By Maya Diedrich
As I was peacefully enjoying my break from Mini-School one February morning, I spotted my comrade Elissa down the hall at her locker. Since I hadn’t seen her in a while, I walked right over and struck up a conversation. Trying my hardest to relax in an unrelaxable setting, I leaned against the bleak white prison like walls, neglecting to notice the undersized red box. Subconsciously my hand scanned the wall and upon finding the box my hand got somewhat interested. I started to get excited about our highly intense conversation and the next thing I knew, the buzzer was wailing.
But, with any crime there is a punishment and so inevitably I wasn’t an exception. In confusion, I was run around with walkie talkies sounding in all directions, the operators of which proudly paraded with some sense of accomplishment at finding the “criminal.” I was led into Mr. Boyle’s office where he continued by interrogating me, trying to get me to break down and plead guilty to the crime (he didn’t like my accident story.) He led in the chief of the fire department and the liaison officer. All three laid an enormous guilt trip on me with their tough, anal attitudes. He told me how many people he could have smashed on the way over, how much money it costs to repair the box and the fact that each fire alarm has to be taken quite seriously. My only defense was that accidents do happen.
I do understand that this incident may very well have blown up the world. I guess I was lucky and with everyone’s help I hope we can, all move on.