During the open house last week a student stopped me. He was an eighth grader, and one of our school "ambassadors", kids who are tapped to welcome and guide visitors during special occasions. He had a woman with him, and they were both a little turned around. "Do you know where the door to the parking lot is?" he asked.
"We don't have one anymore," I frowned.
"This lady says her husband dropped her off at Door 19, and she's supposed to meet him there right now."
The woman sighed and literally drummed her fingers on her crossed arms. "I just need to know where Door 19 is!"
The question threw me a bit, because even though it's been several years since our many outside doors were numbered for easier emergency management, I never really bothered to match the doors with their designations.
"Isn't it in the gym?" the student said.
"I don't think so," I replied, vaguely recalling that those doors had single digit numbers. "But I do have a map of the building in my room right over here," I offered. "We could look at that."
"Just take me to the door," she said to the student, and off they went toward the gym. Back in my room, I checked the map and found that Door 19 was right down the hallway.
A little later, I saw the 8th grader again. "Did you find the door?" I asked him.
"Yeah," he said. "That lady said you were causing some drama, but I just ignored her."
"What drama?" I was confused.
"The whole map thing," he shrugged. "She just wanted to go."
"Well I guess it's a good thing she's gone, then," I said.
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