It was an ordinary Monday morning in Marcus Hook, PA on Nine, 13, 75 , though my Speech Detector seemed unusually tight. Maybe my neck had grown. Not that being so would make me less worthy, but I must say, I don’t wish to be weight-challenged. Oh, well. It was time for a nice hot breakfast, which was once made by my unit of maternity until te was taken away about ten years ago by the Meeting Against Offensiveness. I was very age deficient at the time. Though we were forbidden to keep track of how age deficient we are, I believed this happened roughly seven years since I was birthed. Anyway, my unit of paternity was now charged with making breakfast, and I must say, much as I love tym, te’s more culinarily impaired than my UM was (not that I would ever have been able to utter such a thought without MAO putting a bullet through my head). Offending a fellow kinship member garnered both the penalty of death and attendance at a public humiliation where people could offend you without penalty. It was said that before the Fairness Movement 75 years ago, people were offended by their own kinship so much that they committed suicide. This challenge had been exacerbated ever since my sibling moved out last year, though it’s not as if I could ever say that out loud.
Anyway, I ate the pancakes my UP made rather quickly, despite the fact that my Speech Detector was so goshdarn tight. Still, I made my way out the door and got on my bike up to my school in Media Subdistrict. When I was about three-quarters of the way there (so I would have gone about six miles), I saw something I hadn’t seen in almost five years: a car. The only people who could use them were Emergency Medical Services and MAO, as it is most offensive to animals to pollute their environment with greenhouse gases. As I was unprepared, the car nearly hit me as it came whizzing behind me at a speed which is probably five times the fastest I’ve ever gone on my bike, if not more. Fortunately, I managed to jump into a ditch, carrying the bike with me. After a very brief general inspection of cuts and bruises, I dashed back up as I only just made out the insigne on the back of the car: Meeting Against Offensiveness, just above a red star that had “Keeping personhood intact” inscribed into it. Great, I thought. Somebody else from our district (which apparently used to be called a county, but that allegedly had a royal etymology, so its name was changed as it was offensive) was getting sent to the Decapitation Center. There were no fewer than twenty such instances in the past week, in a district of no more than 800,000 people! At the rate we were going, I thought, the Sylvania, or gosh forbid, Federal MAO would take us over. The Sylvania MAO were said to be so ruthless that they would kill anyone who was merely suspected of offensiveness, and the Federal ones even more so. I heard from one person that they would kill those who had offensive thoughts, which of course they could determine through their highly advanced profiling technology, though I suspect he was working for FMAO and was trying to instill fear into the population about them.
When I got to school, I found out that the MAO car was headed for the same place I was, and I wasn’t the only one it nearly ran over. A good friend of mine named Aquarius Chamberlain called my name.
“Kyle!” xe shouted. That’s my name, by the way, in case I forgot to mention it before. It’s a pretty unusual name, seeing as it mostly denoted being biologically male before the Fairness Movement came along, but, as it was occasionally used by females, my parental units were still allowed to give it to me. That was fitting, seeing as I’m actually named after someone who was biologically female and a good friend of my great-grandUP’s from high school. Anyway, my head did a 270° and I made eye contact with Aquarius.
“Did you also nearly get run over by the MAO car on the way to school?” te asked. I nodded. “You know, I heard a rumor. It was only a rumor, but….”
“Well, go on,” I said.
“Our world history teacher, Mx. Gorbachev,” te whispered in the softest voice te could, “was taken away by MAO for saying that the government was”, tir voice somehow dampening even further, “morally challenged”.
“Oh my gosh!” I replied. And to think, te was the teacher I most liked, too. Te seemed so articulate and intelligent, and I loved it when te would go on one of tir eloquent comparisons of now to the past. We learned about how much oppression there was in the past, though it seemed to me that oppression now simply stemmed from the governments (more specifically MAO) than individual people like it did in the past. I couldn’t bear the thought of Mx. Gorbachev in the Pre-Decapitation Chamber, begging for mercy from the MAO officers who surely would be torturing him. Xe was age-rich and very strength-challenged, and te was also the first teacher in Sylvania to be arrested in my lifetime. This was just what we needed for the SMAO or FMAO to take us over: we make the goshdarn state news about how OUR district had a TEACHER arrested.
When I went to my world history class, Aquarius turned out to be right. I found the principal of our school, Mx. Liddy, sitting right in Title Gorbachev’s seat.
“Due to recent events,” te said. “I will be substitute teaching for this class indefinitely. Have you any questions!?”, came the harsh voice. To no one’s surprise, there were none. Over the course of the class, Mx. Liddy got about 50 phone calls from the MAO, SMAO and FMAO regarding Title Gorbachev’s arrest.
“CLASS DISMISSED!” xe roared. “My reputation is ruined, I’m probably getting terminated from my job, and it’s all the fault of these morally-challenged offensive people! From this day forward, I will redouble my efforts to turn such people over to MAO!”
Well, after that, my day wasn’t that far out of the ordinary. We didn’t run as many laps in P.E., nor did we do as many problems in Pre-calculus. The whole school seemed to be on alert, and an atmosphere of suspicion seemed ubiquitous. I noticed the cafeteria food was unusually bland, so I just disposed of it when no one was looking and talked with some ofmy friends. Everyone seemed a bit shaken about Gorbachev’s arrest, but even in these dark times, Alex Newman seemed to lighten things up a bit. He got on his chair and started talking about how Title Gorbachev would bore the officers to death before they could decapitate him (saying an offensive thing about an offensive person was technically forbidden, but MAO didn’t give a darn about it). Jeez, did I wish he were right. I would have rather had those MAO officers dead than Gorbachev.
