Tent pitching

I got eaten alive by tiny (and not so tiny critters), I sweat off at least 890 pounds, and we almost got trapped at the state park due to an ever rising river....however, Camp Fest 08 was a rousing success and fun was had by all.



The swimming pool




Road...road...road....water?!?








Rayhawk


Check out our awesome skills at putting rain-keeper-outers up completely wrong.


Parker ingesting five different types of the West Nile virus


Easy there tiger




Rayhawk hates nature.

Cold Calling

The computer feeds me a Mrs.Wayne Timmons with a Battle Creek area code. It's the first week that we are cold calling for the Wonder Wet Wiper. Not just a mop, but a whole entire floor enhancement system. The only sure way to preserve and protect your floor coverings. An inexpensive way to save you thousands in ruined hardwood or costly vinyl laminate damage. All of that piece of mind for only 3 easy payments of....

"Wait, why should I buy anything from you?" Mrs.Timmons asks.

Policy says to jump back to the level two statements.

"Because the Wonder Wet Wiper will save you far more than it's cost in time saved. And eventual resale on your home." And Mrs.Wayne Timmons says:

"Do you even believe in God?"

It's not on the approved response script, but I answered. Dialog outside the established flow charts, officially its called a jog, officially we are not supposed to engage in off track tangents. But I told her:

"Yes"

And Mrs. Wayne Timmons says:

"Our one TRUE Christian God?"

I say:

"Yes"

Officially I'm supposed to redirect the topic back to the Wonder Wet Wiper, saying how it's so easy that cleaning her kitchen floor will no longer count as servile work on the sabbath. And Mrs. Wayne Timmons says:

"You don't believe in some smiling elephant god, are you sure you don't worship some naked woman with lots of wiggling arms?"

The basics of any call are: you start with the greet, the grant and the pitch. First you say good evening or good morning or whatever, that's the greet part. You ask for permission to speak with the customer, thats the grant part. Only then, do your pitch.

"What time is it there?" says Mrs.Wayne Timmons "It's four in the afternoon here."

"It's three where I'm at" I say.

Another jog

Enough jogs and the floor supervisor registers a demerit. Enough demerits and you'll be looking for an even worse paying job.

"Don't lie to me about the time" says Mrs.Wayne Timmons "Are you in Calcutta or New Delhi?" "India or Pakistan?"

Another jog.

"I'm in Walla Walla" I say

I pray to her exact same God. The big man with the beard.

"What's your name?" she asks.
"Bill." I say.
"Don't lie to me Omar or Ackbar." says Mrs.Wayne Timmons "We Americans know how you are trained, it's been in the newspaper and on the TV. You are given regular names and they teach you to talk like a normal regular person. But, we still know that you are taking food out of the mouths of our sweet, sweet American babies."

Across the networking floor, the floor supervisor looks up from her desk, meets my eyes, her eyebrows sprung up. She points one fingernail at the digital readout on the wall. The calls in progress, the total calls per shift, and how my jogs are dragging out the average length per call. The three minute average is stretching to 4.5. The floor supervisor drags a fingernail across her throat. In my headset Mrs.Wayne Timmons says:

"You don't even eat hamburger, I've seen pictures." "You let dirty cows sleep on your streets."

My eyes, watching the average call time stretch to five minutes. Associates at other desks and in other banks are looking at me and shaking their heads at how I'm wrecking their monthly bonus. The script says I should apologize and terminate, but I don't. I keep jogging. Saying:

"My name is William Bradley Henderson." "I'm 17 years old and go to Thomas Jefferson High School in Walla Walla Washington." "I work four nights each week doing telephone sales to earn money to support me and my Mom." And Mrs.Wayne Timmons says:

"You people don't miss a trick."

And too loud, I say it. Into my headpiece I say:

"Trust me."

All around me, headsets pop up. Eyes spin around to pin me from a million different directions. Black associates, Hispanic and Asian associates. I say:

"Listen lady, I'm just as white as you are."




My next night at work a man with a Sioux Falls area code says:

"You people hijack our jet liners and crash them into our skyscrappers and I'm supposed to buy your crappy mop?" "Well no friggin thanks Mohommad."


A guy in the Tulsa area code says:

"Towel head."...and hangs up.


