One of my first summer jobs growing up was working at a Girl Scout Camp. It was amazing. I got up and started cooking at 5 am with my friend and classmate, Mike, and our boss, “Peaches”. We made food for those hundred-or-so girls every single day. Which was all well and good, except for Jello Day.
For some reason, someone had the idea to have a giant day of all things jello. Jello “obstacle courses” where the girls had to walk a path, blindfolded, and try not to step on piles of jello, jello ‘cake walks’ and my favorite- the jello pie-eating contest. Mike was entered in that one, and I stood by to cheer him on and hold his glasses. After he lost to a Camp Counselor who must have just inhaled the stuff, I begged him to smoosh the pie in his face. You know, because I’d never done the whole “pie in the face” thing before. After a couple of minutes of begging, he conceded, which granted him not only jello covered in whipped cream to adorn his face- but also his hair. I couldn’t help it.
Do you know what happens if you smash a jello/whipped cream pie in someone’s face in a room full of a hundred tween girls?
It was epic. Kids and adults alike (and two teenagers) throwing handfuls of jello and whipped cream at one another, the walls, outside, inside- we didn’t care. It was a real-life Lost Boys Food Fight if I’ve ever seen one. I even got flipped by a Judo champ (my fault really- I tried to give her a squishy sugary jello-ed attack hug). By the time I went back to my cabin I was covered- literally- from head to toe with sugar and colored streaks. My glasses, my hair, my watch, my shoes, I’m pretty sure I had it in my underwear by then.
It was the first time I’d ever gotten into the shower fully dressed. What I didn’t even notice was that I was walking back to my cabin- in public. It was just the best time ever. I’m sure I looked ridiculously silly, a super tanned girl with messy hair, Sears brand jeans and glasses just strolling down the middle of the single lane from the cafeteria to the Nurse’s station cabins.
And I wish I’d had photos. The one thing I didn’t think of during the whole thing was how silly I looked. How my friends, if they’d seen me, would probably have laughed at me. How my brothers would have made fun of me. How boys from our school would have pointed and snickered.
I didn’t care. And I can only hope to capture that feeling as often as possible.