It began like any other Saint Stop. The smell of fresh donuts wafted through the air, the sound of “Thick of it” by KSI echoed across the quad, and every student had the unmistakable feeling that this was going to be yet another entirely necessary and life-changing school event. Truly, no one could contain their excitement.
Students flocked to the quad for their usual dose of sweet treats, ultimate frisbee and Saints Radio — aka the same five songs from 2014 that no one asked for. But then, at precisely 9:32 a.m., it happened. Everything stopped. Literally.
“I was reaching for a donut, and my hand just … froze,” freshman Cassidy Driscoll said, her outstretched arm still clutching at empty space hours later. “It’s like the laws of physics just decided they had better things to do.”
Across the campus, students and faculty alike became living statues. Some were mid-bite into their donuts, others mid-badminton match in the middle of the quad. Assistant Head of Upper School Sebastiaan Blickman was reportedly frozen halfway through writing up a student whose shirt had the audacity to become untucked during an intense round of ultimate frisbee. Witnesses say he was furiously pointing to his perfectly maintained suit, a testament to his unwavering commitment to the dress code even in the face of a space-time collapse.
Strangely, a few faculty members remained completely unaffected. Upper School Dean of Students Kyle McGimsey was spotted calmly grading tests while everything around him remained frozen.
“Honestly, if everyone just followed my Rules for Functional Humanity and Harmonious Societal Living, this never would have happened,” McGimsey said.
Meanwhile, English teacher Kent Kersten and history teacher Isiah Cabal took advantage of the stillness and tried to beat the world record for the longest bocce game.
“At last, the universe recognizes the importance of bocce,” Cabal said. “We’ve been training for this moment our entire lives. When the world freezes, only true art remains.”
As the day stretched into what felt like eternity, faculty members tried to intervene. The science department theorized that the Saint Stop’s powerful energy field had bent the space-time continuum.
“We’ve spent years pushing the boundaries of science and then Saint Stop just waltzes in with some donuts and breaks reality?” physics teacher Elmarie Mortimer said. “This is an outrage.”
Even the usually imperturbable school nurse was at a loss.
“I can treat wounds, splinters and existential crises,” school nurse Jennifer Weiser said. “But this? Even I don’t have a Band-Aid big enough for the fabric of reality unraveling.”
As night fell (or would have, if the sun hadn’t also stopped), the only hope lay in the hands of Food Director Chris Behrens. In a moment of culinary brilliance, he decided to cook one of his breakfast burritos in reverse — starting with a fully wrapped burrito and carefully disassembling it step by step. The moment the last piece of scrambled egg hit the griddle in reverse, the world shuddered and everything snapped back into motion.
“I finally got my donut,” Driscoll said through tears of joy.
While the administration has promised a full investigation into what they’re calling the “Saint Stop Stop”, Head of Upper School Tracy Bonday admitted she saw the whole event as a long-overdue correction.
“Frankly, it was about time,” Bonday said. “The Trinity Preparatory School of Florida has a reputation to uphold. We don’t condone untruthfulness, and we’ve been calling it ‘Saint Stop’ for years, and not once has anything actually stopped. I see this as the universe finally aligning with our branding.”
In the meantime, students have been warned to approach the next Saint Stop with caution, just in case of another spontaneous temporal collapse.
