TSB Bombs (Part the Third)

The Sergeant looked at me.

 

"Put this school under lockdown immediately" he said.

Now we have a system in Nuova Lazio High School for most eventualities.

If there is a fire, the fire alarm goes off.



Last year's fire drill practice
Please note; That is not a Bull.  That is Soisia from Samoa, who we all think is destined for the 2022 All Black front row

Pupils and staff walk quietly to their assembly points down on the paddock (playing fields to you non-Kiwis), where we can check that all are present and won't be presenting the firemen with crispy-fried corpes twisted in their final agonies.  Actually the little b*stards don't walk sedately. The skip, run, hop, slither, skateboard (an invention of Satan if ever there was one), roll, talk f*cking incessantly  and more recently amble along taking selfies for their bl**dy facebook pages. 

Best kind of skateboard

But that's another story.

If there is a robbery at the nearby dairy (Kiwitalk for the local shop.  Otherwise known as a Suprette.  Kiwitalk can get a wee bit weird at times), we signal a lockdown, where all staff lock the doors to their class rooms, urge the youngsters under their care below the desks, out of sight from the windows.  Bravely ready to interpose their bodies between any evildoers and their charges. 

Right.

Last time we ran an unannounced drill, one of the teachers had the kids stacked up 4 deep behind his door, to add extra protection for him from the anticipated volley of 12 Bore shotgun pellets.  It's amazing what sort of kinetic energy a well padded pupil's body will absorb. (and we have a lot of well-padded kids.  I blame TV and computers)  It's almost as good as 10cm of Kevlar. (allegedly)

YOU hide under a table.
I'll hang on to these lovely anchors.

If there's an earthquake, we don't need a bloody signal. We're all hanging on to someting solid (like a voluptuous 17 year old blond girl like a table leg, and hoping that the 25 year old concrete (and probably asbestos) roof doesn't crush us all to a thin layer of meat paste.

But we don't have a procedure for a bomb threat.

My origninal decision to evacuate was based on the following logic.

1. Bomb is not good.
2. Get away from Bomb.
3. Bomb is probably in a building or possibly in one of our waste bins [which the bloody kids never use anyway, preferring to scatter their waste with gleeful abandon] or in a built-up area.
4. Paddocks do not have buildings
5. Paddocks are wide open, and a large ticking object can be easily seen and avoided
6. If Bomb detonates, hurtling pieces of grass do little damage.

 I believe the Police logic worked slightly differently.

If Bomb detonates in a building, it will be easier to identify the scorched remains if they had information from class lists about who should be where.

Anyway.

The Police did a 10 minute stroll (I believe the technical term is "proceeding") around the school, saw nothing suspicious, and said we could stop the lockdown.

They also said that the Bomb threat has been phoned in by a male, with a young boy's voice, using a disposable phone which had since been switched off.

They asked if any young males would have a grudge against the school.

We have a few.  About 30% of the student population.

Just some of the suspects

Those who have been given detentions for wagging (absent from class or school)
Those who have been given Stand Downs, for offences varying from swearing at a teacher, hitting a fellow pupil, attempting to hit a teacher (we're fast, with good, well-trained and well-practiced reflexes) smoking in the toilets, smoking in class (It only happened once) and vandalism.
Those who have been given a Section 27 for use of cannabis... the list goes on and on.

Though I did have an idea about a particular young man who had been a perpetual thorn in our sides, through theft, assault, intimidation of students and long-term lunacy truancy.

But I had another problem.

Just before I met the Police squad, I had to make a rapid visit to the Men's facilities (careful readers should remember this fact from the last exciting episode).

Something wasn't quite right.

Something in the deepest recesses of my undergarments was becoming strangulated.

Something was becoming acutely uncomfortable.

I was worried about gangrene.

It is really quite difficult to conduct a rational conversation with a bunch of tooled up cops, when one is concerned about the survival of one's sensitive bits.  I really didn't want to dig into my trousers and sort out the problem in front of the cops.  I'd probably get arrested, or worse.

I eventually got the cops off site and made a rapid return to the facilities.  None too soon.  Most feeling had been lost in a very treasured part of my anatomy, and what feeling was left was not pleasant.

I will not go into details, to protect the delicate sensibilities (of some) of my readers, but just say that I had to use large amounts of ice and cold cream on my return home that evening.

So endeth the saga of the Bomb.

No one was hurt (except my damaged area) and all ended satisfactorily.


Even more satisfactory was the fact that the little scrote I had suspected as responsible has now been permanently removed from our hallowed grounds.

Bye-bye you ferret-faced little thieving scrote.

Oh, I almost forgot.

After the Police search, the Sergeant wanted to interview a student he thought looked a bit shifty.  He had a good eye, and the student was definitely looking a bit guilty, but then so did another 300 or so.

The Sergeant mentioned to me that we should keep on the lookout for any suspicious objects or unknown cars.

As I walked around the car park, I spotted a very suspicious car.

I t was old and red, with much rust and peeling paint.

I took down the number and reported it to the cops.

They later told me it belonged to Richard (of RBB) who was busy oiling his cello in his music department.

Sorry Richard (of RBB), but be fair, it look a bit to old and decrepit for a teacher's car.