#GBE2: Shenanigans in the Rockies

It's best to be at Shwayder Camp!

Back in high school, I worked as a camp counselor at Camp Shwayder, a Jewish camp nestled in the beautiful rocky mountains of Idaho Springs, Colorado. As staff, we enjoyed the full run of the camp and knew her well. Although always nice to the campers, we were guilty of laughing at some of their shenanigans after the sun went down, such as the story of a little girl called Spacy who tipped over backwards the moment she put on her backpack. She fell in a straight backwards flop without a scream, twitch, or even a facial grimace.

I guess I was the same way on my day off where I made the mistake of falling asleep in a chair with a room full of counselors ready to pull their shenanigans on me. It would have been a lot more fun to watch someone else wake up with a cigarette butt in her hand and an empty bottle of booze under her arm. I am not nor have I ever been a smoker, but I might have drank a little that night since I slept through those shenanigans.

I miss the mountains!

When the camp sessions came to an end, several of us found ourselves in an odd predicament. We wanted to attend a youth group convention a week after camp ended but lived too far to go home for a week. The director gave us an awkward option. We could spend the week at the camp and participate in a program called Youth Tute provided that we be campers. Campers? We had spent the entire summer being counselors, and now we couldn't even wander into our own staff lounge! 

This was horrendous! This was unacceptable! This was... wait a minute, this could be fun. Okay, if they want us to be campers, we'll act like them–and thus–the shenanigans began. Imagine the look on the camp director's face when he found his former staff breaking every rule in the book. We had a blast sneaking out of the cabin, hiding behind the water heater, and raiding the boys' cabins. Shenanigans!

Writer's Post meets Silly Sunday: Energy & Heavy Evy

It amazes me how one word can trigger a flood of memories that basically have nothing to do with the topic at hand. "Energy is the ability to do work!" On one particular day, that's the phrase our sixth grade teacher made us shout before she'd let us out the door to blessed freedom from her class. Hopefully her ways are silly enough for a Sunday at Rhonda's Laugh Quotes.

Small hides the guilty.

Although I was just about the tallest girl in the class, this monstrous woman towered over all of us. You may recall my discussion of 5X5, my mother's "friend" who was five feet tall and five feet wide. On that same frame of reference, meet 6X6. From my child perspective, she just might have been.

Ralph M. Captain School

Our elementary school followed the idiotic seventies trend of open classrooms. With this design in place, I was able to hear and fear this teacher for two years before I was thrust into her classroom. Thank goodness for Mrs. R, the teacher's assistant who used to garner long lines to check SRA so that we could skirt around "Heavy Evy."

I'll never forget wanting to skip school on my birthday because of her weird practice of spanking kids over her knee in front of the class. She'd pat their tushes eleven times while counting in an annoying high-pitched squeal then smack the tar out of them on number twelve. I'm guessing that since two other girls shared my birthday, she left us alone for time's sake–or maybe she was smart enough to know that my dad would be beating down her door if she ever hit me.

Now that I'm a teacher, I see three types of kids: the ones that want a hug all the time; those that don't touch but will tell all about their lives; and finally, the type of kid who keeps as far away from the teacher as possible. Can you guess what type of kid I was? Yep! Number three, even with the nice teachers. This made her intrusive ways even more threatening.

There is one good out of this sixth grade experience. Heavy Evy, and her best-friend who taught me in grade four, provide great fodder for my novels. When you read about a mean teacher in my novel, think of Heavy Evy.

#GBE2: Confrontation

When my kids were little and acted up in public, I was quick to tell them that "Aunt Joyce" wasn't going to take them anywhere if they couldn't behave. Now that my kids are grown, they throw the name back at me by calling me Aunt Joyce when I get into my multiple confrontations in front of them.

Even though little girls are taught to be seen and not heard, I must have missed that message because I'm afraid I can be quite confrontational when things don't go my way, which seems to be more frequently since the world abandoned the saying, "The customer is always right." See I Hate Delta Airlines. After much tweeting and bad publicity for that sad excuse for an airline, I got my way–sorta.

Volkswagon is a much smarter company than Delta because they gave into to my demands much sooner after a strip of aluminum siding fell off the inside of my door. The dealership's service department told me they did not sell aluminum strips and I'd have to replace the entire door at the tune of $600+.

I didn't argue with the kind people on Winchester Road but rather dialed directly to headquarters and told them (1) this is unacceptable (2) there is no reason not to sell me a small part (3) I will get my car fixed at a reasonable price, and finally (4) If I don't, I will blog and tweet this story to the world.

At first, I was offered a $200 discount, which would still leave me paying $400+ for a strip of aluminum. I said, "No way!" and the counter offer was on the table the next day. In the end, they replaced my door for free, and I paid a small amount for the price of labor ... about the price of a piece of aluminum.

Although men who act like me are assertive, us women get called less flattering names when we play difficult customer. I don't care and will wear the name with pride, but , err; hopefully, I haven't been too awful.

As a side note, I love my Volkswagon Eos and their service department in Memphis. I would most certainly buy another one.