The ride home from school was pleasant, downhill, and car-free, though I was still very shaken. At last, I could talk to my UP in the afternoon. Te just wasn’t tirself at four in the morning when te was making me breakfast and leaving for work, which for tym was at five-thirty. Te’s been a little joy-challenged since his hours were cut and made earlier at his job at the convenience store. Business had been bad, but a few months ago, collateral damage from a MAO raid had killed one of their most loyal customers, Sam Crispus, and put tir life partner Gabrielle in a coma for at least five months. When the neighbors above them in their apartment complex were suspected of offensiveness and they refused to open the door, the MAO officers who were outside fired their grenade launchers at the apartment. As a result, part of the floor caved in on all the apartments below. Despite this, te resolved to keep going and te was indeed, quite lively and fun to talk to during the afternoon when I got home from school.
I told them about my day at school. Te had heard about Title Gorbachev’s arrest on the radio at work, and it seemed to be the only thing anyone was talking about in town. Te was a little bit shaken up because te wanted to make sure the SMAO or FMAO wasn’t going to come in to take the district over, but the rumors about their doing so had been confirmed false. We talked about what might be causing the increase in arrests around the district, whether it was the poor economy or just an overall moral challenge facing people in these times for whatever reason.
After a nice, quiet dinner of pasta with my UP, I went to bed at around nine, thinking of what school would be like with Liddy’s new crusade to eliminate any traces of dissent in the school. I mean, I thought things that would be considered offensive all the time, but are too many people really going to be suspicious of quiet, laid-back Kyle Winston? Sure, I can crack a joke pretty well, but never an offensive one. People would look more to the morally challenged students who everyone knew did offensive things in secret. Still, even though this defies their own rules about not offending based on socioeconomic status, I think MAO tends to be a little bit more suspicious of more wealth-challenged people such as myself who come from areas like Marcus Hook or Chester rather than people who live more comfortably up in Aston or Media.
When I went to school the next morning, I found out. The doors were locked, and my friend Aqaurius was again telling me about what was going on. Apparently, Liddy was going to announce the reforms over the loudspeaker before te let anyone in the building. Sure enough, tir voice came on in five minutes.
“EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REPORT TO THE SIDE ENTRANCE FOR QUESTIONING BEFORE ATTENDING SCHOOL. AS A RESULT, EFFECTIVE TOMORROW, STUDENTS WILL BE REQUIRED TO REPORT TO SCHOOL TWO HOURS EARLIER AT FIVE A.M. THANK YOU AND HAVE A PLEASANT DAY FREE OF DISSENT.”
“AT FIVE!” I mentally roared. This meant I was going to have to learn how to make breakfast for myself and buy a flipping headlight for my bike! Jeez, I was going to have to go to bed at seven-thirty tonight to get a decent amount of sleep!
Aquarius and I ran to the side doors of the school, where we found ourselves about thirtieth in line for questioning. When we finally walked in, we found five MAO officers in full black uniform with the black ski masks over their faces interrogating five students each. When my name was called, I stepped into one of the chairs where the officer put a black cuff around my arm.
“This is what we call a polygraph test. It can tell if you are being truth-challenged or not.”
“OK.”, I replied.
“Your name is Kyle Winston, is it not?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Funny name, isn’t it. Your first name was primarily used by biological males prior to the Fairness Movement. How were your units allowed to give it to you?”
“It was actually used occasionally by females in the years leading up to the FM,” I replied. “In fact, I’m named after a friend of my great-grandUP who was biologically female.”
“Ahh”, te replied, raising an eyebrow. “I see you live in Marcus Hook. Have you lived there all your life?”
“No,” I calmly stated. “I lived in Baltimore until I was six.” I noticed Aquarius about to take tir seat, looking more courage-deficient than I had ever seen tym, which was saying something for Aquarius.
“Do you ever think offensive thoughts?,” the officer asked casually, as if the tone of the conversation hadn’t changed at all. A moment of horror struck me like a swooping crow. To answer yes would mean I would be under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of my life, but if that darned polygraph test really could tell if you were lying, to answer no would be a one-way ticket to the Decapitation Chamber. Not wanting to have to fear MAO for the rest of my life, I took a gigantic leap of faith.
“No”, came my reply. I felt as if there were caterpillars crawling around in my stomach.
“Very well, then, you are free to go to the cafeteria until all the other students are through with questioning and class commences.” the officer said, although te sounded like something else had seized tir attention.
I wandered off to the cafeteria, more relieved than I had ever been about anything in my life because I somehow passed the polygraph test. I never thought I’d actually be in danger of being taken away by MAO just like my UM had until today.
A few minutes later, Aquarius came by looking as if a bullet had just missed tym by half a millimeter. “Nuhmuh! Dey go Nuhmuh!”, te said in a whisper. After a couple minutes of my calming him down, I was able to understand what te was trying to say. “Newman! They got Newman!”
“Who’s they?” I inquired. “The MAO officers? And do you mean Alex Newman?” Aquarius simply nodded. Oh my GOSH, I thought to myself. Te was really gone forever. No one had ever been known to escape from a Pre-Decapitation Center, nor had anyone ever been released. It was just like when they took my UM away, it meant that someone in my life was GONE, forever. It was so hard coming to such a realization that I just lay my head down and cried as softly as possible.
