Got Lice?

"Did I ever tell you about the time I had to strip down in a fire station?" began Stefanie.

"I'M LISTENING," I replied.

Stefanie is a natural-born camp counselor -- she's not a regular authority figure, she's a FUN authority figure. She's funny, she's cute, she's low-maintenance, and she earns respect quickly and easily. Oh yeah, and kids love her.

She was working at a camp that had a sister camp in another location -- a location that was so far out in the sticks that it took them an hour to get to the nearest town; and I get the feeling she was using the word "town" lightly.

On the second-to-last day of their session, she discovered with horror that nine out of the fifteen campers at the sister camp had lice. She and the other counselors washed the kids' bedding and bagged up their clothes. But because they were out in the middle of east jesus nowhere, the only materials they had with which to exterminate the little bastards that were in the kids' hair was olive oil and plastic wrap.

Stefanie, being a resourceful chickadee, applied the oil, wrapped everyone's heads in saran (including the counselors), and insisted that no one remove the jimmy-rigged headgear until they got home. Stefanie rode back to her own camp looking like an escaped mental patient, and was not greeted with much sympathy.

What she was greeted with was "Got Lice?" posters, and instructions to immediately take the clothes to the fire station for an industrial washing, so as not to contaminate the entire rest of the camp. She turned right around and got back in the car, and drove to the nearest volunteer fire station.

"So there I sat," Stefanie lamented, "in the fire station, half-naked, with my head wrapped with saran."


Oooh, HOT. (ZING! Fire-station pun FTW!)