Snow Daze

6:03 AM. The clock radio springs to life beside my bed, humming its dingy wakeup call one hour later than usual. I emerge from my blanket cave to check the school closure report on the news. Even though I read on the Internet last night—both on the newspaper and the school district websites—that “all schools will be closed due to adverse weather conditions,” in a panic of insecurity I fear that some district official, the ghostly figure who gets up at 3:00 AM to decide the weather is “inclement” will have changed his mind.

The district official, whoever he is, must make a difficult call. He is thinking of those extra days in June, of accreditation, of our state’s reputation and our nation’s standing in comparison to Japan. If he closes school, the United States might lose her grip on the world. He is thinking about tomorrow. I, youthful Epicurean teacher, am thinking about today. More specifically, I am thinking about now, the two extra hours I will sleep in an ice-encrusted city.

Having trusted the optimistic website at eleven the night before, I just might sleep through my first class, leaving thirty students stranded in the halls. They will start a snowball fight in my absence, and I will be fired. All because I was too lazy to get up and watch the news like a less Internet-savvy employee.

I stumble into the frigid living room and turn on the fuzzy and decrepit, cable-less television to wait for “Seattle Schools” to flash across the bottom of the screen. San Juan. South Kitsap. Stanwood. I’ve missed it! I must have blinked. Running back to the bedroom, I check an updated list on the news website—for some reason I trust the news station more than my own district headquarters—and when I see our school district’s name with the plain “Closed” under it, I return to a nervous sleep.