Mystery Solved: The Case of the Haunted Hallway

My fellow 4th grade team member, Geri, typically a laid-back and level-headed woman, came careening into my classroom. "Did you see what just went by?" she asked, motioning me frantically to get out of my chair. My mind raced as I sorted through all of the potentially terrifying scenarios that might be waiting for me on the opposite side of my closed classroom door. "The hallway zamboni is unmanned!" Geri shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me into pursuit. 

The school was like a ghost-town. The corridors were vacuous tunnels; echoing, empty shafts devoid of life. We could hear the haunting drone of the maniacal mechanism as it stalked a side hallway. Like Scooby Doo and the gang, Geri and I sprinted around the corner, our legs pinwheeling without purchase on the smooth, shiny floors.

We caught a glimpse of blue. "There it goes!" we shouted, Paul Revere-ing our way around the wing,
trying to ruffle our clueless colleagues closeted in their own classrooms.  We suddenly came face-to-face with the object of our alarm. We stared in shock at the demon-possessed appliance. We approached it with the comical caution of rodeo clowns. At this point, I began to question our well-intended, developing-along-the-way, plans of intervention. Were we going to leap aboard and rustle this rogue critter into submission? Open the corral doors and herd it outside?  Geri, at one point, appeared ready to throw herself bodily in front of this raging bull. 

Fortunately, her sacrifice was not required as we rounded another 90 degree turn to encounter a team of our highly-trained, imminently-skilled cleaning and maintenance staff who were over-seeing the maiden voyage of the world's biggest Roomba. So, yeah. We felt a little stupid. "Send a girl a memo," I suggested defensively as the ghost groomer continued down the hall, leaving clean floors and lost jobs in its wake. 

Geri and I trekked back to our rooms, our heroic exploits ignored (or, even worse, mocked and maligned). Change is inevitable, I know. But it can sometimes be scary and even a little sad. The new-fangled floor mop trundled past me mockingly, its empty saddle a sorrowful signal of another employee losing their seat. Particularly sad because, in our school, manning the helm of the hallway zamboni is the most envied position of all.