I was a Girl Scout only briefly and I never got to the cookie stage. My love of Girl Scout Cookies didn't hit its stride until after my freshman year in college when I took a job as Camp Counselor/Windsurfing Instructor at a Girl Scout Camp located in a small cove on Catalina Island.
The cove was accessible only by boat or foot (a long hot hike over the island's mountains). What I didn't know when I took the job was that the 'adult' running the place was going to be a twenty-four year old grad student.
|Just me and one of the island buffalos|
I say well-known, but at the time I was absolutely clueless. It took me half the summer to figure out why almost NONE of my co-counselors ever mentioned past, present or future boyfriends.
That summer was a little like Lord of the Flies. An all girl Lord of the Flies, minus a head on a stick and violence.
In its place we had a couple of speed boats and the California state surplus of Girl Scout Cookies. They were kept in an enormous shed under lock and key. The security system didn't prevent the camp cook from serving cookies for dessert at both lunch and dinner time. In fact, every hike, every walk along the beach and every campfire was accompanied by Samoas, Do Si Dos and Trefoils.
|Me and my campers, at least the girls had on hiking gear!|
On breaks I windsurfed out past the cove, weaving in between the moored yachts. The yachties, very old men, most of them practically forty!, would hand out beer and I would make unfulfilled promises to come back later and hang out.
But later never came. Instead we would board the big motor boat. Skipper, her camp name I don't remember her real one, would gun the engine. The boat would hit the waves hard. To sit down was to risk being thrown overboard. We clung to the boat's rails, knees bent and water spraying in our face.
Mid-ocean, past where the yachts were moored, Skipper would cut the motor. We would float on the water and I would share my day's collection of bottles and cans, proving my worth by supplying beer. We ate Girl Scout Cookies, a box for each of us and washed them down with Coors Light and Corona. When we'd gone through all of our rations we'd head back to camp. The bravest of us, those who didn't mind cold water or the feeling of a sand shark slithering out from under your feet when you could touch sand, would dive off the boat and swim into shore.
Recently, I did some research and discovered that camp no longer exists. It was sold. I'm guessing there's a hotel on that particular stretch of beach now. It's okay. It's not really the kind of place you can revisit. As for my daughter, she'll have to develop her own inappropriate relationship with Girl Scout Cookies.