Dear friends,
Thanks for your prayers for me these past few weeks. Camp has been really wonderful and I am so glad I decided to be there. I love it more than I can remember loving it in my past years, and, although this past week was really hard, it was awesome. There was one point in the week where I got really mad at a camper. It was the maddest I had been in a long long time. I didn't tell her that I was mad, but I just refused to forgive her, even after she apologized. The whole time I was mad at her, though, I thought about how I wasn't wishing for her to go home, I just was mad at her temporarily.
Also this week, I started having so many doubts and insecurities. It was so rough. There was a voice in my head and it said to me: "Laura, you are nothing but a skinny little white girl. You don't look good in a bathing suit, specifically a one-piece, which is unfortunate for you because you have to wear a one-piece for Camp. Your yelling voice is screechy and shrill and no one takes you seriously ever. Your campers don't like you, and the reason they sometimes act like they do is because they don't know any better. They would have more fun with another counselor. Any other counselor but you. You should just go home and sleep and never get out of bed and never try to do anything ever again."
It was really hard. I got really close to crying a lot. The funny thing about Camp is that it's a pretty bipolar job. All the time, I'm either having the time of my life or about to break down really dramatically in front of everybody. My emotional state changes without notice and rapidly.
But I love it.
I decided that coming to Camp for the first time is kind of like High School Musical. You're doing your own thing, minding your own business, but you know where your place is. You don't break the status quo, because it's just an unspoken rule. And then you come to Camp and it's mass pandemonium in the most absolutely beautifully semi-structured way possible. There are no cliques or groups or social status-y type things. Everybody is just a person.
And you realize that this is how it's supposed to be. A mix of personalities and strengths is the best way to live. We help each other and feed off of each other and love each other. This is probably a little bit terrible, but some of the people I work with at Camp are people that I really don't think I would be friends with if I didn't know them at Camp. But because of Camp, I'm friends with such a variety of people and it makes me so incredibly happy.
After having some serious doubts about whether I am qualified/equipped in any way possible for this job and a lot of prayer, I noticed that people appreciate me for who I am. There are people in this world (and a lot of them are at Camp) who like me even though I have horrendous posture and I'm probably the worst archer ever and I eat my Smarties weird and I independently, without the assistance of any campers, have spilled liquid on me at mealtimes three times in two weeks this summer: coffee, water, and Cocoa Puffs milk. It was gross.
And I think that's why campers like it too. Nobody is judged on their personality or level of functioning or abilities or whether they can speak or whether they have ears or anything else. You come to Camp and are welcomed as a person. If you do something wrong, there are consequences, but unconditional love that is resilient and redemptive, just like the love that Jesus Christ shows me every moment of every day and illustrates to me through my campers, when they are being easy to love and when they are making me cry.
I am fascinated by the fact that I meet campers on Sunday of each week, and they leave Saturday, and we build such relationships in those six days. In real life, six days is not enough for you to make eight new best friends. But at Camp, it is, six weeks in a row.
Saying goodbye to campers is like plucking your eyebrows. You're a little surprised by what it feels like the first time you do it, and it's unpleasant (disclaimer: saying goodbye to campers hurts a whole lot more than plucking eyebrows), but you have to keep doing it. It just must be done. So every time you pluck one, you gasp. You know what it's going to feel like, but that doesn't mean you won't feel it. And you keep plucking until you're done. And your face feels hot and itchy and then you take it easy until you feel a little better. And then you go about your life, and then it's time to do it again. And it's no fun.
This week, I said a bad word to a camper. Before you freak out, you should know that that bad word was "sucks." I normally would not say that to a camper, just so that I can be a good example to them, but here's what happened: she ran away from our evening program Friday night crying because she didn't want to go back to her group home and the weather was a little scary and she was definitely tired. So we were talking in the bathroom, and she was in a stall with the door locked, and then, with her permission, I got on the floor and slid under the door so I could talk to her face-to-face (that part isn't relevant to the story, but I thought it was funny. I used to think it was so fun to slide under bathroom stall doors when I was little and I realized when I was doing it the other day that it had been so so long since I'd done that). So we talked, and she told me about the group home, and how they have her on a gluten-free diet, and she doesn't like it, but she does like Ezekiel bread since she's allowed to have that. And then she remembered that her mom was having an eye surgery and she got really worried. She was working herself up into an emotional tizzy. So you know what I did? I'll tell you.
