The Floating Snickers Bar [LINK]
When picking up my daughter from camp today, the teenage counselor took me aside and told me, rather gravely, "I just want to let you know, the pool was not available today. We had to shut it down because one of the children had an... um... accident." Accident? "No, I mean an accident with his pants." Oh, okay.
My thoughts, in sequence:
- Well, oops.
- The pool is brimming with chlorine. Couldn't they just fish it out with a net and keep going? No, I guess that won't do. It's a hazmat event.
- Just how does a poo get away from you like that? Was he wearing really baggy swim trunks?
- Oh my God, that poor boy. All the other kids know what he did. On one of the hottest days of the year in the middle of a heat wave, he kept hundreds of other kids from going in the pool. It'll follow him into grade school. Kids will compose songs about him. You might as well just start shopping around for a therapist right now. Take out a second mortgage if you have to. That kid'll need it.
- Okay, so the counselors probably had a brief huddle to decide how to present what happened to the parents. After all, they're paying a lot of money for day camp, and one of the big things they're paying for is that pool. Hottest day of the year, for crying out loud. So did the girl really have to talk to dozens upon dozens of parents like me, using that deeply serious, hushed voice of hers? How on Earth could any normal teenager keep from cracking up?