Hello, fellow film enthusiasts!
In case you missed last week, two sequels took center stage.
This week, I’ve decided to veer slightly off the normal game plan to write about an event that affected many a “Lipscombite” last night.
Around 2:30 in the morning, I arose from my solemn slumber to hear the sound of shuffling shoes and sirens. I heard voices repeating claims of a necessary evacuation from the dormitory.
An evacuation? In the middle of the night? Serious claims, indeed.
I shook off my wishes to stay in bed, woke my roommate, got dressed in a hurried fashion and made my way down the stairs.
Once outside, I noticed the catalyst for the commotion. Two massive fire trucks sat near the High Rise dormitory. Campus security guarded the entrances to the building, preventing anyone from reentry.
As I stood in my Lipscomb T-shirt, Nike gym shorts and Rockport church shoes, I began to grasp the gravity of the current situation. A huge pond of water had taken over the grassy plain in front of the High Rise lobby.
I believed we had a leak on our hands.
Once I gained better knowledge of the situation, I put on my journalist’s cap and went to work. Scouring the campus looking for possible interviewees, I stumbled upon one or two well-qualified candidates.
One, a first-floor resident, gave me keen insight on the commotion of the evening. The other, an official of the university, gave me the actual statistics of the events.
10 feet of water flooded the mechanical room of High Rise, caused by an 8-inch pipe’s untimely burst.
I spent the next two hours or so gathering extra quotes, taking startling pictures and trying to gain a better understanding of the possible ramifications of what had just occurred.
Was the damage severe? Did any students lose any personal belongings? How long until I could climb back into my wonderful bed?
Only time could tell.
If you have ever seen the found-footage thriller Cloverfield, you might be able to understand the feeling for many High Rise residents.
Strangely awoken in the middle of the night by an unseen terror, many students wondered throughout the campus throughout the morning, unsure of what had happened and what was to come.
Some students made their way into Allen Arena, but quickly after, the arena was evacuated. Students had to make their way into the campus activity center.
Lights flickered, students fled to the nearest Waffle House and some made runs to Wal-Mart to gather necessary supplies for the remainder of the morning.
Some students just simply sat, wondering what forced them from their beautiful sleep and what was to come.
For a short while, uncertainty and pandemonium took hold of the Lipscomb campus.
The Cloverfield monster might as well have shown up. He would have been more than fitting for the occasion.
As I walked, my feet began to angrily pulse with a fury only feet lacking socks could convey. “The Rockports” are fine and dandy until socks leave the equation.
I felt as if I was walking on a solid block of finely carved wood only made for the best Dillard’s shoppers.
As soon as the situation came to a quick standstill, I left school, making the third trip to my car on the evening to both charge my iPhone (a blessing, really) and grab a quick breakfast.
As the sun began to rise over High Rise, the story began to take shape. Students (including yours truly) were slowly filtered into the dorm to obtain the necessities needed to carry out the morning’s activities. I grabbed my computer, threw on a pair of jeans, got my phone charger and of course, put on a pair of glorious socks.
Glorious, glorious socks.
I proceded to find a spot in the student center, where power still remained, and watch the events of the evening unfold on the morning news while checking my computer for anything that required my attention.
“Crazy, crazy, crazy,” I thought to myself.
A few breaking updates and a few interviews later (including one with Dr. Lowry himself), the smoke cleared. The building opened for business after many hours of uncertainty, and High Rise residents finally entered their once tumultuous home to take a well-deserved nap.
The draining, dreary night had finally passed. The four major news crews packed their bags after a long night of coverage, the students of other dormitories slowly emerged to find their classes cancelled and this journalist finally made it back to his room.
Be thankful for the brave men and women who put forth tireless effort to help relocate the weary High Rise residents back in their beds. Heroes, if you ask me.
I know I’m thankful that once I tie up a few loose ends coverage-wise and finish this post, I will once again my reunited with my wonderful maiden – sleep.
As for a movie, take a day off. Catch up on some older posts, maybe. The choice is yours.
I’ll be happy to take some requests for next week’s post. I’m like you. I can’t wait to discuss some awesome films again.
For now, last night’s events remain the topic at hand.
Until then, may your dorm’s pipes be tightly wound and your sleep wonderful.
An exhausted but grateful Instant Critic
The Instant Critic 