She was sitting on the toilet, and I was on the floor in front of her, and I took her hands in my hands, and I looked her in the eye and said, "You know what? Growing up sucks, doesn't it? It sucks." And she agreed with me. And then I sang to her, "You Are My Sunshine" and let her calm down and then she was happy again.
I loved my beautiful lovely ladies this week. We had the time of our lives. And then they left me, and then I went shopping and got some American-themed stuff for next week, and now I'm thinking about next week and which of my campers can't have any acidic foods and how old they are and their activity level and anything I could possibly need to know. I'm getting as ready as I can for next week, and I unfortunately had to sweep my lovelies from last week back a little in my brain. They're still there, and as the summer progresses I'll find myself randomly having flash-backing to them and the funny things they did and the memories we made together.
Love,
Lauralicious
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Saturday, June 22, 2013
But I'll Push All My Inhibitions Aside
Remember this post? When I was super nervous for Camp and I was weepy all day? I went to Camp the day after I wrote it, and everything turned out marvelously. I made friends at staff training (I was pretty nervous about that, but I felt like it was dumb to be nervous about it, because I've been working long enough there that I should be best friends with everyone already. But it turned out really well) and then this week, campers came and I had a wonderful cabin and the best co-counselors.
I just learned from these past two weeks how incredibly blessed I am. A lot of people were praying for me, and I just felt so loved and cared for. Earlier I was being so selfish. I was worrying about myself and whether I was going to be okay, but I was shown how very wrong I was and how much I was letting my thoughts revolve around me.
On the last night of staff training, the Knights of Columbus came and cooked some really good food for us, then some representatives from the Jaycees and the Lions Club came and I was just reminded that Camp isn't about me. Just because I'm a counselor doesn't mean that I make Camp happen. I may be a more visible part to the campers and their families, but so much goes into making Camp happen and never gets recognized. So much money is raised all year around for these beautiful people to come and let me love them for six days and so much paperwork is sent out and read and signed and so much thinking is done about each camper and how they'll do at Camp and all of that happens before I even officially decide to come back each summer. Camp is such a legacy; I immediately feel a special sweet bond with anyone who has worked there in the past, and I am so honored to work there now. It is a privilege to get to love my campers and to spend my time with them.
Campers were here this week, and I was humbled over and over again in so many different ways. When I was wiping bottoms and cleaning poop off the floor, when I was helping old ladies shower, when I walked with one of the ladies at her pace instead of mine (really really slow), when I woke up so many times every night to walk campers to the bathroom, I was thinking about how this is what Jesus does for me. And if He does this for me, I can do this for them. It's the least I can do for the least of these.
I'm a counselor. I help wash people in the shower, I have an extra sense for untied shoes, I tackle bodily fluids with an open nose and gloved hands, I kiss boo-boos, I distribute cups of water, I carry knick-knacks and epi-pens in my backpack, and I love those babies like they are babies. Except for they're not. They're all older than I am. Some of them are older than my grandparents.
There is one camper I do not get along with so well. I love her very much, but I don't like her always. Yesterday morning, she woke me up exactly one minute before my alarm went off to tell me that we were out of toilet paper, when in fact I had known since 2AM. All week, she kept calling me "baby" and I did not like it one little bit. She thinks she is superior to other campers and sometimes counselors, too, and it drives me crazy. She tells me things about other campers' personalities, trying to be helpful, but it really isn't. It's mostly just annoying. I spent a good amount of my evening yesterday folding her huge granny panties and didn't get a "thank you." Whenever she gets emotional, she won't admit it. She starts fanning her face and mouths the words, "hot flashes" to me, even though she's post-menopausal.
The other day, she made me a friendship bracelet. I'm currently using it as an anklet because it's so big. It's less of an anklet (or bracelet), however, and more of just two pieces of thread twisted together and then tied onto my ankle. But I love it.
I think the reason she drives me so crazy is because I am her. I am difficult to love, I'm ungrateful and I have no idea that I cannot survive without a Wonderful Counselor to fold my underwear and pair my socks and make sure I'm hydrated and don't trip on a pebble. This one camper reminds me all the time of how much I need Jesus.
