It’s very early, and music is playing in the background. It’s the mesmerizing Lady Gaga and the melody makes me smile. Suddenly a loud noise rudely interrupts my bliss. I reach over to get its attention so it will stop. It’s peaceful again for about five minutes, but then the vicious cycle repeats. Music – loud noise – reach over to stop it. Music – loud noise – reach. But now the cycle is broken – it’s not the beeping noise I hear, it’s my mother’s voice – and she sounds aggravated.
“Dana, it’s 6:32! Why aren’t you downstairs?” I leap out of bed, grab the first t-shirt I see in my drawer and throw on a pair of shorts. I have a mission that needs to be completed in eight minutes: explain why I woke up so late, scarf down breakfast and rush to the bus stop. As I sprint down the stairs, my mind juggles possible scenarios to explain why I have overslept. Again.
I decide to tell (a version of) the truth: “The multiple alarms I set clearly aren’t working correctly.” My mom listens intently then berates my dad for not getting me a more reliable alarm clock. He just shakes his head and smiles. Driving to the bus stop, he asks what we could do differently to make sure I get up on time. I do not have any thoughts on this matter and he gently suggests I consider going to bed earlier. For obvious reasons, I ignore this suggestion. However, an ingenious idea comes to me. I will create and sell alarm clocks that will play the worst song ever written over and over. When you hit the snooze button, it just increases the volume. I settle on “Friday” by Rebecca Black. This idea will make me as rich as Mark Zuckerburg.
We approach the bus stop but no one is there. Down the road, I see the bright yellow school bus flashing its obnoxious red lights. Panic and fear hit me—I don’t want to miss the bus. Again. My dad, once again (Do you see a pattern here?) repeats his advice that getting to bed earlier will make it easier to get up and we won’t have to rush to the bus. I nod in agreement, mostly to ensure that he stops talking because it is too early to even attempt to communicate. We catch up to the bus or as I like to think of it, a chauffeur picking up six more zombies. I rush onto the bus with my back pack and softball bag. My entrance is less than graceful as I knock over the fire extinguisher. Again.
The bus arrives at school at 6:53. I put my bag down in the team room and then proceed to sit with my friends. The second bell rings and I somehow manage to make it to class with my eyes half shut. There are four kids who are actually sleeping, their heads on the desk. It’s a record high!
In between walking to first and second period, the hallway I use is jammed up. No one moves and there is a big commotion in the hallway due to an “adorable prom proposal.” Ah…young love. I have another brilliant idea for making money: a portable GPS system to alert students of blocked hallways.
The morning ends, kind of, when the bell rings at 10:40 for lunch. It’s time for friends, nourishment, and teacher visits. Following this very important part of the school day, it’s back to class. I feel energized and although only three students are napping during the next class, this too is a new record.
What a day it’s been! Again.
