thenameselodie got a snow day, and we couldn't be more jealous!—Sparkitors
‘Tis the season… for blizzards, for raging storms of sleet and hail, for squalls (which I didn’t previously know was a type of weather—thank you, Weatherman with the Weird Toupee), and for snow days. In case you live on the equator and you're unfamiliar with the last item, here's a definition: Snow day (n.): One of life’s greatest joys, right up there with fuzzy socks and warm towels right out of the dryer. Here's how my recent snow day went down:
10:30 AM: It all starts the day before, with a rumor at school. Someone saw it on the news—there's a heavy snow coming in. And it’s not just any snow… it’s lake-effect snow. When lake-effect snow comes into play, take everything you thought you knew about weather and chuck it right out the window. The weatherman may as well throw his hands in the air and say, “Forget the forecast. Go ahead and make up your own. I have no idea what’s going on anymore.”
2:34 PM: Teachers begin tossing out comments like, “And if there’s no school tomorrow for whatever reason, be ready to hand in your reports on Thursday…”
3:10 PM: End of the day. The excitement in the air is almost tangible. There’s a foot of fresh powder on the ground, and students in the parking lot are digging their cars out and tossing ice scrapers to each other. The roads are so terrible that everyone begins hypothetically handing out possessions in the event of their death. You know—“If I die driving home, you can have my Hello Kitty watch. That’s how much you mean to me.”
3:29 PM: When I finally roll into the driveway, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel and my brother is in a state of traumatized terror beside me. I feel as if I’ve cheated death.
5:46 PM: Mass texts start going out, encouraging people to partake in rituals. For instance—wearing your pajamas inside out, putting a spoon under your pillow, flushing an ice cube down the toilet. They’re supposed to increase the chance of school being cancelled. Silly, yes, but time-honored traditions. And you don’t want to be the guy who didn’t flush an ice cube. If school doesn’t close, people will find you.
7:14 PM: We’re glued to the weather channel, gazing intently at the weatherman (his toupee isn’t fooling anyone, by the way), trying to gage the chances of a cancellation.
7:49 PM: People begin making conscious decisions not to do homework. This just got serious.
The next day—5:55 AM: I lie there in bed, trapped in an awful state of limbo. Has school been cancelled? Did that spoon under my pillow do any good? Will my inside-out pajamas, which feel all wrong and unnatural, be fully justified by school closings?
5:58 AM: I bolt out of bed and punch the ON button on the TV in the kitchen. Suddenly my brother’s at my shoulder, in his inside-out pajamas, holding a spoon and looking anxious. We stand there in silence as school closings scroll across the bottom of the screen. We both know there’s nothing to say. All we can do is wait.
5:59 AM: It’s torture. Public schools in surrounding cities are all shutting down. But wouldn’t that be just our luck? Our school will probably go ahead and say, “It’s just a few flurries. Really. Those cars in ditches along the way—that’s a coincidence. Close down school? Like HELL we will! Oh, and yeah, we should probably do something about that bus that just tipped over. Or not. That’s someone else’s problem.”
5:59 AM (still): We wait. And wait. And wait. Why are we doomed to be at the end of the alphabet? Forget thumbscrews or Chinese water torture—if you want to get prisoners to confess, dangle a potential snow day in front of them and then make them wait to find out.
6:00 AM: Is that—could it be…? YES! SNOW DAY! YES! (Insert the kind of obnoxious and out-of-control cheering/dancing that can’t be adequately described—you’d just have to witness it.)
6:02 AM: I immediately get on Facebook, along with about 150 other people, and add mine to the growing list of obligatory statuses: “YES! NO SCHOOL! I STILL HAVE FAITH IN THE WORLD!”
6:04 AM: Time to crawl back into bed.
10:00 AM- 7:00 PM: Picture a slow-motion montage of everyone having the time of their lives to the empowering beat of "We Are the Champions." Said montage includes clips of people sledding, watching cartoons in their pajamas, and drinking hot chocolate that tastes like freedom.
Approximately 9:00 PM: Crap. I forgot about all that homework. Maybe we'll get another snow day?
We're totes going to sleep with a spoon under our pillows tonight!
Related post: Stuff To Do On A Snow Day
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