I used to work at a summer camp. There was a time when I thought I would like to mold the minds of our young future leaders. I wanted to be a teacher and the summer camp gave me experience that I was unable to get sitting at home lecturing to puppets (although the kids were only slightly more responsive). My experience at the camp quickly beat the desire to be a teacher (and very nearly, the will to live) out of me.
But this entry is not about the summer camp in general but about a specific event. There were five camps spread around the city and each had a coordinator. One summer the coordinators were given beepers. These were the days long before cell phones and the job of the coordinator involved a lot of roaming around so we weren't easy to get a hold of.
Each week the coordinators would have an off site meeting with the district supervisor. On occasion there would be a camp emergency (crying child, crying counselor, bleeding nose, sucking chest wound, decapitation) and a coordinator would have to miss the meeting.
On this particular occasion, we went to McDonald's after the meeting. While sitting and chatting one of the coordinators got a page, checked her beeper, screamed hysterically and threw it on the table. For you see, the page was from none other than the Prince of Darkness, Lucifer. Yes, the number that appeared was 666. I was flabbergasted that not only would the devil use such a pedestrian method of communication but that he would page someone knowing they'd have to call back and foot the exorbitant long distance charges of phoning Hell. But I guess nobody ever said Beelzebub was considerate.
Now, are you sitting down, because it wasn't actually the devil calling. Turns out it was just the coordinator who didn't make it to the meeting. I could have sworn it was one of the little prick kids from my camp. If this kid wasn't the devil he was most certainly a close relative.
Anyway, I suppose you're wondering about sucking chest wounds. They are not, as I thought, a hickey on the teats. A sucking chest wound is when the chest cavity has been pierced and air is sucked into the cavity through the wound on inhalation. They are obviously dangerous for the sufferer and no picnic for the person treating the wound. I once lost a wristwatch and half a turkey sub in a sucking chest wound.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
And how come that mute guy never answers me?
Yesterday, while driving, Monkey spotted a man walking on the sidewalk. The man had a white pole with a large rubber tip. Many of you may already know where this is going. Monkey said, "what's he looking for?" She thought that he was holding a metal detector and looking for precious coins on the sidewalk; because the sidewalk of course is where you really need a metal detector. If you are able to detect a coin buried beneath the concrete are you really going to get out a jackhammer and start drilling away on the miniscule chance that you've found an ounce of gold instead of just an old sardine tin lid. Anyway, I replied that as the man was blind, he was probably looking for anything.
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Collision Reporting Centre
Yesterday I went to the Collision Reporting Centre with Monkey. A very minor accident and everybody is fine but thanks for your concern.
I’m guessing that whoever put together the reporting process is not a black belt in Six Sigma process management. It is more likely that they tied the belt in a Gordian knot and then accidentally hanged themselves with it.
The first thing you encounter when you enter the building, approximately three feet inside the door, is a giant sign reading “Please take a number.” My guess is that 40% of people do not take a number. You then wait for your number to be displayed and proceed to the clerk. This area reminded me of a construction site or a Tim Horton’s counter; nine people boondoggling and one person working.
Of the 40% of people that do take a number 90% of them do not wait for their number to be displayed but simply go to the counter or get in line (this is a separate section that I’ll explain in a minute. Actually, I probably shouldn’t use a measurement of time here but rather of position. You may be a very fast or very slow reader. Even a slow reader will probably reach that section in less than a minute. With position it’s either above or below, in this case below. If you’re reading this upside down there’s nothing I can do for you.) What is the thought process there? The numbers are just random? They’re for display purposes only. They unlock the leprechaun’s treasure chest? Have these people honestly never encountered a number system before?
Anyway, after you’ve discussed details with a clerk, they give you a slip of paper that you take over to the police counter. This is where your number is meaningless and they employ a line-up system. The officer will take a quick look at the paper and then go out to the car to view the damage. You go back inside and the officer asks all of the same questions that the clerk just asked you. During this period someone sneaks outside and slaps a “Damage Reported” sticker on your car. Once that is complete a form is printed and you’re to fill in all the same answers you just verbally gave the clerk and the officer. I assumed that the officer was typing in the details as Monkey explained things but I later found out he was working on his novella for young adults about the dangerous yet glamorous life of a collision reporting centre cop and the woman who loves him but isn’t sure how much more of his devil-may-care attitude she can take. And they’re both vampires.
