The Race

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The most staggeringly slow moments take place when you're in high school. Teachers drone, time drags on, and your head spins from the constant input of information you've been receiving. By the time last period rolls around, the entire student body is on edge, waiting for the final bell to dismiss them.

That's how it is at my high school, at least. Today, my last period is math, and I'm first in line at the door, anxiously waiting for the bell to ring. You see, once it rings, a mob ensues. Everyone leaks into the hallways; Freshman, sophomores, juniors, and seniors all race outside seeking fresh air and sunlight.

The real race, however, is the one between the upperclassmen. There's one student parking lot at my school, and all of the juniors and seniors (and the occasional sophomore) park there. It's small, filled with bad parkers and speeding, and once that final bell rings, it's a free-for-all to get to your car and get in line before everyone else does.

I speedwalk my way to my car, making sure not to step out in front of any crazed driver as I go. Fumbling with the keys, I hop in my car and start it as quickly as possible. The finest satisfaction is when you back out of your spot and pull right up to the front of the line, watching as the rest of the student body lines up behind you. And as soon as the security guard opens those gates, you've escaped the monotony and are on your way to freedom.





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