Based on actual events and grumpy Boy Scouts.
The Trouble With Carl
Among the summer camps I attended each year were two weeks of Boy
Scout Camp. This was real camping, in a tent, with sleeping bags, and
as luck would have it, a grumpy tent mate named Carl. Most of the time
Carl was nice, I liked him just fine. But for some reason, he was in a
bad mood the whole week of camp, maybe he was homesick.
Our Troop went to Camp Sinoquipee which was way out in the country in
Virginia, I think. My patrol, the Elks, were camped out in a clearing
surrounded by tall trees. Our tents were on platforms surrounding a
campfire and half a dozen picnic tables. There were two boys to a tent
and each tent had two army cots which served as both beds and sofas.
Our campsite was unique in that it had a heavy rope swing with a big
knot in the end that hung from the tallest oak tree I can remember
seeing. Because the oak tree stood on the high ground at the edge of
our campsite and had such a long rope, one could swing in a wide arc
that covered nearly the entire clearing. As a result, our campsite was
a center of activity during free time when we weren't working on merit
badges, swimming or hiking. Boys from nearly every other patrol spent
time at our campsite taking turns on the rope swing, this included Tim
and JC, who were in the Panther Patrol.
The tent that Carl and I shared was very close to the rope swing and
so our tent became the hangout when the days were at their hottest.
This was fun for me because I was surrounded by all of my friends, but
not so much fun for Carl who was hating life all week long. Carl had
wavy blonde hair that ended in clumps of curls. He had brown eyes that
looked really large because he wore thick glasses. He needed those
glasses to see, without them it was like looking at the world through
a plastic bag. His mother must have threatened him not to break them
before he left for camp, because several times a day he would remind
us that his mother would kill him if anything happened to his glasses.
Who knew it could be so dangerous to wear glasses? Another thing, Carl
was a yeller. Whenever he began to get upset, which was every 20
minutes that week, he would raise his voice louder and louder. During
the course of the week it became my job to talk Carl down from the
verge of homicide. I actually became quite good at it. But what
happens when Carl gets mad at the one person who can calm him down?
Insanity happens.
The tipping point for Carl, the moment when he went from mere whiner
to Pro Wrestler Roid Rage, began innocently enough in our tent. Tim,
JC and I were sitting on the cots discussing a movie we were going to
make when we got home from camp. The movie would be called
'Frankenstein Lives Again' which is exactly what happened in the real
Frankenstein book, a dead guy was brought back to life with a new
brain. But our movie was supposed to be a sequel, the monster would be
brought back to life again. I was going to be the monster and Tim had
a great idea for makeup. He was going to cover my face with layers of
scotch tape with green finger paint applied to the bottom layer. It
did look cool, we even had an eye that we cut out of a Halloween mask
taped a little lower on one side. I ended up looking more like the
Hunchback of Notre Dame, which was still scary.
While we were imagining our cinematic masterpiece Carl came in the
tent and he was grumbling. He was searching around the tent for
something, though he didn't say what at first. Tim and JC were sitting
on my cot and I was sitting on Carl's cot. As Carl's search continued,
he became more and more frustrated and got angrier and angrier. I
sensed it was time to calm him down a little and I asked, 'Whatcha
looking for, Carl?' He was looking on the cot now, lifting up the edge
of his sleeping bag.
'I'm looking for my socks!' he said angrily as he continued to search.
I signaled to Tim and JC that this it might be a good idea to continue
our discussion later. They left the tent and went outside to get in
line for the rope swing. I watched Carl slowly working himself into a
froth and I wanted to help. 'What do your socks look like, Carl?' I
asked helpfully.