So you complete the form, which has about three relevant questions, and take it back to the police. The officer then asks the same questions that you’ve already answered to the clerk, other officer and on the form. Once he is satisfied he says “Thank you, bring this slip over there and you can pick up a copy of the report”. “Over there” is a counter beside the area where the clerks sit. A clerk will give you a copy of the report that has none of the details that either you or the second officer wrote down on it and then says “that is all we need, you can leave now.” Really, but I was going to stay for dinner.
It turns out that one of the guys that came in wanted to report an accident he had on his bicycle. I didn’t hear the rest of the story because it was drowned out by my uncontrollable laughter.
On the way out Monkey nearly walked directly into a wall which I didn’t think would do much for her case that she didn’t cause the accident. When she saw the “Damage Reported” sticker she said “Can I take this off?” Yes, of course. The whole purpose of the sticker is to identify the damage only while your car is in the CRC parking lot.
I’m guessing that whoever put together the reporting process is not a black belt in Six Sigma process management. It is more likely that they tied the belt in a Gordian knot and then accidentally hanged themselves with it.
The first thing you encounter when you enter the building, approximately three feet inside the door, is a giant sign reading “Please take a number.” My guess is that 40% of people do not take a number. You then wait for your number to be displayed and proceed to the clerk. This area reminded me of a construction site or a Tim Horton’s counter; nine people boondoggling and one person working.
Of the 40% of people that do take a number 90% of them do not wait for their number to be displayed but simply go to the counter or get in line (this is a separate section that I’ll explain in a minute. Actually, I probably shouldn’t use a measurement of time here but rather of position. You may be a very fast or very slow reader. Even a slow reader will probably reach that section in less than a minute. With position it’s either above or below, in this case below. If you’re reading this upside down there’s nothing I can do for you.) What is the thought process there? The numbers are just random? They’re for display purposes only. They unlock the leprechaun’s treasure chest? Have these people honestly never encountered a number system before?
Anyway, after you’ve discussed details with a clerk, they give you a slip of paper that you take over to the police counter. This is where your number is meaningless and they employ a line-up system. The officer will take a quick look at the paper and then go out to the car to view the damage. You go back inside and the officer asks all of the same questions that the clerk just asked you. During this period someone sneaks outside and slaps a “Damage Reported” sticker on your car. Once that is complete a form is printed and you’re to fill in all the same answers you just verbally gave the clerk and the officer. I assumed that the officer was typing in the details as Monkey explained things but I later found out he was working on his novella for young adults about the dangerous yet glamorous life of a collision reporting centre cop and the woman who loves him but isn’t sure how much more of his devil-may-care attitude she can take. And they’re both vampires.
So you complete the form, which has about three relevant questions, and take it back to the police. The officer then asks the same questions that you’ve already answered to the clerk, other officer and on the form. Once he is satisfied he says “Thank you, bring this slip over there and you can pick up a copy of the report”. “Over there” is a counter beside the area where the clerks sit. A clerk will give you a copy of the report that has none of the details that either you or the second officer wrote down on it and then says “that is all we need, you can leave now.” Really, but I was going to stay for dinner.
It turns out that one of the guys that came in wanted to report an accident he had on his bicycle. I didn’t hear the rest of the story because it was drowned out by my uncontrollable laughter.
On the way out Monkey nearly walked directly into a wall which I didn’t think would do much for her case that she didn’t cause the accident. When she saw the “Damage Reported” sticker she said “Can I take this off?” Yes, of course. The whole purpose of the sticker is to identify the damage only while your car is in the CRC parking lot.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Letter to my Kindergarten Teacher
I must admit I was taken by surprise when, perusing my old report cards, I came across the phrase “can be sullen and irritable if things don’t go his way”. Those are awfully fancy words for a kindergarten teacher. Did you learn those on your own or were they part of the curriculum sandwiched between “Mixing Orange Syrup Water” and “What to Do When a Child Eats Paste”?