A guy in the Fargo area code says:

"Camel jockey."...and hangs up


Next in the phone que the computer feeds me a west Los Angeles area code, and the woman who answers says:

"Tiananmen Square was a human rights tragedy." "But you have to keep striving toward freedom." "As a member of Amnesty International I spend every extra penny in my fight to get a decent living wage for your people." "You need to rise up and throw off the shackles of your imperialist corporate overlords." "The people's of the world are marching along side of you."

But she says no to buying the mop.


Next in the que the computer feeds me a Mr and Mrs Wells in Washington. Area code 509, and a girl picks up. I say:


"May I talk to you about a revolution in floor maintenance?"
"Sure" She says. "Talk already."

The greet.
The grant.
The pitch.

Interupting the girl says:

"I envy you. I'm trapped in this dinky town called Walla Walla. A tank full of gas from anywhere good. I go to school with cloned kids, the same clothes and hair and dreams. Like we all came off the same assembly line. And I'm never getting out, ever."

I say how the Wonder Wet Wiper constitues an entire floor enhancement system. And she says:

"Do you have an elephant? I mean do you drive to work on a real alive elephant?"

The phone que, the average phone time, the floor supervisor.

"Yes." I say. Breaking script I say:
"I have a five year old Indian elephant."
"How cool is that?" She says.
"His name is Sinbad" I say.
"I love that" the girl says. "I have a cat, really she's an ocelot. I mean she will be an ocelot when she's full grown. Her name is Peppar."


The floor supervisor is looking.
Walking my way.
Close enough to hear.

"My parents adopted me" the girl says. "When I was a baby in Zaire, when my adopted Dad was in the Peace Corps. They are nice and everything, but its weird being the only African American girl in like a whole entire place. Do you know what an ocelot is?"

Writing her phone number on my scratch paper I ask the girl if I can put her on our call back list for some other night. We can talk somemore about the Wonder Wet Wiper.

"Yes please." she says. "Samantha, I'm Samantha, but my birth name is Shamu-Rindi."

And I terminate the call.

That week at school I walked up to a black girl during lunch and I asked:

"Are you from Zaire?"

She just looked at me. She tossed her shoulder at me, turned, and walked away. Another day, I asked another black girl if she had an ocelot. And she said:

"A what?"
"It's a little sized wild cat" I said. And she rolled her eyes at me.

Another day I walked up to the last black girl in our high school and I asked:

"Is your real name Shamu-Rindi?" This girl blinked her eyes slow, waiting, so I asked:

"Samantha Wells?" And the girl lifted one hand slow, and she pointed a finger nail at a girl across the lunch room. A white girl with long blonde hair, wearing a cheerleader outfit.

On the call back Samantha "Shamu-Rindi" says:

"No one likes the music I like. That kind of tribal, globa, world beat, techno stuff. Or the organic natural food that's the only kind I can eat. I mean my taste is so beyond their limited experience."

I don't say anything.

"A good example" she says "is Summertime. The humid weather makes my hair all nappy."

I don't say anything.

"How's your elephant" she says.
"Good" I say "he's fine."
"Sinbad right?" she asks.

I ask if she wants to buy the Wonder Wet Wiper. And Samantha says:

"If I buy one, will you call me back again tomorrow?"

My next night at work a man with a Mizzoula area code says:

"Right this moment, you can bet that you've got a million skinny, stinking, pygmies standing in line for your job. What I want to know is how come our tax money keep feeding you billions in financial aid and you never get any better. You're always starving. You've always got AIDS and shit."

The floor supervisor steps up beside my chair. Shaking her head, she draws a finger across her throat. And I terminate the call.

On another call back Samantha says:

"I love the fact that you are East Indian. That is so sexy. Or are you Pakistani?"

I ask if she wants to buy a fifth Wonder Wet Wiper. And she says:

"Wait while I sneak my Dad's credit card."

That next week at school I walked up to the blonde cheerleader and I said:

"Hey, are you Samantha Wells?"

"Who's asking?" She said. Her voice, the same as over the telephone. The girl with almost a dozen wet wipers, but no ocelot. Me, the make believe elephant boy. I say:

"Would you like to go out sometime?"
"I'm kind of involved right now" she says "He does'nt go here."

Leaning close, and fake whispering she says:

"He's a Hindu. We have this romantic long distance thing."
"Whats his name?" I say.

I never told her my name.

Shaking her head Samantha says:

"You wouldn't know him"
"Can I atleast call you?" I ask.
"Sorry" she says as she turns, walking away.

I yell after her:

"I'm Bill, my name is Bill Henderson

Thom Yorke is a funny mo fo