Some would say that one who can’t avoid a bet is one who’s destined for a big downfall, but I tend to think that eventually that downfall could become a windfall. I recently got a massive sunburn while working on the waterfront as a lifeguard and not only is my tan awkwardly majestic, but it is in the form of a one piece accompanied by beautiful shorts tans. As one of my fellow lifeguards put it, “You need to take your socks off when you go to the water.” She was referencing my overly zealous brown stockings of tanned skin as they met the pale and priceless expanse of under-shorts skin. Good grief. I just can’t get a break here. First off, I haven’t seen the sun in about four years so I’m trying to cram in all the sun time I can get without toppling over the precipice of skin cancer.
Anyways. I rocked those burns like a pro. And as a purely confident young woman, I carelessly remarked about my red and raw skin as if no one would take the bait. Usually, my skin turns a hideous shade of lobster before miraculously turning wonderfully toasted s’more colored. There is very rarely a peel. So, me being my haughty braggart self, lolz, took a bet against the most experienced waterfront staff. As if they wouldn’t win. Bahahaha.
The bet was as follows: Salmon, my camp name, will not peel any skin in a period of six days from the beginning of the bet. Mind you, I burned myself about three days before the bet even took place, so if it was gonna happen it would be quickly. Moments after the betting procedure had begun, it was pointed out to me that the burn on my back had already started to bubble. Tiny, but influential information.
To prevent the burn from drying out and peeling I, of sound-ish mind, cut a strip from a plastic Walmart bag, drenched one side in lotion and slapped it on to make a cute and effective burn wrap. It made me look like I’d been through an actual horrific fireball of an event, but it kept my clothes from rubbing off the lotion while I moved around. Within three days, word had spread about my bet and the camp was divided as those who felt I’d peel, and then there was me. If I peeled, I’d have to borrow a dress from the boss or from the drama shed and wear it the entire day, no matter the activity I was assigned. If I succeeded in my endeavor, the entire waterfront crew would be forced into the gnarly velvet gowns and child-sized ballroom attire in the camp’s possession.
Does Salmon pull off velvet with flair, or does the entire waterfront crew represent and eat their words? Stay tuned for the next installment.
PS. Internet access at camp is not readily accessible for me so I apologize for any inconvenience or long stretches between posts.
Sitka or Bust: Commute The World 