How did you think I’d feel after toiling on the floor piecing together 23 of the 24 pieces that make up the “Hamburglar’s at it Again” jigsaw puzzle only to find the 24th piece chewed, almost beyond recognition, in Mr. Peanut’s cage. Great name for the class hamster by the way. At the age of five we aren’t able to enunciate clearly but perhaps it was your intention to have a group of children shrieking “I want to pet Mr. Peenus.” We certainly got a lot of unwanted attention from the caretaker.
Did you really expect me to maintain my composure after spending the better part of three days building Fort Awesome only to have you tell me it was clean up time. I doubt anyway told Frank Gehry to put his toys away and get ready for story time when he was designing the Experience Music Project.
And Story Time sucked. Why don’t you try a little inflection when you’re reading. You sounded like a depressed robot. Did it look like I was having a good time? Of course it did. I was trying to spare your feelings. Maybe next time you’re writing up report cards in a Jell-O shots induced haze you’ll give that idea a little thought.
How did you think I’d feel after toiling on the floor piecing together 23 of the 24 pieces that make up the “Hamburglar’s at it Again” jigsaw puzzle only to find the 24th piece chewed, almost beyond recognition, in Mr. Peanut’s cage. Great name for the class hamster by the way. At the age of five we aren’t able to enunciate clearly but perhaps it was your intention to have a group of children shrieking “I want to pet Mr. Peenus.” We certainly got a lot of unwanted attention from the caretaker.
Did you really expect me to maintain my composure after spending the better part of three days building Fort Awesome only to have you tell me it was clean up time. I doubt anyway told Frank Gehry to put his toys away and get ready for story time when he was designing the Experience Music Project.
And Story Time sucked. Why don’t you try a little inflection when you’re reading. You sounded like a depressed robot. Did it look like I was having a good time? Of course it did. I was trying to spare your feelings. Maybe next time you’re writing up report cards in a Jell-O shots induced haze you’ll give that idea a little thought.
Friday, June 18, 2010
It's Over
The Relay for Life took place last Friday. Everything went very well. I raised $2,200.00 and the team raised $9,379.00. We were the first place team up until the final week when, out of nowhere, the Brides' Project (if that is their real name) came up with a huge donation and pushed us down to second. They were like snipers hiding in the bushes just waiting for the perfect opportunity to shoot us down.
This year we brought the same tent and made sure we had the poles. We did not, however, make sure the poles were complete. After spending 3 hours trying to thread the elastic through the pole pieces and enduring the trash talking of the group on the site next to us we gave up.
After giving up on the four person tent we went to our back-up two person tent. A different one from last year that actually fit two people. Now you might think, oh, that was very clever that they brought a back-up tent. Au contraire, what would have been clever is if we'd checked the poles of the main tent. Anyway, we got the tent up without incident and I crawled into it just before the rain started down.
After the Relay, because I wasn't tired enough, I went with Auntie Monkey to Snake and Rooster's house to babysit them for the day. It was the first day of the softball season for Snake so she had two games and a team photo. All spaced far apart and all in different locations. When I wasn't standing in the rain watching 9 year olds play softball I was back at the house lying on the couch. Apparently my lying on the couch sends a message to the girls to use me as a human bouncy castle.
The highlight of my weekend though may have been when we went to the schnitzel house for dinner. On entering, the host asked us if we were with the Corey party. I asked if Corey was taking care of the tab in which case we were most definitely part of the party. Monkey however said, "who's Corey". The host then said "oh, we have a lot of kids here for Corey's party so I thought you may have been with them."
What kind of a kid has his birthday party at a schnitzel house? I soon found out and Corey looked exactly like the kind of kid that would have his party at the schnitzel house. The lederhosen and copy of Mein Kampf under his arm were a dead giveaway. I think Herr Corey may have schnitzeled his pants when everyone yelled Uberraschen!!!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
So Close, So Very Freakin' Close
I'm currently sitting at $1415.00 for the Relay for Life; just $585.00 away from my goal of $2000.00.
