Dear Mr. Motzko,
For the most obvious reasons, I really want a snow day! I’ve been doing my part to get one; expressing my hope via Facebook status, whining, and sacrificing Freshman to the Snow Gods, but nothing has worked. The weather forecast shows rising temperatures and sun. How do I ensure a snow day, or a day off in general?
Much obliged,

Desperate in Deerfield

Dear Desperate,
The lack of foresight and planning exhibited in your query rivals that of the fated Donner party. Fortunately, you may only have to eat your words. Perhaps you have yet to be crushed under the karmic wheel. If you plant cotton candy seeds, you’re gonna harvest snakes. Proof positive: it has not snowed in Jamaica every year after they entered the Olympic bobsled competition. By that measure, for every snow day there must b e an equal and opposite day of unquenched fire and burning. I, for one, do not wish to repeat my 8 year-old’s last birthday party. One could pine for a snow day but haven’t we been using homeroom to drill for such inclement events (fire, tornado, flaming tornado, blimp attack)? And if we keep drilling, we’re gonna win Nationals in Daytona this year. Go homeroom!
If you are indeed bent upon spitting into the wind or stepping on Superman’s cape (or worse, spitting into Superman’s cape), consider that perhaps all you want is the novelty of a school cancellation, not the actual time. Who can forget DHS’s greatest school cancellation: Gas Leak Day. The best thing about that day was how it fell into our laps like a box of kittens dropped from the heavens (note: do not drop kittens from heights above 0.5 meters). What you actually did on Gas Leak Day (sleeping, socializing, furious caber toss) mattered less than its random entrance stage left. That is why Gas Leak Day Part Deux must never happen. Besides, I use the current gas leak in my room to explain the low test scores. Patience, gentle reader. Eventually you will awaken to the dulcet tones of the Honeywell system, informing you of our latest unexpected day off in honor of some dead guy like Casimir Pulaski or John Arbor. When that happens, you’ll be like a hog in mud; filthy and ready to be processed into bacon.

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