Spy Games

, , , | Related | November 20, 2019

(Our granddaughter is now at camp. Because it’s November, it’s not taking place in the woods, but in a nice old mansion in the suburbs. My wife and I are taking an evening stroll and just happen to be in the vicinity. My wife pulls herself up to the fence.)

Wife: “I see them all! [Supervisor] is there, [Granddaughter’s Friend] is there, and look! There is [Granddaughter]! They seem to be playing some board games. Everything looks fine!”

Me: “Honey, you do realize it is perfectly legal just go inside and ask questions?”

Wife: “Are you crazy? I would be awkward to keep checking on her!”

Me: “And what exactly are you doing now?”

Wife: *beaming* ” I am spying! Totally different!”

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Bees Full Of Kryptonite

, , , , , , | Learning | November 19, 2019

(I work for a kids camp at a college. We are the typical rich kids camp, so we get a lot of stress from parents throughout the whole summer. But some parents just leave us with gem-like stories.)

Me: “Okay. Does your child have any allergies that we should be aware of?”

Mom: “Nope! Our little boy is like Superman! Nothing can hurt him!”

Dad: *stays quiet*

Me: “All right, then! I’ve got everything I need. I think you are good to go! Have a nice day.”

Mom: “Thanks!” *phone rings* “Oh. I’ll meet you guys outside. I have to take this.” *runs outside*

Dad: *to me* “Um… Can you actually wait a second?”

Me: “Yes?”

Dad: “My son is actually allergic to bee stings.”

Me: “Wait, seriously? How come she said he was ‘Superman’?”

Son: “She thinks it’s a ‘flaw’ and is embarrassed about it.”

Me: “Oh… well, no worries, man. I won’t tell anyone, but make sure you have your medicine with you.”

Dad & Son: “Thanks!” *leaves*

Coworker: “Wait… if she doesn’t like to admit he has an allergy, then how did they get medicine?”

Me: “I’m either gonna say in secret or the black market.”

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One Punch Man

, , , , , , | Learning | November 15, 2019

(For the past few summers, I’ve worked as a camp counselor for an arts/theatre camp in between semesters at school. The camp is based out of a school but we’re not connected to the school. For context, I am a certified EMT with extra certification in Tactical/Combat medicine. I’ve also done Krav Maga — an intense Israeli martial art — for a few years and am about to become certified as an instructor in that. The female counselor is about to finish her teaching degree and has about eight years of experience teaching and working with kids under her belt. Our campers range in age from about four to ten, and we have about 30 of them. We take them out to the playground after lunch. After about ten minutes, I notice the boys getting rougher and rougher. Then, one boy punches another in the jaw. I immediately break up the fight and check on the victim, who is the brother of the puncher.)

Me: “Are you okay?”

Victim: Yes.”

Me: “Do you need ice?”

Victim: “No.”

Me: “Do you need me to call the trainer?”

(We’re supposed to ask for liability even though I guarantee you I know more than she does. Whatever, I don’t mind.)

Victim: “No.”

(About every ten minutes for the next hour, I check on him and ask him the same questions. His response is always the same. My female counselor disciplines the brother. It’s not harsh because we’re at camp but we believe it’s fair for a punch. Turns out the victim had been stealing the brother’s hat throughout the day and he’d eventually had enough. The next day, we’re called to a meeting with my boss and the person in charge of the school’s summer program. The mother of the boys is also there. We tell them what happened.)

Mother: “I can’t believe you didn’t call the trainer. My son could’ve had a broken jaw. He came home saying his head hurt all day.”

Me: “He didn’t want me to call the trainer.”

Mother: “He said you didn’t even give him any ice.”

Me: “That is correct.”

Mother: “Don’t you think someone with medical experience should’ve seen him? Honestly, the entitlement of you all is astounding.”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Mother: “Then why didn’t you call the trainer?”

Me: “Because…”

(I list my credentials to her.)

Me: “That, coupled with the fact that when I asked him, he said he didn’t want the trainer, made me think it wasn’t the best use of her time.”

Mother: “Well, why didn’t you stop the fight?”

Me: “I did. The second I saw the punch, I intervened.”

Mother: “Why didn’t you intervene before the fight started?”

Me: “Because I’m not psychic. I’m gonna go do my job now.”

(I walked out and back to work. The mother and boss of the school’s program wanted me fired but my boss refused. Luckily, she agreed with me and realized how dumb the mother was being.)

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Unfiltered Story #173103

, , | Unfiltered | October 28, 2019

I recieved a complaint about something smelling bad in our campground men’s restroom. I go in look in all the stalls, and it’s getting worse. I look in the last shower stall and there it is. A giant steaming pile of poop. I call my coworker, to tell him about it and get advice.

Me: Coworker, it finally happened to me.
Co: What?
Me: I found poop in the shower in the lower bath house.
Co: Did you clean it?
Me: Not yet. What’s the best way to get it up?
Co: Pick it up with your hands.
Me: No. That’s not happening.

I grabbed a box, and managed to scoop it up into the box. The nastiest thing I’ve ever done.

Need To Keep Them At Fractured Arms’ Length

, , , , , , | Related | October 14, 2019

(When I’m about ten years old, I go on a weekend camping trip with my parents, siblings, cousins, a few aunts and uncles, grandparents, and my grandparents’ camping group. On the second night, I trip in the dark and fracture my left arm in two places. Neither fracture is severe enough to cause any pain and the splint I get in the emergency room makes my arm feel normal again, so I’m pretty calm about the whole thing, especially since I have no problems moving my fingers or gripping things. My family, on the other hand, is freaked out. We get back from the emergency room a little after two in the morning, so when I get up and go about my day as normal, I’m slightly amused by how everyone is treating me.)

Grandparents’ Friend: “[My Name]! How’s your arm? You scared us last night.”

Me: *lifts up splinted arm* “It’s fine; it doesn’t even hurt.”

Grandparents’ Friend: “You sure? You took quite a fall.”

Aunt: “Yeah, that looked like it hurt.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m sure. The doctor said it wasn’t bad, just two little fractures on either side of my wrist. And it’s not my dominant hand, so I can still draw and stuff.”

Mom: “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt? I’m sure Grandma and Grandpa have some ibuprofen or something.”

Me: “No thanks, I’m good.”

Grandpa: “Kiddo, you want some ginger ale?”

Me: “No, thanks, Grandpa, I’m fine.”

(They proceeded to smother me for the rest of the camping trip. I understood their concern, but I also thought it was hilarious how out of everyone, I was probably the LEAST concerned about my injury!)

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