Many of you have already generously donated and for that I am extremely grateful but I really want to meet my goal so what do I have to do to get the money pouring in? Here are some suggestions:
For a $10.00 donation I will: make you breakfast, read you a story, scream at the top of my lungs in your ear (this probably won't be a very popular selection), give you a shoulder massage OR polish your shoes.
Many of you have already generously donated and for that I am extremely grateful but I really want to meet my goal so what do I have to do to get the money pouring in? Here are some suggestions:
For a $10.00 donation I will: make you breakfast, read you a story, scream at the top of my lungs in your ear (this probably won't be a very popular selection), give you a shoulder massage OR polish your shoes.
For a $20.00 donation I will: make you breakfast AND not eat any of it, clean your windows (ground floor only), walk your dog for a week (no more than a half-mile a day and no poodles or chihuahuas) OR give you a palm reading while you wait.
For a $50.00 donation I will: give you a shoulder massage while softly singing a lullaby in your ear (women only - for men the song selection will be late 80s metal ballads. For requests of Careless Whisper by Wham please see the "Not Enough Money in the World" donations section.), give you a foot massage (that is, I will massage any 12 inch part of your body - man that sounds really dirty, let's make that a $100 donation).
For a $100.00 donation I will: shave any part of your body and at no extra charge, allow you to shave any part of my body, give you a tattoo, wax your car or dewax your ears.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Holy Geez I'm Tired
May has been a very busy month for me. Last weekend we had the The Third Annual Super Karate Monkey Relay for Life Garage Sale (TASKMRFLGS). I'm proud to report that it was a rousing success with the team raising just under $600.00 for the Relay.
All of your favourite Super Karate Monkeys were there - Bitey, Scratchy, Fatty (that's me), One-Eye, One-Leg and Just-a-Head.
Our featured item this year was a lovely sweater donated (in error) by Jabber-Jaw. The sweater itself was a plain white affair but directly in the centre was a large photo of all three sisters. This kind of item brings up all sorts of questions for me. What kind of a person would wear a sweater with a picture of them self on it; and, more importantly, what kind of person would wear a sweater with a picture of people he didn't know on it. I aimed to find out so I placed the sweater in a place of prominence where all passersby could look upon it with mirth.
Jabber-Jaw came by a little later, drove past the house, mouth agape, turned around drove past the house again, threw the van into park (it may have been on the neighbour's dog), ran over, and while pointing at the sweater, said, in a voice shaking with equal parts terror, embarrassment and anger, "WHAT IS THAT?" Needless to say our featured item was quickly taken off the market.
Other highlights of the sale were a nine year old boy who bought a large Asian decorative fan and a family of seven who bought just about everything else. They would leave when their wagon was full, tow it back home to unload and then they were right back at it.
The past weekend was the Asian Hockey Championship and Cultural Event. This is a very large event with a much too small volunteer committee. At one point I was selling merchandise, paying referees and timekeepers, updating the scoreboard, making balloon animals and trying to eat lunch. I knew I was in trouble when I paid a timekeeper with a balloon mouse, tried to twist my cheeseburger into a dog and put up a score as three t-shirts to a hat.
One of the most amusing comments we had this year was a teenage player who came up to reception and asked for his banana and sandwich. Apparently someone on his team had told him that we were giving out free bananas and sandwiches this year. I barely have enough time to eat my own lunch, lord knows I'm not going to be slicing cucumbers and cutting off crusts for this guy.
In the AHC you are allowed to have 2 import players (i.e., non-Asian) however you're allowed to have any number of players with mixed heritage. Two years ago we had a mixed player who looked as Asian as Wayne Gretzky. Players on other teams were complaining that he was an extra import. His defense was that he had a picture of himself with his grandfather in his wallet. Now I'll grant him that his grandfather certainly did look Chinese, in fact, his grandfather came in later to rant about just how Chinese he was. Be that as it may, having a picture of you with someone doesn't prove anything. I have a picture of me at the Vatican but it doesn't mean I'm the Pope. And that picture of me canoodling at Rods of Steel - where the poles do the dancing, doesn't prove anything either.
