Lost

This morning I woke up at nine, happy with my solid five hours of sleep. Once everyone else decided to join me in my state of awakeness, we headed up to Vimy Ridge. Vimy Ridge is the location of the Canadian Monument, one of the first places I visited upon my arrival to France!
We had loads of fun exploring the tunnels underneath the site and walking through the trenches. When we started to head over to the actual monument, I steered myself towards the restrooms close by. It was so warm inside in comparison to the freezing icicles that were beginning to form on my fingertips outside, that I warmed my hands under the hand dryer for about three minutes. It seems that all my unhappy happenings revolve around toilets and restrooms. (Notice the blatant avoidance of the words bathroom and toiletroom.)
Anyways, when I finally exited the building, everyone had vanished. I hurried frantically up to the monument. The Canadian guide told me that she had no clue where they had gone. She drove me to the edge of the monument in her golf cart, and from there I ran. I had a vague idea of the path we had walked earlier, and hoped to catch up to them in time without falling in the mud. The further I kept running, the more desperate I became to see someone. To relax, I told myself that I still had two hours before parents started arriving. This meant I still had two hours before anyone noticed I was gone and two hours before I got into trouble.
I finally caught up with the group after about fifteen minutes. As I had guessed, no one had even suspected that I had been missing. This is why we have chaperones who are supposed to do head-counts.