When I was at Calvin, every year in the spring the Fine Art Guild (FAG) would put on a fine arts festival. Since this was an outdoors event, they would put up a large tent on the lawn to be used in the event of rain.

Now, the grounds keeper didn’t mind that they put up the tent. But, he was concerned that they might drive a tent stake into the underground sprinkler water main. So, every year, the grounds keeper would ask to be notified of this event so that he could help them avoid the under ground sprinkler water main. And every year, they would fail to notify the grounds keeper of this event.

Now, when the grounds keeper would see the tent on the grass, he would stop and inspect just to make sure that they didn’t hit the water line. Plus, he would shut off the sprinkler for that section of the lawn.

Well, one year, the grounds keeper was away on vacation when the Fine Arts Festival took place. So, not only did stakes get driven into the ground with out being inspected, no one shut off the sprinklers for that section of the lawn.

Now, normally that fact that the sprinklers were still on wouldn’t matter that much since they watered a 5am. But, in keeping with tradition, the FAG members had a big sleep over in the tent. And, there just happened to be a sprinkler head in the tent with them.

Now, the sprinklers at Calvin were not the puny variety that most homes have. They were industrial and capable of handling a 50 foot radius. So, when 5am came around, it was time to water the lawn and anything on it.

Now, there were no lights in the tent so the occupants could not see what was happening. And all that they could hear was the chit chit chit of the sprinkler and the roar of the water as it hit the inside of the tent.

There were screams of horror as the 50 degree water hit first one then another. Panic prevailed as the students tried to avoid the water and exit the tent. Not only did they have to get out of the tent, they had to wait, cold and wet, for the water to stop so they could go back inside and get their stuff.

The sun came up to dozens of sleeping bags draped over the outside of the tent, dripping in the morning light. The FAG members were all gone, presumable back to their rooms for a hot shower and some dry clothes.

For the next few years, the grounds keeper was notified well in advance of the Fine Arts Festival. Imagine that.