The Walkie Talkie Incident

I have toyed with the idea of publicly writing my thoughts for a while now. I’ve always been a rather opinionated individual. Nine out of ten times I’ll disagree with you, but rarely will I vocalize how absurd I believe the statement to be. Because in my sticky web of thoughts there lie just as many curiosities as opinions. I listen, and I remember what you have to say. My friends say my memory is like an elephant. I can hold them to any irrational, embarrassing, funny, and even intelligent remark that they have ever made, no matter how long ago or insignificant ( with the exception of anything mathematic).

I enjoy conversation, and I’m fairly confident in my communication skills. Friend or foe I will humor a discussion. But when it comes to my personal opinions and beliefs, unless you’re a dear friend, my responses tend to be a cop out. Working my way around a question also falls on my list of skills.

So why am I publicly posting my most intimate thoughts and unusual opinions? Walkie Talkies.

Last summer I worked at my childhood sleep-away camp. Granted, during my preteen years I was a bit of a mischievous camper- sneaking around with boys in the middle of the night and such. But as a counselor I had matured, and one would assume they realized this having had hired me. My activity was windsurfing and I taught it with my two best friends and this giant douche bag from Australia. The douche was activity head and he told us what to do; while the rest of the staff went out in the water to help the kids, I sat on a rock incase somebody needed to come in. But this isn’t about the douche bag, it’s about a walkie talkie.

Each activity has one walkie talkie at location. Windsurfing was set at the tip of a peninsula on Lake George, NY, so my activity was the first to know a storm was coming. I saw a set of high winds and rain coming in, so I walkie’d it in. People. freaked. out. Not because of the giant storm about to hit, but that somebody would be crazy enough to hand me a walkie talkie.

Everybody on walkie discussed the mayhem I would bring with it in my posession, neglecting my initial message. There was such an overwhelming reaction to my walkie talkie status that the storm hit camp by surprise with campers still out in the middle of the lake. I was never allowed to use a walkie again.

This summer I work at a local beach club. The girl who sits at the front desk went on vacation so I subbed in for her today. Walkie Talkies happen to be the main form of communication between staff at the club, the front desk being its home base. Only in a matter of moments was mine taken away. Yet again, my presence on the Walkie Talkie channel stirred up such a comotion, I was stripped the privileges.

So why blog? If I can create such a ruckus by asking somebody there “10-20,” who knows what will happen now that I permanently have the walkie.

The Walkie Talkie Incident.

I have toyed with the idea of publicly writing my thoughts for a while now. I’ve always been a rather opinionated individual. Nine out of ten times I’ll disagree with you, but rarely will I vocalize how absurd I believe the statement to be. Because in my sticky web of thoughts there lie just as many curiosities as opinions. I listen, and I remember what you have to say. My friends say my memory is like an elephant. I can hold them to any irrational, embarrassing, funny, and even intelligent remark that they have ever made, no matter how long ago or insignificant ( with the exception of anything mathematic).

I enjoy conversation, and I’m fairly confident in my communication skills. Friend or foe I will humor a discussion. But when it comes to my personal opinions and beliefs, unless you’re a dear friend, my responses tend to be a cop out. Working my way around a question also falls on my list of skills.

So why am I publicly posting my most intimate thoughts and unusual opinions? Walkie Talkies.

Last summer I worked at my childhood sleep-away camp. Granted, during my preteen years I was a bit of a mischievous camper- sneaking around with boys in the middle of the night and such. But as a counselor I had matured, and one would assume they realized this having had hired me. My activity was windsurfing and I taught it with my two best friends and this giant douche bag from Australia. The douche was activity head and he told us what to do; while the rest of the staff went out in the water to help the kids, I sat on a rock incase somebody needed to come in. But this isn’t about the douche bag, it’s about a walkie talkie.

Each activity has one walkie talkie at location. Windsurfing was set at the tip of a peninsula on Lake George, NY, so my activity was the first to know a storm was coming. I saw a set of high winds and rain coming in, so I walkie’d it in. People. freaked. out. Not because of the giant storm about to hit, but that somebody would be crazy enough to hand me a walkie talkie.

Everybody on walkie discussed the mayhem I would bring with it in my posession, neglecting my initial message. There was such an overwhelming reaction to my walkie talkie status that the storm hit camp by surprise with campers still out in the middle of the lake. I was never allowed to use a walkie again.

This summer I work at a local beach club. The girl who sits at the front desk went on vacation so I subbed in for her yesterday. Walkie Talkies happen to be the main form of communication between staff at the club, the front desk being its home base. Only in a matter of moments was mine taken away. Yet again, my presence on the Walkie Talkie channel stirred up such a comotion, I was stripped the privileges.

So why blog? If I can create such a ruckus by asking somebody there “10-20,” who knows what will happen now that I permanently have the walkie.