little under half of the passage between the shower and the area in which I stood. As I stood on the platform of security, Ella, one of my best friends, encouraged me to turn the shower on. I was a solid four feet away from the shower head, so I thought I would remained untouched by what I thought was a weak, welfare shower head.
I clutched my tupperware container in one hand and the wall with the other and outstretched my leg until I touched the shower switch. Guess what part of the school was renovated? A brand new, poorly engineered, dangerously strong shower switched on, leaving my stranded on the island, measuring 2 square feet. Frantically, I jump out of the shower, only to realize that there is no possible way for the water, which has now claimed ownership of my "real" clothes, to drain itself. Basically, I either take one for the team or allow the possessive water claim the lives on innocent gym shorts and free t-shirts. Being the good samaritan I am, I ran into the rushing, lukewarm water that was threatening my possessions. Under the falling water, and after pressing the button that turned it on, I hear a faint cry,
"MEGHAN, IT TURNS OFF BY ITSELF!!!"
Dripping wet, I exit the shower, and as if to mock me, it gently turns off. Fortunately for me, and for her, depending on how you look at it, Ella had an extra pair of cotton shorts that served as a redneck towel for me to (partially) dry myself off with. I went to English class with wet hair.
ANYhoo, lesson learned, and a story tell. Hopefully it brought other people more joy than it brought me...
English muffin in hand, I leave you, yearning for the next post. If there is one. Lol.