When classes finally did start after an hour and 45 minutes, I completely zoned out for the entire day. I paid absolutely no attention to anything until I got home and turned on the radio, expecting to hear all about Alex’s arrest. What I got was a little more than I bargained for.
“Taking the lead shown by principal Aubrey Liddy at Delaware District Secondary School, the Federal Meeting Against Offensiveness has ordered every secondary school in the Location to implement a daily interrogation system at every secondary school in the country similar to the one imposed at DDSS which captured a dissident by the name of Alex Newman.” I ran and unplugged the radio. I showed my UP the expression on my face, and te just patted me on the back.
The next few days went by fairly uneventfully. The guards were asking the usual background questions, with of course the same question at the end: “Do you think offensive thoughts”? Finally, on Friday, they asked the most unhappiness-inducing question of all.
“What happened to your mother ten years ago?”
“She was arrested by MAO for offensiveness”, I replied, struggling to keep my cool. The officer gave me a grave look. After he finished his interrogation, I went to the cafeteria and from class to class, deciding what I should do this weekend, and I decided to do something I haven’t done in a few weeks: go up to Philly.
The next day, I got up at 6:00 a.m. and told my UP of my plans to go to Philly, and that I would be home by six. After two tedious hours of cycling up to Independence Mall, I decided to look around
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Mi Cuento Corto Para Ingles
It was March of 2011 and I had just been accepted to Stuyvesant High School (arguably the best public high school in the nation). It was official: I was going in the rat race. I was on vacation in Allentown with my parents for the weekend to see my friend Phil before he went to college. I hung out with him for a while, and the talk soon turned to my issue. I explained my situation to him, and he gave me advice. “Ahh…” he said. “I think I know someone who you should talk to. He has a story that will help you resolve your issue, and it will make you believe in youth, but more importantly, humanity.” “Who?” I asked. “Who is it?”
“His name is Jonathan Tate. He is an MYP freshman with a 4.0 GPA.” “What’s his number?” I asked. “Oh, I think you’d rather hear this in person.” Phil replied. He chuckled. “Where does he live?” I asked. “Oh, quite a bit a ways. Wilmington, to be exact. But since you’re here for the weekend, I’ll gladly take you tomorrow if it’s cool with your parents.” It was cool with them.
After an hour-long drive from Allentown, I arrived at Jonathan’s house. He was pleased to see Phil, and inquired as to who I was. After about twenty minutes of small talk with Jonathan, Phil explained my situation to him. “Oh, I know exactly what story Phil is talking about.” He winked and nodded at Phil.
He invited me into his house, and offered me a Red Bull. “You might as well develop tolerance for this crap now”, he sighed. “From what I hear, you’ll be drinking a shirtload of it in high school. He gave a “don’t-believe-me-wait-until-freshman-year” chuckle. I politely refused his offer, and asked for a Sprite instead. “Anyway, enough with the chitchat. Do you want to hear this story?”
“Absolutely”, I replied. “Here it goes”, he said with a jokingly corny inflexion.
“When I was thirteen, in the summer of eighth grade (uncontestedly the greatest summer and year of my life), I went to a camp called Camp Cayuga. It was an amazing place with one little catch: the food there was absolutely bloody awful. I would be willing to bet a substantial sum of money that it would never pass FDA inspection. Fortunately, as I was there for the final four weeks, a system had been set up to ensure that we did not have to leave this wonderful place simply because the food sucked. As I was a trustworthy guy who was as pissed about the food as anyone, and who seemed to have a passion for getting things done, I was invited to be a part of this system. Basically, this “system” operated like a cartel. We would buy (non-perishable, of course) foods and beverages that actually tasted decent and sell them for much higher monopolistic prices on the black market. We sold everything from energy drinks (The price of a can of Red Bull was often used as a benchmark of how well the “economy” was doing.) to potato chips to basic bread. The one thing we could not sell was soda, because there would be little profit from it, as there was a soda vending machine on camp. It would not nearly be worth the space in the backpacks we had. We later discovered that full soda cans made for excellent weapons, though. In theory, the counselors could have stopped this operation at any time, but, much like in The Hunger Games, their appetites were just as big as ours. The head honcho and his cronies, however, would not be as forgiving.
In order to both satisfy appetites and make a killing, it was necessary for us to sneak off of camp. Well, not all of us.
There were five groups of people or individuals involved in this operation. In hierarchical order, there was the Leader, the Assistant Leader, the Runners, the Outer Guards (of which I was one) and the Inner Guards. The Leader was basically running the show. He did not normally leave his cabin during operation nights (although he did once, ironically to help out the Assistant Leader), but rather communicated through radio (We all did.) to coordinate the operation, and he was also in charge of planning operations (such as what items we were to get). He would also (as we were a cartel) set the price for everything we were selling (Everyone sold their cut. More on that later.) The Assistant Leader’s job was to supervise the operation as it was taking place. The three Outer Guards climbed tall trees in the operation to get a better view of the campsite and a broad view of what was going on on camp and for a good distance off camp as well. Being an avid and skilled climber, I was chosen for this position. I was slightly better than one of my comrades but nowhere near as skilled as the other. We were to give a general scouting report to the Assistant Leader every 20 minutes or so. The two Inner Guards had the most boring job of all. Stay up in their cabins through the operation and notice and report any activity (and do so with extreme specificity) from the head staff’s quarters. The six Runners (who ran in rotating pairs) actually got the startup money in their pockets and went the 3 miles to town and purchased the loot.
