Badges and delicious cookies aside, the real reason I loved being a Girl Scout was the camping. Admittedly, I only got to go camping once because I quit the following year, but I still remember that one highly-anticipated trip as the highlight of my Girl Scout career.
It was the summer before fifth grade . . . or maybe the summer before fourth. I don’t remember where we camped, how long we were there or what we scouts did during the day. I do, however, remember the nights.
Nighttime at camp meant ghost stories, campfire food and giggling all night in our tent. My dad let me take the family tent, which easily fit eight or nine scouts. I felt super-cool when I arrived to our site with the largest tent and was even more psyched that all my closest friends could sleep in the same tent with me.
There was one caveat, though. Since I had the largest tent, our troop leaders stuck a girl I’ll call Maria in my tent. Maria was loud, obnoxious and did not fit into our little clique. I know, I know. My former self was a horrible person for wanting to snub an innocent young girl. Truth be told, I didn’t have much of a problem with Maria besides the fact that I found it slightly eerie that she carried around a doll version of herself wherever she went (the doll would even have the same hairstyle, depending on the day), but if my friends didn’t like her, then that I meant I couldn’t like her either.
On the first night of our trip, my friends and I put all our sleeping bags on one side of the tent (there was a zip-down pider in the middle of tent) and let Maria have the other half to herself. All night we laughed and giggled and made poor Maria listen to us from the other side but never invited her to join in on our conversation.
At some point during the night, Maria got sick from eating one too many s’mores earlier in the evening, and we were woken up by her throwing up and crying outside of the tent. I’d like to say that we went outside with her, rubbed her back and told her it would be okay, but we didn’t – we let our troop leaders handle that. Instead, we buried our heads under our pillows, trying to block out the sounds of vomiting and sobbing.
I’ll say it again: We were awful.
On the second night, we went to bed earlier than planned due to torrential downpours (no s’mores that night). This time, my friends and I were woken not by Maria, but by the fact that the two of us who opted to put our sleeping bags in the corner of the tent were now sleeping in a giant puddle. The only solution was to move our sleeping bags somewhere else, but that meant we would have to go to Maria’s side.
Before we even asked if this was okay with Maria, she poked her head into our side and invited us over. “There’s plenty of dry space here!” she said. “That’s if you don’t mind sleeping on the same side as me.”
I don’t know about the rest of my friends, but I immediately felt terrible for not being there for Maria the night before. I suppose now would be the time to add a metaphor about how removing the tent pider was like removing my own social pider, but I’ll spare you all of that.
We were much nicer to Maria on the rest of the trip. Maria never became my BFF, but we’re Facebook friends. I think that counts for something.
Cassie Pappathan
(24, Manchester)
