I am Australian, eighteen years old, and on a gap year: a year-long working holiday taken in between finishing high school and starting university. I am working as a camp counsellor, and this is my first ever group of campers.  

We are in the cabin after dinner, and I am preparing the girls — aged nine and ten — to go to a welcome event at the campfire. I’ve sent the other counsellors ahead to save us some good logs to sit on, assuring them that I can get the girls ready on my own.

Me: “Okay, girls! We’re leaving in two minutes for the campfire. Make sure you have a water bottle, a jumper, and a torch! There will be mozzies, so put on some bug repellent if you haven’t already!”

The girls all stop rushing around the cabin and stare at me. Nobody says anything, but there are looks of absolute confusion on their faces. They look at each other, at me, and back at each other. I am equally confused, wondering why they’ve all suddenly stopped getting ready.

Then, it dawns on me. In my accent, I pronounce water as “wah-dah,” and none of the keywords I’ve used are common words here.

Me: “Sorry, girls! You need to bring a—” *putting on the thickest fake American accent that I can* “—water bottle a sweater and a flashlight! And there will be mosquitos!”

The message was received, and the girls started frantically rummaging through their bags again.  

We got there in the end!

I am traveling across southern Colorado, and I stop at a campground. It is morning and people are in line to take showers. A girl goes into the shower, and about ten minutes go by. Some more time passes. We are all wondering what is taking so long.

Me: “Hey! There are fourteen people in line here waiting for you to finish your shower.”

Another five minutes go by, and the girl finally comes out

Girl: “Now there’re thirteen waiting.”

Me: “No, now there are twenty-one people waiting.”

She didn’t apologize.

I’m at a campground. I’m on my way to take a shower because I got sweaty while hiking. I find the last open shower. I am about to get undressed when I hear a knock at the door.

Me: “Who is it?”

Woman: “Ugh, can you hurry up? My darling [Child] needs his shower before he goes to bed.”

Me: “Ma’am, I was just about to start. You can look for another shower if you want.”

Woman: “Ugh, but there are no bathrooms left! You can go after my darling [Child]! And I won’t take no for an answer!”

Jeez, this lady is persistent. I hear a tinier voice.

Child: “Mom, it’s fine. I can go after him.”

Woman: “No! Gentlemen are supposed to let ladies go first always! You should get out of there, b*****d!”

I just ignored her after that. Little did I know, I forgot to lock the door.

This lady just walked in like nobody’s business, and even worse, her kid came pre-naked. I shielded my eyes and yelled, “Get OUT!”

She ran out of the shower and finally let me be. I don’t know why she thought she could come in anyway, or why anyone would undress their kid in their RV and let them run around naked, but I’ll always lock my door from now on.

My whole life, I’ve always been prone to getting nosebleeds. Thankfully, the issue has gotten better as I’ve grown up, but as a kid, anything from stress to a drop in humidity, to the lightest bonk on the nose was enough to set it off. After being assured by my pediatrician that, as long as the bleeds didn’t last too long or happen too often, I was fine and would likely grow out of it, my parents and I quickly learned how to properly take care of them and how to get them to stop more quickly.  

One year, when I’m about ten or so, I attend a local summer camp. I can’t recall the exact catalyst for this nosebleed — if there even was one — but I’m stuck in the bathroom for several minutes trying to get it to stop. Eventually, a counselor finds me and goes pale.

Counselor: “Oh, my God! What happened?!”

Me: “Just a nosebleed. I get these sometimes. I’m all right.”

Counselor: “I’m going to bring you to the front office, just to be safe, okay?”

Not really given a choice in the matter, I’m begrudgingly pulled up to the front office after I clean myself up.

Camp Director: “Okay, [My Name], I think we’re going to call your mom about this.”

Me: “Really, you don’t have to worry about this. It’s normal for me and she knows it!”

Camp Director: “We just need to make sure, kid.”

I can hear my mom through the phone as they talk.

Mom: “Hello?”

Camp Director: “Hello, Mrs. [Mom]. It’s [Camp Director] from [Camp]. I’m just calling because [My Name] had a nosebleed?”

Mom: “Is he not able to get it to stop?”

Camp Director: “No, no, it’s stopped.”

Mom: “Did it ruin his clothes? Do I need to bring extras over?”

Camp Director: “No, those are fine, as well.”

Mom: “Did he not tell you that these are normal for him and that he knows how to deal with them?”

Camp Director: “Well, he did but we just wanted to be sure—”

Mom: “Well, you can be sure by actually listening to the kids sometimes.”

She hung up and I was sent back with my group.

Looking back, I see that my mother was a lot ruder than she needed to be to a woman who was just worried about my health, but at least it taught her to note my nosebleeds whenever she signed me up for anything else so that we were both left alone after that!

I am starting the highest rope courses in camp. Being a rope course, there are many safety procedures, one of them being a partner system. There is one key fact: you must call to your partner each time you finish a course and switch to the next. This is where problems come in as I pair up with [Annoying Classmate]. As I climb up, I clip my safety connectors to the rope. First red flag:

Me: “Connecting!”

There is a response, but it is delayed and I can already see them talking to someone else.

Annoying Classmate: “Continue!”

I continue to climb through the sections, forgetting to call the second and third transitions. Finally, I remember to do so.

Me: “Connecting!”

Silence. I look down and where do I find them? Nowhere in sight. As there is only one area blocked from my view, I rightly assume that my classmate has gone under into the shade. I curse them in my mind and continue in the hopes that they’ll come out. Stupid, I know. As I reach the fifth one, I look down and see the exact same thing: no [Annoying Classmate].

Me: “Connecting!”

I pause.

Me: “CONNECTING!”

Still silence. I am very frustrated at this point.

Me: “CONNECTING, YOU FEMALE DOG!”

As this is the first time I’ve sworn in any capacity, this should be enough to get their attention even though it isn’t an actual swear. I know people down there can hear me because they look up with shocked faces, but no one emerges from the shade. At this point, someone else comes along with his own partner, [Classmate].

Classmate: “Continue, [My Name]!”

He continues to serve as my de-facto partner until the end, which I will be forever grateful for. Finally, as I descend, [Annoying Classmate] comes out of the shade towards me.

Annoying Classmate: “So, how was it?”

Thankfully, a murder did not happen that day.