These operations took place from 11:30 P.M. to 1:45 A.M.-3:00 A.M. (depending on the speed of the Runners and how heavy the load was). The Leader would first radio the IGs (Inner Guards) to be on watch. He would then request the AL (Assistant Leader) to come down first to guide the OGs up their trees with his flashlight (Headlamps would be too expensive and difficult to turn off if need be. Needless to say, batteries were very frequently replaced and the AL would never turn off the light without all of our radioed permission, even if we were about to get caught.) and then have the OGs (that was us, the Outer Guards) actually come down. He would then order the Runners to come down, have the AL give them the cash, and send them out. Once the runners were out of the sight of the OGs, they were to radio the AL of their whereabouts every 10 minutes until they got to their stores. As it would be nigh impossible for the Runners to actually run on the way back with the loads they carried in their backpack, getting back was a much more difficult process.
When the runners finally got back, we divvied up the loot. If I recall correctly, 30% went to the Leader, 20% to the AL, 7.5% to each runner (though they were unpaid when it wasn’t their shift), 5% to each OG, 3.75% to each IG, and the remaining 10% was sent to the emergency stash. We sold our returns (and kept some for ourselves, of course) at whatever the price was for that day. Much to my personal annoyance, you were not allowed to charge above the price. As I was in a duo of cabins called the Castle which was a significant distance from the rest of the cabins, Castle consumers would probably pay a tiny bit higher prices to avoid the trek all the way to the other cabins. But no, the Leader put a stop to that practice pretty quickly.
Despite all of this, everything went smoothly for the thirteen times we went through with this operation. With only one exception…
It was our final operation (the last night on camp), and this was going to be all or nothing. Counselors were on patrol, and they were extremely difficult to avoid (so we lost a little bit in bribe money despite our advanced evasion techniques). If we were caught by the head honcho or one of his deputies or crony counselors, we would have been totally screwed. Everyone except for the Runners was stationed as an IG outside of their cabins (except for the regular IGs, who were stationed within their cabins). We had also decided to arm the IGs outside of cabins (one of whom was I) with paintball guns just in case of an emergency.
We were able to get into position and send the Runners off quickly. I got a report of one of the deputies doing a Quad (where most of the cabins were) check after about thirty minutes stationed, but that I only heard because any and all activity of the authorities was required to be reported by IGs in cabins and IGs outside of cabins unless they would reveal themselves by doing so. Likewise, we were also required to have our radios on unless it would give our positions away if someone were to communicate with us. Another hour or so passed without incident until I got radioed that someone was coming up to the Castle. As this was only a hundred yards from my station, I hid until 10 minutes after he had left the area. This was just a drill for what was coming next.
Another uneventful hour passed until I got a radio message. According to one of the IGs who was an actual IG (they both had eavesdropping devices that could hear a very good distance), the head honcho himself was patrolling the forests and have deputies guarding the Castle and Quad! IGs outside were to immediately hide somehow. Obviously, being an Outer Guard, my idea was immediately to climb a tree and get on its far side. I executed this plan, not as easily as one might think given the paintball gun over my shoulder. About three minutes later, a crony counselor came up on a golf cart and stopped about thirty feet from me. I was too stunned to move. Had they found me? Were they coming for the others too?
After what seemed like about 10 minutes (although I have no idea, as I couldn’t light my watch up without giving my position away), I was able to recover from my state of shock and think about what was going on. It had finally dawned on me. These guys weren’t just making the Castle impossible to sneak out they were surrounding it so as to try to catch people as they snuck back in! And they were surely doing the same thing to the Quad! I made a mental list of my possible plans.
Plan One: Surrender. This would get the misery out of the way, but I would get in trouble and possibly screw up the operation. This was clearly out of the question.
Plan Two: Force the counselor to surrender. It was certainly possible, with my paintball gun. However, it would be difficult to impossible to take him somewhere, and absolutely impossible to do this without him crying for help and attracting attention. Besides, it would get me in the most trouble I could imagine. Besides, there was no guarantee that this guy was without a paintball gun himself. Probably not a great idea.
Plan Three: Shoot the counselor with my paintball gun. It was more than possible. I could have put him in extreme pain and incapacitated him in more than enough time for me to climb down and run off on his golf cart. However, it would be extremely dangerous to outrun the other people guarding the Castle (assuming I could start the damn thing), and all of their resources would be spent searching for me, and I could even face legal trouble for this. It would make an excellent diversion, but it was unfortunately just too risky.
Plan Four: Climb down the tree and stealth-run away. I could have easily escaped. Even if they noticed me, none of the guards could outrun me on foot when I was actually running and operating a golf cart in the woods would be far too dangerous. The only downside to this plan would be that it was pointless. If I went unnoticed, this would not change the fact that I had to get back to the Castle by morning. If I went noticed, it would confirm suspicions of campers sneaking about and potentially wreck our operation.
Then I realized that the tree I was in had a wide enough trunk to completely conceal me. And out of this a fifth plan was born and enacted.
Plan Five: Stay put and outwait these SOBs!
This was not nearly as easy a plan to enact as it sounded. The mind-numbing boredom, coupled with the intensifying fear, was enough to cause what I would conservatively estimate to be two hours of absolute agony, terror, and dread.