Every Saturday, after campers leave, all of us counselors get ready for the next week of campers. We make banners that have to do with the theme and we find a fun way to write the camper names on them. This week was medieval week, and our cabin was "Darling Damsels of Dove." Our camper names were written on hearts with little white wings like a dove, and this morning while parents and caretakers were coming to pick up campers, one of mine asked me to cut her name off of the banner so she could keep it and take it home. So I did, and then everybody wanted her name to keep forever. So I cut everybody's name off of the banner, and they all eventually left my co-counselors and me, and later I got to my cabin and looked at the banner and thought about how it was so symbolic of my heart at that moment. The banner said "Darling Damsels of Dove" in pretty cursive letters and had the counselor names in the top right corner, and then the rest of the banner was eight missing pieces. All that was left was the physical cabin and my co-counselors and me, but what makes Camp what it is was missing. That's how I feel every Saturday.
This song is how I feel about my campers. Parents and caretakers and whoever else always thank me and tell me how much they appreciate me giving up my summer to be with my campers. And I'm not going to say that I can't imagine it any other way, because I can. I can imagine myself having a summer where I sleep in every day and read books all the time and perfect my frittata recipe while listening to Mat Kearney. And I would enjoy a summer like that. But I can't imagine enjoying that more than I enjoy Camp. I need Camp. I always thank my campers for letting me be their counselor. Sometimes it's hard for me to figure out the lesson a camper taught me, but I always eventually am shown something really great that I needed to learn from them. I'm pretty sure they teach me more than I teach them.
Campers are not so much campers and yes so much heroes.
Love,
Lauralicious
I just learned from these past two weeks how incredibly blessed I am. A lot of people were praying for me, and I just felt so loved and cared for. Earlier I was being so selfish. I was worrying about myself and whether I was going to be okay, but I was shown how very wrong I was and how much I was letting my thoughts revolve around me.
On the last night of staff training, the Knights of Columbus came and cooked some really good food for us, then some representatives from the Jaycees and the Lions Club came and I was just reminded that Camp isn't about me. Just because I'm a counselor doesn't mean that I make Camp happen. I may be a more visible part to the campers and their families, but so much goes into making Camp happen and never gets recognized. So much money is raised all year around for these beautiful people to come and let me love them for six days and so much paperwork is sent out and read and signed and so much thinking is done about each camper and how they'll do at Camp and all of that happens before I even officially decide to come back each summer. Camp is such a legacy; I immediately feel a special sweet bond with anyone who has worked there in the past, and I am so honored to work there now. It is a privilege to get to love my campers and to spend my time with them.
Campers were here this week, and I was humbled over and over again in so many different ways. When I was wiping bottoms and cleaning poop off the floor, when I was helping old ladies shower, when I walked with one of the ladies at her pace instead of mine (really really slow), when I woke up so many times every night to walk campers to the bathroom, I was thinking about how this is what Jesus does for me. And if He does this for me, I can do this for them. It's the least I can do for the least of these.
I'm a counselor. I help wash people in the shower, I have an extra sense for untied shoes, I tackle bodily fluids with an open nose and gloved hands, I kiss boo-boos, I distribute cups of water, I carry knick-knacks and epi-pens in my backpack, and I love those babies like they are babies. Except for they're not. They're all older than I am. Some of them are older than my grandparents.
There is one camper I do not get along with so well. I love her very much, but I don't like her always. Yesterday morning, she woke me up exactly one minute before my alarm went off to tell me that we were out of toilet paper, when in fact I had known since 2AM. All week, she kept calling me "baby" and I did not like it one little bit. She thinks she is superior to other campers and sometimes counselors, too, and it drives me crazy. She tells me things about other campers' personalities, trying to be helpful, but it really isn't. It's mostly just annoying. I spent a good amount of my evening yesterday folding her huge granny panties and didn't get a "thank you." Whenever she gets emotional, she won't admit it. She starts fanning her face and mouths the words, "hot flashes" to me, even though she's post-menopausal.
The other day, she made me a friendship bracelet. I'm currently using it as an anklet because it's so big. It's less of an anklet (or bracelet), however, and more of just two pieces of thread twisted together and then tied onto my ankle. But I love it.
