It’s worse than the customs line coming into America from Israel. It’s worse than the lines at Disneyland. It’s worse than the lines to try on clothes on black Friday. It’s even worse than the line at the Jag Shack. What is it you ask? It’s the de Toledo carpool line.

The de Toledo parking structure consists of five levels of pure chaos. With juniors crammed at the bottom, seniors at the top, and faculty and random cars parked in between, it is a recipe for disaster.

How, you ask, do the parking structures transform from silent, innocently, car-filled lots, to hectic battle zones filled with the impatient roaring of horns within minutes?

It all begins when the clock strikes 3:15. Well, it doesn’t strike because it would be too loud and violate our conditional use permit, but the digital clocks do noticeably switch from 3:14 to 3:15.

Mobs of soldiers push through the security gates at the entrance of the school. Security guards stand back in fear and astonishment. Animalistic instincts kick in and off the warriors go. The poor souls run until their legs give out. Best friends are torn apart in the hecticity. However, no one looks back. It’s too risky.

The sea of backpacks part as the juniors sprint down the staircase and the seniors rush up the opposite side. It’s a race not only against time, but a race against 200 or so other soldiers who want freedom just as bad as the next guy.

Ignitions growl, wheels screech. Then, everything comes to a halt. Silence fills the anxiety-stricken air. You can smell the lethal combination of gasoline and frustration.

The minute a brave soul leaves their safe steel haven, they are susceptible to the dooms of the carpool line: reckless drivers and big, teacher-driven mini-vans.

It’s just too unsafe to leave the comfort of a big, 3,000 lb slab of metal and trek into the heart of the complete and utter mayhem of parents picking up their children from school.

Slowly but surely, the line inches forward. Tanks barrel their way up to the front line. Men and women wave to their fellow soldiers. However, what their smiles neglect to reveal is their perpetuating desire to be the lucky car that exists the everlasting line first. The word “friend” means nothing in a situation such as this. Each man is only concerned for himself.

A question will be raised: Is all this pain and suffering truly worth the price of freedom?  

As if all prayers are answered, Wendy’s hand slowly appears in the air, enabling departure. Muffled cheers arise from the dust. Cars roll forward and slowly turn the corner.

And then, there is light. The world is at peace once again.