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.

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.

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.