I think the reason she drives me so crazy is because I am her. I am difficult to love, I'm ungrateful and I have no idea that I cannot survive without a Wonderful Counselor to fold my underwear and pair my socks and make sure I'm hydrated and don't trip on a pebble. This one camper reminds me all the time of how much I need Jesus.
Every Saturday, after campers leave, all of us counselors get ready for the next week of campers. We make banners that have to do with the theme and we find a fun way to write the camper names on them. This week was medieval week, and our cabin was "Darling Damsels of Dove." Our camper names were written on hearts with little white wings like a dove, and this morning while parents and caretakers were coming to pick up campers, one of mine asked me to cut her name off of the banner so she could keep it and take it home. So I did, and then everybody wanted her name to keep forever. So I cut everybody's name off of the banner, and they all eventually left my co-counselors and me, and later I got to my cabin and looked at the banner and thought about how it was so symbolic of my heart at that moment. The banner said "Darling Damsels of Dove" in pretty cursive letters and had the counselor names in the top right corner, and then the rest of the banner was eight missing pieces. All that was left was the physical cabin and my co-counselors and me, but what makes Camp what it is was missing. That's how I feel every Saturday.
This song is how I feel about my campers. Parents and caretakers and whoever else always thank me and tell me how much they appreciate me giving up my summer to be with my campers. And I'm not going to say that I can't imagine it any other way, because I can. I can imagine myself having a summer where I sleep in every day and read books all the time and perfect my frittata recipe while listening to Mat Kearney. And I would enjoy a summer like that. But I can't imagine enjoying that more than I enjoy Camp. I need Camp. I always thank my campers for letting me be their counselor. Sometimes it's hard for me to figure out the lesson a camper taught me, but I always eventually am shown something really great that I needed to learn from them. I'm pretty sure they teach me more than I teach them.
Campers are not so much campers and yes so much heroes.
Love,
Lauralicious
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Plant. Dream. Grow.
Dear friends,
Tomorrow is the day that I go to the place where I first learned to enjoy a good cold shower, where I had the best nap ever in the world, where I thought a 60-something-year old woman was going to die in my arms (she didn't!), where I learned my favorite lullaby, where I decided to change my major to Special Education, where I consistently don't get a chance to brush my teeth until after lunch.
Tomorrow starts staff training and this is how I'm feeling on each of my hands: on one hand, I can't wait. I keep thinking about dear friends who I'm going to be reunited with and good good memories we have together with our campers and I wish so much I was there right now. But on the other hand, I want to not get out of bed tomorrow morning. I thought about what Leslie would do if I just didn't show up tomorrow. I'm pretty sure she would call my cell phone and home phone and each of my parents and ask all of the other counselors where I was, but after that, would she come to my house to hunt me down? Or would she give up and hire somebody else? I'm going to miss my family and my bed and makeup and wearing a real bra (because I only wear sports bras at Camp) and my friends and being able to go where I want to go when I want to and Emma my niece who isn't really my niece and the Internet...but not necessarily in that order.
But just the fact that I capitalized the C in Camp without even thinking about it shows me that it's where I need to be. People who don't go to Camp never capitalize the C. It's a sign of respect and it's an inadvertent recognition of what Camp is, that it isn't a place or a week or a gathering of counselors with a specific set amount of training. It's the campers.
And I know that. And I love my campers to no end. It's just that also I love myself to no end...which is not a fun thing to write, let me tell you. I just like to pretend I'm humble and giving.
I've been pretty weepy all day. I've driven my family and friends a little bit crazy, even though they didn't say so. I was packing earlier, and then my sink decided to leak all over tarnation (which did not help my peace of mind very much at all and may also be somewhat of an exaggeration, although there was definite leakage) and it was just a stressful day in general. I did a lot of running around Clemson and went to Walmart twice and we're out of Goo Gone in my house so how am I supposed to survive in this world? Just kidding, but really, I could've used some earlier. But my sweet dad brought me an omelette with bacon bits and vegetables with feta cheese on top and also some Greek yogurt and he ate with me and listened to me complain and sympathized with me even though he could've been watching basketball (which he did later, so it's a win-win situation) and then read me a passage from Galatians 6: Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life. Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.