When we pay the refs and timekeepers each person has to pick up his or her own pay envelope. Last year, one of the refs asked to pick up his friend's envelope and we said that we had to give the pay directly to the person. He replied by saying, "I've known him for over 15 years and I'm a cop, so I'm not going to steal his money." First, being a cop doesn't make you morally responsible. There have certainly been cases of cops breaking the law. Second, just because you say it out loud doesn't make it true.
"I'm a neurosurgeon and a rainbow."
"I'm a deep sea diver and the thing that your mama warned you about."
"I'm a full-time trampoline expert and a part-time lover."
"Hi, I'm a vegan and she's a maneater (Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she'll chew you up. (Oh oh, here she comes) she's a maneater."
All of your favourite Super Karate Monkeys were there - Bitey, Scratchy, Fatty (that's me), One-Eye, One-Leg and Just-a-Head.
Our featured item this year was a lovely sweater donated (in error) by Jabber-Jaw. The sweater itself was a plain white affair but directly in the centre was a large photo of all three sisters. This kind of item brings up all sorts of questions for me. What kind of a person would wear a sweater with a picture of them self on it; and, more importantly, what kind of person would wear a sweater with a picture of people he didn't know on it. I aimed to find out so I placed the sweater in a place of prominence where all passersby could look upon it with mirth.
Jabber-Jaw came by a little later, drove past the house, mouth agape, turned around drove past the house again, threw the van into park (it may have been on the neighbour's dog), ran over, and while pointing at the sweater, said, in a voice shaking with equal parts terror, embarrassment and anger, "WHAT IS THAT?" Needless to say our featured item was quickly taken off the market.
Other highlights of the sale were a nine year old boy who bought a large Asian decorative fan and a family of seven who bought just about everything else. They would leave when their wagon was full, tow it back home to unload and then they were right back at it.
The past weekend was the Asian Hockey Championship and Cultural Event. This is a very large event with a much too small volunteer committee. At one point I was selling merchandise, paying referees and timekeepers, updating the scoreboard, making balloon animals and trying to eat lunch. I knew I was in trouble when I paid a timekeeper with a balloon mouse, tried to twist my cheeseburger into a dog and put up a score as three t-shirts to a hat.
One of the most amusing comments we had this year was a teenage player who came up to reception and asked for his banana and sandwich. Apparently someone on his team had told him that we were giving out free bananas and sandwiches this year. I barely have enough time to eat my own lunch, lord knows I'm not going to be slicing cucumbers and cutting off crusts for this guy.
In the AHC you are allowed to have 2 import players (i.e., non-Asian) however you're allowed to have any number of players with mixed heritage. Two years ago we had a mixed player who looked as Asian as Wayne Gretzky. Players on other teams were complaining that he was an extra import. His defense was that he had a picture of himself with his grandfather in his wallet. Now I'll grant him that his grandfather certainly did look Chinese, in fact, his grandfather came in later to rant about just how Chinese he was. Be that as it may, having a picture of you with someone doesn't prove anything. I have a picture of me at the Vatican but it doesn't mean I'm the Pope. And that picture of me canoodling at Rods of Steel - where the poles do the dancing, doesn't prove anything either.
When we pay the refs and timekeepers each person has to pick up his or her own pay envelope. Last year, one of the refs asked to pick up his friend's envelope and we said that we had to give the pay directly to the person. He replied by saying, "I've known him for over 15 years and I'm a cop, so I'm not going to steal his money." First, being a cop doesn't make you morally responsible. There have certainly been cases of cops breaking the law. Second, just because you say it out loud doesn't make it true.
"I'm a neurosurgeon and a rainbow."
"I'm a deep sea diver and the thing that your mama warned you about."
"I'm a full-time trampoline expert and a part-time lover."
"Hi, I'm a vegan and she's a maneater (Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she'll chew you up. (Oh oh, here she comes) she's a maneater."
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