About two excruciating hours later, I heard the unmistakable sound of paintball fire. “Help me!” someone exclaimed. I did exactly what my gut told me to do and what I needed to do: glissade down the tree. It hurt, and obviously caught the attention of the counselor when I fell. Simply to scare him off and confuse him, I fired three sets of rounds (the paintball gun was semiautomatic) near the guy. I ran off for about two hundred yards (hearing a little bit of paintball fire along the way) to arrive at the scene of where the distress call had been made. I suspected a wild animal (It was bear country, after all.), but I found none. Two other guys arrived on the scene about fifteen seconds after I did. “What the heck is going on?” they asked. I explained to them what happened and that now counselors would know that we were out. Serendipitously, the two other guys were also firing at counselors to scare them off (which explained the fire). I looked around for the guy who was supposed to be here. He was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, I heard the dull but unmistakable grumble of a golf cart. “Run!” I screamed. No instruction was ever less necessary. We decided to split up, on the theory that they could only catch one of us. I was more confused than ever about what was going on. Why didn’t the golf kart show up earlier? It could have easily made it from the time the distress call was made to when we got there, and it would be pretty irresponsible for a camp staff member not to respond to such a thing. Then it hit me like a bulldozer. It was a trap. Obviously, this little traitor was in cahoots with the camp staff, and sent out a distress call that would produce people to get picked up by the deputies or cronies. Probably was a natural suck-up or bribed by the camp staff. Either way, this made it clear that it was no coincidence that there were counselors had gone on patrol that night and announced it! Oh, how I would love to shoot this a-hole with a REAL gun, I thought as I sprinted away.
Eventually, the golf cart caught up with us. We were left little choice but to surrender, as we had all run to the point of exhaustion. We were taken to the camp infirmary (which was also used as a jail for campers who were about to get sent home), and were placed in a room there. I saw all but two of my comrades who were stationed outside there. It was one of the most depressing sights I had ever seen. Here we all were, those who tried to make money and perform a service to people at the same time, thrown in what was basically jail!
Later, I was even more depressed when I realized what had also happened. We would be unable to say goodbye to our friends! I will admit, I even started to sob a little bit when I realized that I could get no e-mail addresses, no phones, no anything, not even from my friends who were from Kuwait! I checked my watch. 7:00 am. The counselors were probably just going to bed after a long night out. They had three hours before parents showed up. Great. Wait until my folks heard this one.
Then, out of nowhere, a fist was pounding on the window of the infirmary. Being one of the few guys who were still awake, I shook everyone who was asleep up. The Leader was going to break us out! “Go, go!” He ordered us. We went to our respective cabins and got our notebooks for e-mail addresses like they were lifeboats and we were in the middle of the open ocean. I can’t imagine the euphoria I was feeling at the time. We met back together about ten minutes later. We awoke everyone in the cabins, exchanged bus notes, and gave our last hugs and goodbyes (which were obviously final for those of us in the cartel). We exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and I was able to wish my friends good luck back in Kuwait. I even played a couple (quiet, obviously) guitar songs to commemorate the time we had spent together. Eventually, we had to head back to the infirmary and make Camp Cayuga a part of our past. This was when the Leader told us everything, about how he was the traitor and used this is a plan to sneak the Runners back in (who were able to sell all of their loot overnight and while we were saying our goodbyes, and he then split the bribe and loot money accordingly among us. “It was an honor to work with you. I will never forget any of you and the amazing experiences we shared.” He went back to his cabin, and to this day he remains they only former cartel member I am in touch with.
Later, when my parents came to pick me up from camp, they asked how I had gotten in trouble. I told them a very different story.
I was just planning to pull a harmless last-minute prank with my friends of putting some unoccupied bed on the roof of the cabin. We were carrying out the bed, and the guy in charge of this operation got the ladder. A counselor had somehow gotten wind of this, and we hid under the cabin. Realizing we could not outwait him, we just ran and ran but were all eventually caught and sent back to our bed. When we tried to do this but were caught yet again, we were sent to the infirmary without being able to say our goodbyes. I felt my notebook in my bag just for good measure. Oh, how grateful I was right then! “And who was the genius that concocted this plan?” my mom asked. “James.”, I said nonchalantly.
However, to this day they do not know the true identity of the Leader. He is the person who took you here.”
“That is one of the greatest stories I have heard in my entire lifetime.”, I said while sipping the last of my soda. “And I can’t believe Phil never told me about any of that.”
“But I don’t see how it helps me with my problem.” Jonathan chuckled. “Don’t you see? Didn’t Phil tell you the story of how this would make you believe in youth and the amazing good that can exist in humanity?”
“Yes.”, I replied, looking puzzled. “The idea of this is that as long as you remember that you are human, and defend your humanity to the absolute death, that you will be fine, and do fine in this crazy college admissions rat race. Do you see what I mean?” Jonathan explained.
“Absolutely.”, I said as it dawned on me what Jonathan meant. “I am eternally grateful for meeting you, and I will not only take your advice but tell your story…if that’s OK with you.” “It would be fine.” Jonathan replied.
After about five minutes of small talk between Phil and Jonathan, we drove back to Allentown, and then, back to New York City. I said nothing in either car ride, as I was doing nothing but thinking about the amazing story I had just heard. Its impact on me was profound, for to this very day, I believe in youth, and more importantly, I believe in humanity.