So basically I have the best dad in the world, but, more specifically, I can't do this by myself. I can't handle Camp alone because I would probably just punch everybody right in the face. Or cry uncontrollably and run home. If I do this to put on my resume or to look good to other people or to make friends or to do it for some other reason that is not to further God's kingdom, I will reap destruction and that is not a fun thing to reap. But if the reason I am doing this is to please the Spirit, then I will reap eternal life and that is a nice thing to know. But even more, this passage tells me to persevere and to not give up and to not get weary (which I am pretty good at doing). It tells me to love my campers and fellow counselors with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength. That means sitting on the bathroom floor with Polly Gilliam when she's crying because her stomach hurts and singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her to try to make her feel better. That means rubbing Lawing's back and singing to her while she cries at 4AM and being very very tired the next day.
There are going to be times this summer I will just want to grab my keys and get out of there and never go back. There will be times I feel like I'm going to explode in tears or in anger. But I will not. I will stay stay stay and I will love love love. I will persevere and not grow weary and I will be the best counselor I can be, even though that doesn't mean I will be the best counselor that ever was. And then when my campers leave, I will cry like I've lost my best friend, because that's exactly who each of my campers is. They each just connect with a piece of my soul, and when they leave, it's gone. I don't even get a choice. They take my heart home with them.
Friends, if you could pray for me this summer, I would appreciate it a ton. I am so bad at saying goodbye and leaving home, even if the place I'm going is just twelve minutes away and I get time off during the week. I'm a little bit afraid that I won't be able to do my job well. Pray that, once I'm at Camp, I would be focused on my job and remembering that the reason I'm doing what I'm doing is to love others and to serve Christ and His kingdom. Also, isn't it such a comfort to know that we serve a God we cannot exaggerate? I just love thinking about that.
If you want to write me my address will be:
Laura Dekle
CUOL Camps
263 Lehotsky Hall
Clemson, SC 29634-0737
Love,
Lauralicious
Tomorrow is the day that I go to the place where I first learned to enjoy a good cold shower, where I had the best nap ever in the world, where I thought a 60-something-year old woman was going to die in my arms (she didn't!), where I learned my favorite lullaby, where I decided to change my major to Special Education, where I consistently don't get a chance to brush my teeth until after lunch.
Tomorrow starts staff training and this is how I'm feeling on each of my hands: on one hand, I can't wait. I keep thinking about dear friends who I'm going to be reunited with and good good memories we have together with our campers and I wish so much I was there right now. But on the other hand, I want to not get out of bed tomorrow morning. I thought about what Leslie would do if I just didn't show up tomorrow. I'm pretty sure she would call my cell phone and home phone and each of my parents and ask all of the other counselors where I was, but after that, would she come to my house to hunt me down? Or would she give up and hire somebody else? I'm going to miss my family and my bed and makeup and wearing a real bra (because I only wear sports bras at Camp) and my friends and being able to go where I want to go when I want to and Emma my niece who isn't really my niece and the Internet...but not necessarily in that order.
But just the fact that I capitalized the C in Camp without even thinking about it shows me that it's where I need to be. People who don't go to Camp never capitalize the C. It's a sign of respect and it's an inadvertent recognition of what Camp is, that it isn't a place or a week or a gathering of counselors with a specific set amount of training. It's the campers.
And I know that. And I love my campers to no end. It's just that also I love myself to no end...which is not a fun thing to write, let me tell you. I just like to pretend I'm humble and giving.
I've been pretty weepy all day. I've driven my family and friends a little bit crazy, even though they didn't say so. I was packing earlier, and then my sink decided to leak all over tarnation (which did not help my peace of mind very much at all and may also be somewhat of an exaggeration, although there was definite leakage) and it was just a stressful day in general. I did a lot of running around Clemson and went to Walmart twice and we're out of Goo Gone in my house so how am I supposed to survive in this world? Just kidding, but really, I could've used some earlier. But my sweet dad brought me an omelette with bacon bits and vegetables with feta cheese on top and also some Greek yogurt and he ate with me and listened to me complain and sympathized with me even though he could've been watching basketball (which he did later, so it's a win-win situation) and then read me a passage from Galatians 6: Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life. Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.
