Retreat

Retreat.
Re-treat
n. a. The act or process of withdrawing, especially from something hazardous, formidable, or unpleasant. b. A place affording peace, quiet, privacy, or security.

So when I was told we would be having a three-day retreat for school, I assumed we’d all tramp off into the woods somewhere and sing Kumbaya. Ok, well maybe not the woods, but definitely sing Kumbaya. No, not so much. Evidently a retreat is a fancy way of saying FOUR HOUR MEETING to plan for next year (and if you do the math it’s really a 12 hour meeting). The first two days of the retreat were held in one of the rooms in the old wing of the school, which coincidentally used to be the boys locker room and as a result of its previous inhabitants smells like a sock. The last day of the retreat took place yesterday at the Blarney Stone in Fields Corner. This trendy restaurant once was one of the shadiest dive bars in town, and as a result is a complete anomaly sitting on a corner between a strip mall and YUM YUM’s Chinese take-out (they also deliver).

It was noon when I arrived at the Blarney Stone; unsure of where to park the Mothership (my very sexy, green, 1997 Mercury Villager minivan, complete with duct tape that is both stylish and functional) I pulled into the lot of the strip mall and attempted to park as close to the Blarney Stone as possible. I was about to leave the car when I noticed a sign that read “30 minute parking only –Violators will be towed at owners expense.” Not because I am a perfect law abiding citizen, but because I would have a complete nervous breakdown if my car were to be towed, I moved to the two-hour parking zone in the middle of the lot. Now this, my friends is what your high school English teachers referred to as “foreshadowing.”
It was 2:30pm and we were just about finished presenting our paper plate awards which we made at the last retreat (ok, so we may not have been in the woods, nor did we sign Kumbaya, but we did do crafts). I received the “Best Rapport with the Hooligans Award” for teaching the chemistry kids that I have. Nichole was in the middle of presenting the “Awesomeness Award” to Dan when James, who had gone out to his car, came rushing into the restaurant. He was holding a business card and looking very distressed as he whispered to another teacher. “They did what?” she exclaimed. Another teacher yelled, “They towed James and Rash’s cars!” Now let’s pause here for one second. To the three drugged out, nomadic men sitting outside on the sidewalk this is what the scene must have looked like:

Man runs into restaurant holding a slip of paper. One minute later three females run out of the restaurant to their cars. A stream of thirty people, who all sprint to their cars, follows these three women. Cars immediate pull out of parking spaces, swerve around the lot and park in different places. The thirty or so people sit in their cars for a few moments, then walk calmly into the restaurant. About 30 minutes later these same thirty odd people cheerfully return to their cars and leave the premises.

What the men thought of this, I’ll never know. But I’m sure it looked utterly absurd because when we all rushed out to our cars there was no tow truck in sight. And once again, my neuroticism saved me $120 in towing fees and a phone call to my dad.