“His name is Jonathan Tate. He is an MYP freshman with a 4.0 GPA.” “What’s his number?” I asked. “Oh, I think you’d rather hear this in person.” Phil replied. He chuckled. “Where does he live?” I asked. “Oh, quite a bit a ways. Wilmington, to be exact. But since you’re here for the weekend, I’ll gladly take you tomorrow if it’s cool with your parents.” It was cool with them.
After an hour-long drive from Allentown, I arrived at Jonathan’s house. He was pleased to see Phil, and inquired as to who I was. After about twenty minutes of small talk with Jonathan, Phil explained my situation to him. “Oh, I know exactly what story Phil is talking about.” He winked and nodded at Phil.
He invited me into his house, and offered me a Red Bull. “You might as well develop tolerance for this crap now”, he sighed. “From what I hear, you’ll be drinking a shirtload of it in high school. He gave a “don’t-believe-me-wait-until-freshman-year” chuckle. I politely refused his offer, and asked for a Sprite instead. “Anyway, enough with the chitchat. Do you want to hear this story?”
“Absolutely”, I replied. “Here it goes”, he said with a jokingly corny inflexion.
“When I was thirteen, in the summer of eighth grade (uncontestedly the greatest summer and year of my life), I went to a camp called Camp Cayuga. It was an amazing place with one little catch: the food there was absolutely bloody awful. I would be willing to bet a substantial sum of money that it would never pass FDA inspection. Fortunately, as I was there for the final four weeks, a system had been set up to ensure that we did not have to leave this wonderful place simply because the food sucked. As I was a trustworthy guy who was as pissed about the food as anyone, and who seemed to have a passion for getting things done, I was invited to be a part of this system. Basically, this “system” operated like a cartel. We would buy (non-perishable, of course) foods and beverages that actually tasted decent and sell them for much higher monopolistic prices on the black market. We sold everything from energy drinks (The price of a can of Red Bull was often used as a benchmark of how well the “economy” was doing.) to potato chips to basic bread. The one thing we could not sell was soda, because there would be little profit from it, as there was a soda vending machine on camp. It would not nearly be worth the space in the backpacks we had. We later discovered that full soda cans made for excellent weapons, though. In theory, the counselors could have stopped this operation at any time, but, much like in The Hunger Games, their appetites were just as big as ours. The head honcho and his cronies, however, would not be as forgiving.
In order to both satisfy appetites and make a killing, it was necessary for us to sneak off of camp. Well, not all of us.
There were five groups of people or individuals involved in this operation. In hierarchical order, there was the Leader, the Assistant Leader, the Runners, the Outer Guards (of which I was one) and the Inner Guards. The Leader was basically running the show. He did not normally leave his cabin during operation nights (although he did once, ironically to help out the Assistant Leader), but rather communicated through radio (We all did.) to coordinate the operation, and he was also in charge of planning operations (such as what items we were to get). He would also (as we were a cartel) set the price for everything we were selling (Everyone sold their cut. More on that later.) The Assistant Leader’s job was to supervise the operation as it was taking place. The three Outer Guards climbed tall trees in the operation to get a better view of the campsite and a broad view of what was going on on camp and for a good distance off camp as well. Being an avid and skilled climber, I was chosen for this position. I was slightly better than one of my comrades but nowhere near as skilled as the other. We were to give a general scouting report to the Assistant Leader every 20 minutes or so. The two Inner Guards had the most boring job of all. Stay up in their cabins through the operation and notice and report any activity (and do so with extreme specificity) from the head staff’s quarters. The six Runners (who ran in rotating pairs) actually got the startup money in their pockets and went the 3 miles to town and purchased the loot.
These operations took place from 11:30 P.M. to 1:45 A.M.-3:00 A.M. (depending on the speed of the Runners and how heavy the load was). The Leader would first radio the IGs (Inner Guards) to be on watch. He would then request the AL (Assistant Leader) to come down first to guide the OGs up their trees with his flashlight (Headlamps would be too expensive and difficult to turn off if need be. Needless to say, batteries were very frequently replaced and the AL would never turn off the light without all of our radioed permission, even if we were about to get caught.) and then have the OGs (that was us, the Outer Guards) actually come down. He would then order the Runners to come down, have the AL give them the cash, and send them out. Once the runners were out of the sight of the OGs, they were to radio the AL of their whereabouts every 10 minutes until they got to their stores. As it would be nigh impossible for the Runners to actually run on the way back with the loads they carried in their backpack, getting back was a much more difficult process.
When the runners finally got back, we divvied up the loot. If I recall correctly, 30% went to the Leader, 20% to the AL, 7.5% to each runner (though they were unpaid when it wasn’t their shift), 5% to each OG, 3.75% to each IG, and the remaining 10% was sent to the emergency stash. We sold our returns (and kept some for ourselves, of course) at whatever the price was for that day. Much to my personal annoyance, you were not allowed to charge above the price. As I was in a duo of cabins called the Castle which was a significant distance from the rest of the cabins, Castle consumers would probably pay a tiny bit higher prices to avoid the trek all the way to the other cabins. But no, the Leader put a stop to that practice pretty quickly.
