Time Crunch
The halls of the school are quiet, like the calm before a storm. Only a few moments remain until passing period. Teachers squabble at students to stop creeping towards the doors in anticipation for passing period to start. The bell tolls signaling the end of class and a herd of students and teachers enter the lifeless hallways.
Five minutes remain. Chaos ensues as students quickly make their way to lockers to retrieve any needed items for the next class hour. The freshman lockers reek of too much cheap perfume sprayed by desperate teens trying to cover up the all too familiar body odor of puberty. A little farther down, a few rambunctious sophomores yell greetings at each other from across the hall. Annoyed looks cross many faces.
Four minutes remain. Students begin to reach their lockers and it is crowded. Not crowded like it’s a bit uncomfortable, but crowded like the trying-to-grab-a-hotdog-during-halftime-at-a-college-football-game crowded. With everyone talking over each other, the narrow halls are chaotic as students push past each other while stepping on toes and bumping elbows. Teachers keep in their own corner so they can keep an eye on the students. They chit chat and gossip about last Friday’s football victory the home team pulled out of their butts. Teachers aren’t the only ones who gossip. Everyone in the school gossips. If a person wants to know about Sally’s new haircut or Bob and Betty’s breakup, they’d only have to listen to their neighbor’s locker to get the juicy details.
Three minutes remain. People occupy the awkward bathrooms to relieve themselves. Luckily, bodily sounds are covered up by the rushing water of flushing toilets. The smell of soap, tampons, and cheap cleaning supplies creep their way into the halls. Sinks are kept sparkling white, probably because not everyone uses them. For the ones who do use them, it’s too late before they realize there’s no paper towels in any of the dispensers. This is an unusual slip for the janitors and the students’ hands must remain moist until they are air-dried.
Two minutes remain. Students mentally go over what they need for the next hour, hoping they haven’t forgotten anything. As people communicate their brief goodbyes, they disperse. It seems like students must carry half of their locker as students slam them shut and head back to class.
One minute remains. A clip of an overplayed hit blares over the intercom, letting everyone know passing period is almost over. Teachers head back to their classrooms, as do the students. No one is walking anymore because of such a short time that remains.
Thirty seconds remain. Tension is in the air as everyone rushes back to class. Power walking (sometimes running) is the more common choice of transportation now. There are always a few students who don’t care if they’re late and loiter in the halls. Almost everyone is back to class by now and pulling out pencils and paper to do bellwork or other bleak day to day work the teacher assigns before class.
Zero minutes remain. The halls are empty and silent again, like the calm before a storm.