So basically I have the best dad in the world, but, more specifically, I can't do this by myself. I can't handle Camp alone because I would probably just punch everybody right in the face. Or cry uncontrollably and run home. If I do this to put on my resume or to look good to other people or to make friends or to do it for some other reason that is not to further God's kingdom, I will reap destruction and that is not a fun thing to reap. But if the reason I am doing this is to please the Spirit, then I will reap eternal life and that is a nice thing to know. But even more, this passage tells me to persevere and to not give up and to not get weary (which I am pretty good at doing). It tells me to love my campers and fellow counselors with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength. That means sitting on the bathroom floor with Polly Gilliam when she's crying because her stomach hurts and singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her to try to make her feel better. That means rubbing Lawing's back and singing to her while she cries at 4AM and being very very tired the next day.
There are going to be times this summer I will just want to grab my keys and get out of there and never go back. There will be times I feel like I'm going to explode in tears or in anger. But I will not. I will stay stay stay and I will love love love. I will persevere and not grow weary and I will be the best counselor I can be, even though that doesn't mean I will be the best counselor that ever was. And then when my campers leave, I will cry like I've lost my best friend, because that's exactly who each of my campers is. They each just connect with a piece of my soul, and when they leave, it's gone. I don't even get a choice. They take my heart home with them.
Friends, if you could pray for me this summer, I would appreciate it a ton. I am so bad at saying goodbye and leaving home, even if the place I'm going is just twelve minutes away and I get time off during the week. I'm a little bit afraid that I won't be able to do my job well. Pray that, once I'm at Camp, I would be focused on my job and remembering that the reason I'm doing what I'm doing is to love others and to serve Christ and His kingdom. Also, isn't it such a comfort to know that we serve a God we cannot exaggerate? I just love thinking about that.
If you want to write me my address will be:
Laura Dekle
CUOL Camps
263 Lehotsky Hall
Clemson, SC 29634-0737
Love,
Lauralicious
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Save the Drama for Your Mama
One of my favorite feelings in the world is when somebody asks for my number. Anybody. Old, young, male, female, I don't care. It just makes me feel so special, like I have a new friend! Even if the person needs my number for school or something boring, I still get so excited when people ask for it. Sometimes when I need someone's number or I feel like we're at the point in our friendship where we should have each other's numbers, I'll wait for them to ask me because it makes my heart soar on wings of ostrich. (I know ostriches can't fly, but I feel like it would be really fun and liberating and crazy windy to ride on their wings while they're running super fast.)
So yesterday, this guy at Chick Fil A (my favorite place in the world) asked for my number. And I was just so honored. I mean, people never ask for my number. Especially guys. Seriously. Except that he didn't ask me for it...he asked somebody else for it.
Here's what I thought happened:
Frank*, who works at Chick Fil A, and I have interacted a couple of times, like last week when I didn't know what salad dressing to get and he suggested one to me that I liked, then later he asked me what I thought. So I told him I liked it. I liked it real good. And then last night I was there again and I was just curious as to how old he is because he's kind of short but he doesn't look like he's in high school. I asked Fred, my dear friend who had also been there last night doing job training, how old Frank was but he didn't know, but then later he texted me and said Frank wanted my number. I felt like that definitely came out of nowhere. Like one minute I was just asking Fred how old Frank was out of curiosity, then suddenly Frank wanted my number? And I didn't know how to react to that. So I just assumed that Frank remembered me from earlier that night and from other times I had been there before and had noticed me and now had decided to ask Fred for my number. Should I be honored? Should I be freaked out because some random guy wanted my phone number? Did I want to give it to him? Then I thought about how I don't know his last name, or what he does with his life, or what color his eyes are, or if he's actually a pimp. Because working at CFA would be a pretty good cover for being a pimp. No one would ever suspect you because Chick Fil A is a place of sunshine and happiness. Welcome to the crazy mind of Laura(licious). So I decided that maybe it would be kind of fun to just live a little, to give my number to this guy and if things got weird I could just never text him back and never go to the Clemson CFA again (which would be a pretty big sacrifice, but if it came to that, I knew it would be my own fault and I had brought it upon myself).