Despite all of this, everything went smoothly for the thirteen times we went through with this operation. With only one exception…
It was our final operation (the last night on camp), and this was going to be all or nothing. Counselors were on patrol, and they were extremely difficult to avoid (so we lost a little bit in bribe money despite our advanced evasion techniques). If we were caught by the head honcho or one of his deputies or crony counselors, we would have been totally screwed. Everyone except for the Runners was stationed as an IG outside of their cabins (except for the regular IGs, who were stationed within their cabins). We had also decided to arm the IGs outside of cabins (one of whom was I) with paintball guns just in case of an emergency.
We were able to get into position and send the Runners off quickly. I got a report of one of the deputies doing a Quad (where most of the cabins were) check after about thirty minutes stationed, but that I only heard because any and all activity of the authorities was required to be reported by IGs in cabins and IGs outside of cabins unless they would reveal themselves by doing so. Likewise, we were also required to have our radios on unless it would give our positions away if someone were to communicate with us. Another hour or so passed without incident until I got radioed that someone was coming up to the Castle. As this was only a hundred yards from my station, I hid until 10 minutes after he had left the area. This was just a drill for what was coming next.
Another uneventful hour passed until I got a radio message. According to one of the IGs who was an actual IG (they both had eavesdropping devices that could hear a very good distance), the head honcho himself was patrolling the forests and have deputies guarding the Castle and Quad! IGs outside were to immediately hide somehow. Obviously, being an Outer Guard, my idea was immediately to climb a tree and get on its far side. I executed this plan, not as easily as one might think given the paintball gun over my shoulder. About three minutes later, a crony counselor came up on a golf cart and stopped about thirty feet from me. I was too stunned to move. Had they found me? Were they coming for the others too?
After what seemed like about 10 minutes (although I have no idea, as I couldn’t light my watch up without giving my position away), I was able to recover from my state of shock and think about what was going on. It had finally dawned on me. These guys weren’t just making the Castle impossible to sneak out they were surrounding it so as to try to catch people as they snuck back in! And they were surely doing the same thing to the Quad! I made a mental list of my possible plans.
Plan One: Surrender. This would get the misery out of the way, but I would get in trouble and possibly screw up the operation. This was clearly out of the question.
Plan Two: Force the counselor to surrender. It was certainly possible, with my paintball gun. However, it would be difficult to impossible to take him somewhere, and absolutely impossible to do this without him crying for help and attracting attention. Besides, it would get me in the most trouble I could imagine. Besides, there was no guarantee that this guy was without a paintball gun himself. Probably not a great idea.
Plan Three: Shoot the counselor with my paintball gun. It was more than possible. I could have put him in extreme pain and incapacitated him in more than enough time for me to climb down and run off on his golf cart. However, it would be extremely dangerous to outrun the other people guarding the Castle (assuming I could start the damn thing), and all of their resources would be spent searching for me, and I could even face legal trouble for this. It would make an excellent diversion, but it was unfortunately just too risky.
Plan Four: Climb down the tree and stealth-run away. I could have easily escaped. Even if they noticed me, none of the guards could outrun me on foot when I was actually running and operating a golf cart in the woods would be far too dangerous. The only downside to this plan would be that it was pointless. If I went unnoticed, this would not change the fact that I had to get back to the Castle by morning. If I went noticed, it would confirm suspicions of campers sneaking about and potentially wreck our operation.
Then I realized that the tree I was in had a wide enough trunk to completely conceal me. And out of this a fifth plan was born and enacted.
Plan Five: Stay put and outwait these SOBs!
This was not nearly as easy a plan to enact as it sounded. The mind-numbing boredom, coupled with the intensifying fear, was enough to cause what I would conservatively estimate to be two hours of absolute agony, terror, and dread.
About two excruciating hours later, I heard the unmistakable sound of paintball fire. “Help me!” someone exclaimed. I did exactly what my gut told me to do and what I needed to do: glissade down the tree. It hurt, and obviously caught the attention of the counselor when I fell. Simply to scare him off and confuse him, I fired three sets of rounds (the paintball gun was semiautomatic) near the guy. I ran off for about two hundred yards (hearing a little bit of paintball fire along the way) to arrive at the scene of where the distress call had been made. I suspected a wild animal (It was bear country, after all.), but I found none. Two other guys arrived on the scene about fifteen seconds after I did. “What the heck is going on?” they asked. I explained to them what happened and that now counselors would know that we were out. Serendipitously, the two other guys were also firing at counselors to scare them off (which explained the fire). I looked around for the guy who was supposed to be here. He was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, I heard the dull but unmistakable grumble of a golf cart. “Run!” I screamed. No instruction was ever less necessary. We decided to split up, on the theory that they could only catch one of us. I was more confused than ever about what was going on. Why didn’t the golf kart show up earlier? It could have easily made it from the time the distress call was made to when we got there, and it would be pretty irresponsible for a camp staff member not to respond to such a thing. Then it hit me like a bulldozer. It was a trap. Obviously, this little traitor was in cahoots with the camp staff, and sent out a distress call that would produce people to get picked up by the deputies or cronies. Probably was a natural suck-up or bribed by the camp staff. Either way, this made it clear that it was no coincidence that there were counselors had gone on patrol that night and announced it! Oh, how I would love to shoot this a-hole with a REAL gun, I thought as I sprinted away.
Eventually, the golf cart caught up with us. We were left little choice but to surrender, as we had all run to the point of exhaustion. We were taken to the camp infirmary (which was also used as a jail for campers who were about to get sent home), and were placed in a room there. I saw all but two of my comrades who were stationed outside there. It was one of the most depressing sights I had ever seen. Here we all were, those who tried to make money and perform a service to people at the same time, thrown in what was basically jail!
