Chaos in the parking lot

Once back on the perfectly maintained lawns you brush the twigs and burrs from your khakis and head back to the main campus intending to spend some time studying the Code of Conduct and preparing your remarks for the faculty meeting.

Your plans are interrupted by the chaos in the parking lot near the Mellon building. It's full of cars, as students are dropped off, their luggage unloaded by doting parents, or in many cases chauffeurs, and hugs of farewell exchanged. It's a complete clusterfuck, with several of the maintenance and custodial staff hauling luggage to the student dorms, while parents issue contradictory orders. Seeing this, you abandon your plans, deciding that your presence here is a priority.

For all of Diana's talk about the ladylike behavior of students, if they are anything like their parents, it is no wonder they act out. The arriving girls were far more interested in greeting their classmates than unloading their possessions in an orderly manner, and their parents were even worse. The owners of the luxury cars pulling into the limited space each expect to be treated like royalty, and the harried maintenance staff and housekeepers were repeatedly ordered to drop what they were doing to help the newly arriving students. Any attempt you made to speed the disembarkation was met with a combination of arrogance, indifference and often times confused ignorance. As often as not the families in question tried to use you as a porter, and you had to be quite firm with several of them about moving their cars away to make room for the next batch of arriving students.

Your efforts gradually pay dividends as a little order is imposed on the chaos, but you could use help. Apparently, all the experienced teachers knew enough to give this madhouse a wide berth. During one of the few breaks you get yet another black limousine pulls into the parking lot, but unlike the twenty or so that preceded it, it parks well away from the front steps and no excited students pour from its interior. Instead, a burly male figure in a dark suit disembarks and strides across the lot to a bench where one of the fathers has been sitting and watching the show from the sidelines for the past 20 minutes. The thin man doesn't seem to fit the mold of the other families and you wonder if he is the father of one of the scholarship students you read about.

The heavyset man in the dark suit who is clearly a bodyguard as much as a chauffer pauses by the bench and the two men head back to the limo together. Not that it matters much, but any chance you have to watch the pair is wiped away by two mothers who are arguing over whose luggage one of the beleaguered Hispanic maintenance men should be carrying next.

Their daughters seem unconcerned by the issues that vex their mothers and are standing side by side chatting and eying the broad back and shoulders of the sweating, dark-haired man in question. No sooner than that crisis had been averted that another limo pulls up cutting in front of a slightly slower towncar that beeps loudly in indignation.

You spend two hours dealing with the chaos, the flow of traffic and students finally abating. You're about to turn away when you're surprised to see an older and somewhat battered pickup truck pull into the parking lot. You can see a large metal toolbox in the bed of the truck, and some printing on the driver's door. After a moment a stocky man in work clothes gets out of the driver's door, while a slender black haired girl gets out the other side. They stand together, looking around the campus, their faces filled with wonder but clearly puzzled.

Spotting you, the man approaches you with a slightly rolling gait, as though one leg is paining him. The girl trails behind him, looking warily at the other girls who chatter to each other and ignore her.

"Hola Senor," the man says. "I am hoping you can help us?"

"How can I help you, Sir."

"My name is Miguel Contreras. This is my daughter Alejandra. She won a scholarship to come here." He beams with paternal pride as he pulls his daughter forward.

"Kyle Hawkfeather. I'm the Dean of Students," you reply shaking his hand which feels as hard and rough as a piece of lumber. "Welcome to Pink Rose Academy Miss Contreras."

"Gracias Dean Hawkfeather," she answers with a hint of a curtsy, looking at you with dark intelligent eyes.

"Perhaps you can tell us where to go," Mr. Contreras says. "I have to work this morning, so we miss the check-in time." You can't help but think that these two were lucky to have avoided the chaos of the morning. "We have a letter," the man explains apologetically, producing a folded paper and opening it. "She is to stay in the Burnside building. Room 206. Where is that, Senor?"

You point to the building some distance past the Mellon building. "You can take the path around the Mellon building and it will get you there. Do you need help with the bags?"

He gives a short laugh, his white teeth flashing. "No Senor. I still have a few muscles left in this old body, and Alejandra, she's a strong girl just like her mother." If Alejandra objects to being compared to he mother she shows no sign of it. You cannot help but smile as you imagine the reaction of some of the other willowy beauties you saw disembark earlier today if they had been described as 'strong just like their mothers.' Neither Alejandra nor her father seem to notice your grin as they grab two battered suitcases from the back of the truck.

"Gracias Senor." Alejandra's pretty smile is impossible to resist and you watch the young lady and her father walk briskly up the trail you had pointed out wishing that the rest of the Pink Rose students were as self sufficient as that graceful young woman.