Here's what actually happened:
Fred asked Frank how old he was after I had left, then Frank figured out that it was a girl who wanted to know his age, then asked Fred for my number. Weird. Crazy. Kind of embarrassing for me. Also Frank doesn't even know my name. He doesn't know that it was specifically me who was just lightly wondering how old he was for my records (just kidding, I don't have records. But I do have a brain that I sometimes use.) So I can just pretend it never happened next time I go to CFA and he takes my order. Whew! Disaster: averted. Barely.
The whole ordeal only lasted like 14 hours. But, these are the kinds of 14-hour ordeals I get myself into on a very regular basis.
Also, don't judge me for writing a whole blog post on a guy I don't even know asking my friend for my number. Because it's a little lame.
Lesson learned: save the drama for your mama. I should have just asked my mama what to do and also not freaked out, because freaking out is my automatic reaction to everything. I didn't even tell my mama because it's kind of an embarrassing situation now that I know the whole story, except for she's probably reading this so you're welcome, Mom, for telling you over the interwebs that a guy (kind of) wanted my number.
You guys. Learn from my mistakes. Don't consider giving out your number to strange boys (who possibly could be pimps) who work at Chick Fil A through your 16-year-old guy friends. Or just be smart. Use your brain, guys. It's there for a reason.
Love,
Lauralicious
*all names have been changed so I don't embarrass anybody too much. Except for my name. You already know my name so it's staying the same for the story.
So yesterday, this guy at Chick Fil A (my favorite place in the world) asked for my number. And I was just so honored. I mean, people never ask for my number. Especially guys. Seriously. Except that he didn't ask me for it...he asked somebody else for it.
Here's what I thought happened:
Frank*, who works at Chick Fil A, and I have interacted a couple of times, like last week when I didn't know what salad dressing to get and he suggested one to me that I liked, then later he asked me what I thought. So I told him I liked it. I liked it real good. And then last night I was there again and I was just curious as to how old he is because he's kind of short but he doesn't look like he's in high school. I asked Fred, my dear friend who had also been there last night doing job training, how old Frank was but he didn't know, but then later he texted me and said Frank wanted my number. I felt like that definitely came out of nowhere. Like one minute I was just asking Fred how old Frank was out of curiosity, then suddenly Frank wanted my number? And I didn't know how to react to that. So I just assumed that Frank remembered me from earlier that night and from other times I had been there before and had noticed me and now had decided to ask Fred for my number. Should I be honored? Should I be freaked out because some random guy wanted my phone number? Did I want to give it to him? Then I thought about how I don't know his last name, or what he does with his life, or what color his eyes are, or if he's actually a pimp. Because working at CFA would be a pretty good cover for being a pimp. No one would ever suspect you because Chick Fil A is a place of sunshine and happiness. Welcome to the crazy mind of Laura(licious). So I decided that maybe it would be kind of fun to just live a little, to give my number to this guy and if things got weird I could just never text him back and never go to the Clemson CFA again (which would be a pretty big sacrifice, but if it came to that, I knew it would be my own fault and I had brought it upon myself).
Here's what actually happened:
Fred asked Frank how old he was after I had left, then Frank figured out that it was a girl who wanted to know his age, then asked Fred for my number. Weird. Crazy. Kind of embarrassing for me. Also Frank doesn't even know my name. He doesn't know that it was specifically me who was just lightly wondering how old he was for my records (just kidding, I don't have records. But I do have a brain that I sometimes use.) So I can just pretend it never happened next time I go to CFA and he takes my order. Whew! Disaster: averted. Barely.
The whole ordeal only lasted like 14 hours. But, these are the kinds of 14-hour ordeals I get myself into on a very regular basis.
Also, don't judge me for writing a whole blog post on a guy I don't even know asking my friend for my number. Because it's a little lame.
Lesson learned: save the drama for your mama. I should have just asked my mama what to do and also not freaked out, because freaking out is my automatic reaction to everything. I didn't even tell my mama because it's kind of an embarrassing situation now that I know the whole story, except for she's probably reading this so you're welcome, Mom, for telling you over the interwebs that a guy (kind of) wanted my number.
You guys. Learn from my mistakes. Don't consider giving out your number to strange boys (who possibly could be pimps) who work at Chick Fil A through your 16-year-old guy friends. Or just be smart. Use your brain, guys. It's there for a reason.
Love,
Lauralicious
*all names have been changed so I don't embarrass anybody too much. Except for my name. You already know my name so it's staying the same for the story.
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