'They're black,' Carl snorted. I bent over to look underneath his cot,
lifting my butt off the cot just a little. 'Get up!' he suddenly
ordered. I stood and realized I'd been sitting on Carl's socks. Now
here's the thing about Carl's socks: they were old man socks. They
were black and thin, very lightweight nylon socks. The effect of my
backside sitting on his socks for half an hour was not a good one for
Carl's socks. They had been pressed thin by my butt. Just as a lump of
coal, through years of intense heat and pressure, can be transformed
into a diamond; Carl's socks were transformed into a couple of black
sock pancakes. I laughed because I'd never seen socks do that before.
'What are you laughing at? Look what you did to my socks!' screamed
Carl.
'They look funny, look at them Carl, they look like they've been run
over by a bus.' I said, trying to get him to see the humor too.
'That's not funny!' he yelled louder, 'I have to wear these socks and
you made them all flat.'
At this point I could have saved the day by apologizing and offering
Carl a pair of my clean socks to wear. But something about a kid who
was losing his temper over a pair of pancaked socks struck me as very
funny. So, despite myself, I kept laughing. It was the worst thing I
cold have done because Carl thought I was laughing at him. I was
indirectly, I guess, but I was trying really hard to laugh *with* him,
he just didn't see the humor. 'Don't get mad, Carl. They're just
socks.' I tried to explain.
"I can't believe you think this is funny,' he hollered, taking the
socks and shaking them at me. But it was funny, and Carl was
threatening me with his squished socks, which made it even funnier. I
knew I was making him angrier though, so I climbed out of the tent.
'Carl, I'm sorry I flattened your socks, but they do look funny.' I
said as I left the tent, hoping that my retreat would end the
argument.
Carl was having none of it. His anger was up and this time someone
would pay the price for his agitation. He stormed out the tent,
yelling at me in such a way that everyone's head turned in his
direction. 'Come back here! First you ruin my socks and now you're
laughing at me. I can't believe you're laughing at me!' Carl had
trouble believing a lot of things that day as he kept telling us.
'Carl, it's just socks.' I said trying to reason with him, but still
giggling despite myself.
'Just socks?' he yelled. 'How would you like it if I went in there and
ruined all of your clothes?' he yelled and pointed to the tent which
was now behind him.
I was laughing really hard now, the expression on Carl's face was one
of red rage. 'Calm down, Carl. You're making a fool of yourself!' I
laughed.
'Oh, now I'm a fool?' yelled Carl who now was aggressively threatening
me. He had his chin thrust out and leaned in toward me.
I now began to think about Carl getting ready to hit me. Did I really
want to fight with my tent mate? Wouldn't that ruin the whole week?
Would I get thrown out of Boy Scouts? I was bigger than Carl and it
would have been no joy to beat him up. All of these things ran through
my mind as I watched Carl rear back to hit me. I was actually
preparing to let him hit me, maybe in the shoulder or something, so he
would feel better and we could let the sock episode drop. It probably
wouldn't hurt too much. Just as Carl swung, an unexpected thing
happened. He went flying off to the left and landed on the ground with
a thud. Tim, who was standing over Carl, released the rope swing
nonchalantly. Tim had swung on the rope swing, just like Tarzan or
Robin Hood, and knocked Carl to the ground. My hero!
Carl was on the ground, apparently wondering what happened. He
adjusted his glasses, which were askew on his face. Looking up at Tim,
Carl's anger returned with a vengeance. "Why did you do that?" he
screamed at Tim.
"You were about to hit my friend," Tim replied. He gallantly extended
his hand offering to help Carl off the ground.
Carl angrily rebuffed Tim's proffered hand and scrambled to his feet.
"I can't believe you knocked me down!" he shouted angrily. "You could
have broken my glasses!"
I know what is coming next, I thought to myself.
"My Mom will kill me if anything happens to these glasses" Carl said
right on cue.
I started laughing again at Carl's predictability. Carl gave me a
fierce glance. "Stop laughing at me!" he warned, "I'll deal with you
next." Carl was really mad now and his anger was focused on Tim.
"Calm down, Carl," said Tim.