Later, I was even more depressed when I realized what had also happened. We would be unable to say goodbye to our friends! I will admit, I even started to sob a little bit when I realized that I could get no e-mail addresses, no phones, no anything, not even from my friends who were from Kuwait! I checked my watch. 7:00 am. The counselors were probably just going to bed after a long night out. They had three hours before parents showed up. Great. Wait until my folks heard this one.
Then, out of nowhere, a fist was pounding on the window of the infirmary. Being one of the few guys who were still awake, I shook everyone who was asleep up. The Leader was going to break us out! “Go, go!” He ordered us. We went to our respective cabins and got our notebooks for e-mail addresses like they were lifeboats and we were in the middle of the open ocean. I can’t imagine the euphoria I was feeling at the time. We met back together about ten minutes later. We awoke everyone in the cabins, exchanged bus notes, and gave our last hugs and goodbyes (which were obviously final for those of us in the cartel). We exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and I was able to wish my friends good luck back in Kuwait. I even played a couple (quiet, obviously) guitar songs to commemorate the time we had spent together. Eventually, we had to head back to the infirmary and make Camp Cayuga a part of our past. This was when the Leader told us everything, about how he was the traitor and used this is a plan to sneak the Runners back in (who were able to sell all of their loot overnight and while we were saying our goodbyes, and he then split the bribe and loot money accordingly among us. “It was an honor to work with you. I will never forget any of you and the amazing experiences we shared.” He went back to his cabin, and to this day he remains they only former cartel member I am in touch with.
Later, when my parents came to pick me up from camp, they asked how I had gotten in trouble. I told them a very different story.
I was just planning to pull a harmless last-minute prank with my friends of putting some unoccupied bed on the roof of the cabin. We were carrying out the bed, and the guy in charge of this operation got the ladder. A counselor had somehow gotten wind of this, and we hid under the cabin. Realizing we could not outwait him, we just ran and ran but were all eventually caught and sent back to our bed. When we tried to do this but were caught yet again, we were sent to the infirmary without being able to say our goodbyes. I felt my notebook in my bag just for good measure. Oh, how grateful I was right then! “And who was the genius that concocted this plan?” my mom asked. “James.”, I said nonchalantly.
However, to this day they do not know the true identity of the Leader. He is the person who took you here.”
“That is one of the greatest stories I have heard in my entire lifetime.”, I said while sipping the last of my soda. “And I can’t believe Phil never told me about any of that.”
“But I don’t see how it helps me with my problem.” Jonathan chuckled. “Don’t you see? Didn’t Phil tell you the story of how this would make you believe in youth and the amazing good that can exist in humanity?”
“Yes.”, I replied, looking puzzled. “The idea of this is that as long as you remember that you are human, and defend your humanity to the absolute death, that you will be fine, and do fine in this crazy college admissions rat race. Do you see what I mean?” Jonathan explained.
“Absolutely.”, I said as it dawned on me what Jonathan meant. “I am eternally grateful for meeting you, and I will not only take your advice but tell your story…if that’s OK with you.” “It would be fine.” Jonathan replied.
After about five minutes of small talk between Phil and Jonathan, we drove back to Allentown, and then, back to New York City. I said nothing in either car ride, as I was doing nothing but thinking about the amazing story I had just heard. Its impact on me was profound, for to this very day, I believe in youth, and more importantly, I believe in humanity.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Appreciation for Soldiers and Suspicion of War
As I am writing this, my uncle is on a flight from San Diego to Bahrain, a place he only got sent to in lieu of going to Afghanistan because he re-enlisted for another two years in the Navy. Being an EOD guy, I shudder to think of what could happen to him if he had to go back for a SECOND tour of Kandahar. I would therefore like to first take this time to thank all of our military personnel in the U.S. Armed Services. You guys are immensely courageous and everyone in the entire industrialized world (as well as most of the developing world) should be eternally grateful for your service.
However, I would also like to say that we should never in our wildest dreams put these brave people in harm's way unless it is absolutely necessary, and we should try to be as farsighted as possible when making foreign policy decisions. In my opinion, the current wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are unnecessary. Did you know that there are a mere 100 al-Qaeda operatives in Afghanistan? If we were to fight in every country with that many al-Qaeda operatives, we would be invading Canada. This war is absolutely unnecessary to the United States' national security and is making our soldiers cannon fodder without reason.
However, I would also like to say that we should never in our wildest dreams put these brave people in harm's way unless it is absolutely necessary, and we should try to be as farsighted as possible when making foreign policy decisions. In my opinion, the current wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are unnecessary. Did you know that there are a mere 100 al-Qaeda operatives in Afghanistan? If we were to fight in every country with that many al-Qaeda operatives, we would be invading Canada. This war is absolutely unnecessary to the United States' national security and is making our soldiers cannon fodder without reason.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Introduction
Hey guys, this is just a blog telling about my daily life and what the life of a typical IB freshman is like. I will try to work on it in my vast amounts (sarcasm intended) of free time. All posts will obviously include my opinion, and many will be primarily based on that. Please feel free to comment and even have debates, but I would appreciate it if the discussion didn't get too heated, especially about political and religious topics. One last side note:any and all predictions made about anything will be wrong or your money back. Thank you, and have an eventful day.
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