Essentially the whole disaster was a wardrobe fiasco. Not just the horrible decision when I woke up that cold morning to wear a skirt, but the even worse idea to wear stylish clogs. By stylish, of course I mean deadly.

One really couldn't blame me, being a freshman and all, for making a misguided decision like fashion over common sense. Who knows what was I thinking when I heard rain on my window and then decided to wear those awful shoes.

When I arrived at school, I managed to get inside without slipping on the wet floor and making a fool of myself, but for some inexplicable reason, I decided to tempt fate. Between second and third hour, I opted to take the shortcut around the back of the school. The sky was a steely gray as I shuffled quickly, trying to keep my shoes on.

At last, I reached the door and with chattering teeth I dragged it open and leapt inside. With the grace typical of a freshman, I slipped on the wet floor in my oh-so-fashionable shoes and, in a frantic attempt to stay upright, flailed my arms. In the process, I slammed into the fire alarm. Instantly, the sound of a screeching siren filled the stairwell.

That was it; my life was as good as over. Embarrassment is not nearly a strong enough word to explain how utterly horrified I was. Imagine something like the blind panic of a deer in headlights, knowing it should run but being unable to move.

Thankfully, the alarm sounded only in that stairwell. The kids around me did not evacuate but instead looked at me like I was some freak of nature, or rather, the terrified, senseless freshman I was. And of course, instead of fleeing the scene of the crime, like any sensible teenager would, I stood frozen, wishing that I could just disappear. A junior from my band class came and stood next to me. I tried in fumbling words to explain that I was not a terrorist, prankster, or other sort of wrongdoer, but that I had just slipped.

Had the janitor not come to shut off the alarm, perhaps she would have imparted some immortal wisdom, like: “Look out for slick floors” or “What were you thinking when you wore those clogs?” As it was, she just gave me an encouraging smile. I was a freshman. I still had plenty of time to figure out such things.

When the janitor had finished with the alarm and the terrible siren had stopped, I scuttled nervously to class, thoroughly ashamed and vowing silently to never wear those shoes again.