Thunder Thunder, Crash Crash

Last night, there was a hugh-mungo storm in South Central Kentucky. Our local weatherman (if you can call him that) was at his post, cutting into our regular programming, warning us of strong storms, frequent & deadly lighting, possible hail (which never really happens, except for that one time it did), and, of course, tornadoes! I don't typically get too riled up about Mother Nature, and last night was no exception. Muscles, however, does. Muscles has been known to jump out of bed and run through the house at the sound of a little strong wind. He religiously checks the weather on his handy iPhone, and informs those around him of the percentage chance of rain on a bi-daily basis. He also sometimes musters up his courage and tries to watch the storm from the front porch, until lightening sends him running inside. My mother is also like this, so I'm used to it. I have lots of memories of my mom and I huddled in bathtubs and interior closest with pillows, blankets, and flashlights during thunderstorms. We are a safe bunch.

Anyway, as I mentioned in an earlier post, this is day camp week at my job. This particular night, of all nights, was the final night of camp, culminating in a sleepover. So, I have two camps full of kiddos huddled in lodges, and their designated adults are making important decisions. I decide to call and check in on both camps. The first camp, let's call it "Camp Legit" cause they know what they're doing for the most part, does not answer. Camp Reba (refer to earlier post) does answer, and informs me that they have no power, but all is well. The girls are singing merrily around a makeshift campfire, otherwise known as a lantern. It's not a dreamboat, but it works. The girls have had a blast there this week.

Repeatedly, I try calling Camp Legit. I can't get through. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off above my head. Duh, Rooster. Camp Legit's lodge has a working telephone, a land line. Now, just to find the number. I, instead find the number of Ranger Rulebook, the site maintenance and order-keeper for Camp Legit. I call him up.

"Hi, Ranger Rulebook. I apologize for calling so late, but I need the number to Camp Legit."
"THIS is NOT the number to Camp. You have the wrong number," he growls, misunderstanding.
"No, no!" I exclaim, "This is Rooster Roo from the Girl Scouts Office. I need the number to camp, please."
"What is your concern?" Rulebook inquires.
Oh, well since it's not obvious, I was concerned about the pollen count in the middle of the night, while a tornado is tearing through the area, I think sarcastically. Good thing I think before I speak most of the time. I explain instead that my camp director is new, and I want to check on them in this monsoon.

Ranger Rulebook, always knowing best as it is, begins a 20-minute long diatribe about the qualifications of the volunteers at camp, and how I do not need to call them. Again, I ask politely for the number, just in case, and again, Rulebook recites his speech about why I do not need the number. Clearly, Rulebook does not understand that I am the all-important, young CEO of this outfit. (Of course, I'm not, but it's a better title than my real job.) We talk in circle for another 20 minutes until, suddenly, SHHHHHHHHHHH. Click.

That was the sound of Ranger Rulebook hanging up on me. Or losing cell phone service. I am not sure. Either way, I call back to get repeatedly rejected. At this point, I was sitting in my own darkened house with no electricity, fuming. Since Rulebook refused to pick up from then on out, there's no feel-good ending to this. I just sat there, stewing, until I fell asleep. I woke up this morning with a new vengeance, though. Ranger Rulebook must be stopped.