My evacuation route is out my back door, across the patio (yes, I have a patio. The Cadillac of classrooms), through a small chunk of lawn and then to the blacktop. When the alarm went off, I gestured towards the door, grabbed my attendance and my first aid kit, checked under all the tables for pretend-injured students, and allowed myself a pat on the back as I walked out the door after my kids.
Up until I saw the sprinklers.
Remember the small chunk of lawn we have to walk across? For a completely unfathomable reason, they decided to water it during school hours. And school sprinklers tend to be under high pressure. Being hit by a school sprinkler is like taking a shot in the chest with a fire hose.
My students stopped at the edge of the patio, some looking at me with trepidation, some with naked hope. When I sighed and waved them (carefully) across the lawn, my class erupted in cheers. They raced cross the lawn (a few darted between the streams like skilled guerilla fighters, but most charged willy-nilly through the water), screeching, screaming, pushing, shoving, falling over, getting up again, sprinting, and generally making a scene. The rest of the school looked at us like we were escapees from the loony bin.
Now that I think about it, is the loony bin hiring?