I feel like my blog is missing some of my personality – particularly the part of my personality that likes to recount memories and tell you true life stories. Some of my non-internet-originated friends will have heard these stories (a million times over) and ignore my post, but here I have the perfect platform to share them with a fresh audience.

I’d like to go camping this summer

In the summer of 2005 I obtained my first Working-for-the-Man-Gettin’-Taxed job. It was at a day care facility in Pasadena and they were hiring for their summer day care camp program. I was hired at the end shift when the day counselors came back from field trips with the kids, dumped them on me, and would eventually (god willing) get picked up. This was only a three hour shift, but it was an intensely stressful one because I was in charge of somewhere in the neighborhood of 60-80 children all at once, and had to keep them occupied (I created various “activity stations” before they arrived back at the facility), had to make sure I handed off each child to the correct parent, obtain a signature and answer any questions or give any reports. Sounds easy enough, but some parents have the mindset of I Am the Only Parent in this Universe and I Need To Get Shit Done so they hated waiting to sign their kid out and would try to “forget”.

My boss, a fairly recent graduate of UCSD with a degree in child development and bitchology, was a lovely creature – I can only liken her to that of a blond haired harpy-Gorgon hybrid. She was always in my face shouting, “WATCH THE KIDS!” Like I was off staring into space or picking my nose in a corner. The truth of the matter was she was in love with one of the dude counselors and hated every woman who was working/breathing the same air with him. I had no interest in this co-worker, or any co-worker for that matter because I am a firm believer you don’t shit where you eat.
Unless it worked out for you.
You are the exception.

Anyway, my one solace was my co-worker, J– who was hired with the same responsibility as me. We were a great team but within three weeks she had to quit (personal reasons that had nothing to do with the facility). It was Just Me. Then, a full-time counselor was fired – for reasons entirely the fault of the facility (as in forgetting to double-check work history, references and that accusation of child endangerment. Oops!)
So guess who got to step in as full-time, 9 to 5 (and then some) counselor extraordinaire? Hell yes!

Now, by this time I already had a set of kids who I really adored. They were a group of boys, ages 9-11 and on a field trip to Hurricane Harbor (a water park adjacent to Six Flags) I was left in charge of these four boys at the “end” of our bigger group of twelve, also with another co-counselor. I was focused this core, smaller group because I had Z, a boy who needed a little extra attention. Also in the group was Z’s Best Friend (ZBF) – a hypochondriac and over-analyzer – but with a good heart, like all of these boys.
This what their attitude was at the beginning of the day: “YAY! OMG! WE ARE GOING TO GO ON EVERY SINGLE RIDE! ESPECIALLY THE SCARY ONES! WE RULE! WE’RE NOT PUSSY’S! YEAH, YEAH, MANLY MEN! WOO! BRING ON THE SCARY RIDES!”

And at the end of the day, just how many rides would you guess my fella’s made it on?
Four.
Oh yeah. Four.

Not because it was crowded or catastrophic long lines; no, no. Just the drama that goes in with dealing with kids and their particular quirks.

On every single ride, every single ride, ZBF would get up to the very, very top ~ inner-tube in hand ~ and then at the very last second turn to me and say, “R, I don’t want to go!”

By the time we reached our last ride, I managed to have gotten Z on two rides, ZBF on one and the other.

The boys are SCARED shitless of the dark. They will only go down tunnel slides that have light in them. OK.
So, on this last ride there is a choice of 3 slides: 2 which are dark and 1 which is light blue and therefore light inside. The boys were on the other side of the lifeguards gate, ZBF sat down in the shallow pool to kick off when he turned around and said,
“I don’t want to go.”

Z, being a follower, mimicked his friend. Whipping around, he gave me his classic nervous but sneaky wide grin, front teeth over his bottom lip and squeaked, “Me, either. It’s scary.”

As our rules delegated, if these boys did not go down, I would have to turn around myself and we’d have to trudge down the HUGE line behind us and rejoin our group (the boys and I are always the last to go down because of this drama). I gave them my frostiest glare and told them exactly what we would do if they didn’t just go down the quicker, funner way. I also proceeded to tell them how disappointed I was that even after they proved to be brave, they had held up this long line for this drama. The lifeguard was enraged, and I bet if he wasn’t saving up for some bitchin’ Camero, or college or whatever, he would have handed me his hat and whistle and said, “Fuck this noise. I’m getting a vasectomy.”
The boys begin to relent.
“Well…maybe I can go.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I point to ZBF. “Z, will you go down if ZBF goes down?”
“Yes,” he replies sincerely.
I point to Z. “Will you go down if Z does?”
ZBF: “Yes.”
“Good. Z, go.”
“What?”
“Go. NOW.”
“But I…”
DEATH GLARE OF DEATH
Z’s smile returns, letting me know just how much he’s enjoying torturing me.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“Yes. No. I mean. Yes. Yes.” Confidently, Z sits back down on his inner tube and my heart swells with pride. As he inches his way to the very, very edge he suddenly turns around and says,
“But, R – ”
I make a motion with my hands to the lifeguard, indicating to push Z down.
“Push ‘im in,” I command, determined to send my soldier into the mouth of darkness.
As if his whole summer job life had been waiting for this vengeance-filled moment, the lifeguard does as I ask, heaving Z down, down, down the darkened tunnel. As I hear the high pitch wails of Z, I turn to his best friend with a look he understood as, You’re Next, Son and he silently rushes to the tunnel where he left his inner tube, and plops right into position, waiting for the lifeguards signal. He goes down all by himself.

Sure enough, when I soon join them in the pool below, my darling little devils were laughing joyously, giving high-fives to each other, declaring the last slide “the coolest”.

I told both Z and ZBF’s parents about this; both laughed their asses off and said they would have done the same thing.