"Don't you tell me to calm down!" screamed Carl. "First he ruins my
socks and laughs at me," Carl thrust an accusing finger in my
direction, "and then YOU knocked me down for no reason!"
"I had a great reason, you were going to hit my friend, and I stopped
you. He would have done the same for me," Tim said prophetically.
Now Carl came at Tim menacingly, they circled each other warily. I'm
pretty sure that Tim didn't want to fight Carl either. But I'm also
pretty sure he had a good idea of what was going to happen next. As
Tim stopped so that he was facing the rope swing, I saw JC launch
himself toward us, riding the tree swing rope in a graceful arc that
ended with JC's feet aimed at Carl. Once again, just as Carl was about
to hit Tim, history repeated itself; Carl was sent sprawling by a
swinging Boy Scout. At least this time his glasses remained in place.
This time as soon as Carl was on the ground Tim leapt on top of him,
pinning him.
Poor Carl, not only had he been humiliated three times, now he was
also badly outnumbered. He looked around to try and figure out what
happened this time. He saw JC standing next to Tim and me, grinning.
"You!" he yelled in frustration. Then he seemed to realize that Tim
was sitting on top of him. "Get off me, Tim!" he muttered and began to
struggle. He quickly saw that he was helpless. This seemed to upset
him even more.
Tim had his hands on Carl's shoulders. "I'm not letting you up till
you calm down and promise not hit anybody." he said calmly.
"I can't believe you guys!" Carl gurgled with rage, "First you ruin my
clothes, then you laugh at me, then you knock me down twice and you
think I'm not going to hit you?"
"We'll sit here until you calm down," said Tim matter-of-factly. "Do
you want JC to sit on you too?"
"You guys wait till I get up, I'll mangle you!" spat Carl. He yelled
'Get of me, get off me' over and over as he pushed, twisted, and
bucked in an effort to dislodge Tim. As he struggled however, it
became clear that he wouldn't be able to get Tim off his chest. He
started to moan and I was sure he was about to cry. I felt sorry for
him. He was pinned to the ground by Tim and JC was ready to jump on
too, just like a tag team wrestler. It was time for me to be the
peacemaker.
I squatted down next to Carl's face. I saw the tears ready to come. I
said, in my most sincere voice, "Carl, I'm really sorry that I
flattened your socks. And Tim and JC are really sorry they had to
knock you down, but they didn't want you to hit me." Carl looked at me
defiantly and sniffed back some tears, but he didn't say anything.
Still I saw that a further concession might make a difference. "If you
promise not to hit us, we'll let you up. I'll tell you what, I've got
some clean socks that you can wear."
"I don't want your stinking socks!" growled Carl as he renewed his
efforts to free himself.
He wasn't going anywhere and Tim knew it. "You've got to promise,
Carl. Then I'll let you get up," Tim said soothingly. Carl had a nasty
look on his face.
"Promise," JC added.
"Promise," I repeated. Then the expression on Carl's face broke. It
went from anger and frustration to one of resignation.
"Okay, I won't hit you. Now just let me up!" he said brusquely. Tim
cocked his head and gave Carl a questioning look. "I promise," Carl
said adamantly.
Tim hopped up immediately. JC and I grabbed his arms and helped him
up. I started to brush the dirt and grass off Carl's back. He turned
away angrily and hissed, "You guys get your hands off me! I'm going to
go tell on you!" And he marched off toward the next campsite, his feet
kicking up dust.
I looked at my friends. "Thanks for rescuing me, that was awesome! I
was going to let him hit me ...once," I explained.
"We were watching him and I knew he was getting ready to hit you," Tim
explained, "I told JC, 'Watch this' and aimed right for him.'
"Yeah," JC chuckled, "you actually ran into him as he was swinging. I
saw he was going to go for you too and so I waited till the right
moment."
"Tim, did you know JC was going to the same thing?" I asked. "Is that
why you maneuvered Carl so his back was to JC?"
Tim just grinned.
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