+ ffffluro fffire!

Aloha!


This blog definitely 'sparked' if you pardon the pun, from the fire drill that ran early this fine Friday afternoon. 
First, the megaphone people, how thoughtful, decided to execute this pitiful exercise during the hottest hour of the day. 2pm. Thankyou intellects. 
Picture this, I'm sitting in the middle of a suspenseful english class. My teacher is about to reveal to me the secret behind the magical A+ essay. Pen hovering in my fingers above the paper, silence falls on all of the class. But it's not the sweet words of success that resonate in my ears, it's the piercing scream of the siren preceded by a monotonic voice over the intercom machine speaker thing saying rather specifically how we should evacuate. 
The chorus of groans and whines grow louder as more and more exhausted girls emerge from classrooms all over the school. Like sheep being herded we all migrate to the bottom oval. 


Like all slack students, I looked for the quickest path to the bottom. The most logical being a huge steep hill you could run down. So me and my friend make my way to that lazy decent when a teacher with a yellow hat does the 'wide arms - no passing' arms. Now, I obviously - if you've read my past blogs (which I'm assuming no one has as no one is even reading this...) - I have an issue with bright protective clothing that assumes authority. It's not because I have an issue with safety, sure, I love safety - woo!?, I'm against death as much as the next guy, but here's my problem. You take your ordinary garden variety man - pop on some fluro gear, chuck on a hard hat, and vwalla (I really don't know what phonetic resemblance that word should take on), you'll do anything he says! He could be an axe murderer, peter-file and/or rapist, but decorate him with some pretty fluro fashion and you'll allow him to walk you across the road any day. "No he can't be a terrorist! Just look at him, he has this saintlike fluro aura about him!"


Now returning from my tangent, this teacher, in the fluro, was being the barrier between me and the hill. So, what he's essentially saying with his outstretched hands is, if there is the choice between running down this hill, and the fire, I'd rather you be incinerated than roll down this fun loving grassy slope. 


So the whole school assembles on the bottom oval, which is, apparently, the safest option when acquainted with the presence of a fiery flame. The middle of a big, dry, isolated, fenced in oval. Yes of course, that's the most logical placement. A 800m track of kindle + kids. How thoughtful?


On this lovely stretch of target are the sitting ducks. The girls, whos parents are forking out $$$ for them to sit, irritable, frustrated, restless, hot, tired and disgruntled on an oval for half an hour on a friday afternoon. Not only was it ridiculously warm, and sunny, and because I have black hair, the pinnacle of my cranium could have generated enough solar power to run Mt Eliza, but it was the most unorganized piece of evacuation anyone ever did see. Get in your tutes, sit in role order, find your tutor - if they're not being a hardhat-nazi - get up, simon says pat your head, sit down, duck duck goose...It was just a huge inconvenience. 


Having ranted and raved on about the process, I will admit, when I'm sprinting for my life (with my $200 calculator, phone, laptop and textbook of choice - believe me, I'm taking them with me), or more like puffing for my life, I will be grateful for the bundles and oodles of practice. 


I will also be stop, dropping, and rolling down that luscious patch of green hillside whether they like it or not. 


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.


-OVER AND OUT-