Written by Caitlin Weigel
Photo: © Depositphotos.com/jlueders

 

Counselor Nicole, I know what this looks like. Rest assured, I know where you’re coming from and how you might think that I intentionally tipped my own canoe over, causing a hilarious splash, and solidifying my position within the Camp Yodel history books as funniest guy ever.

I get that. I really do.

But please, PLEASE, hear me when I say, that absolutely did not happen.  I absolutely did not wiggle my butt back and forth on the small bench of my canoe until the balance was upset and I went wa-ooshing into the murky waters of Lake Timber, my arms in full flail causing an epic scene that would not be out of place in such classic comedy hits as Heavyweights or Tommy Boy.

Counselor Nicole, you’ve probably noticed the surge in my popularity recently. You may have noticed the reshuffling of bunk assignments to ensure that I’m at the center of the cabin, to maximize everyone’s ability to hear and see me, just waiting for the next kooky thing to happen.

You may have noticed that I’m also in high demand for the upcoming talent show – insider tip, I have not yet made any decisions on whose group I will join, and while I am weighing my options, I feel I may have the most success as an unfettered solo act.

You may have noticed that my hands are red from all the high fiving. And from the craft room incident which was also hilarious and also an accident.

Counselor Nicole, again, I stress how much this was not on purpose. But now that we both know that, can’t we agree that it was actually the funniest thing to happen all summer? And can’t we agree that even though this accident happened and was totally an accident, maybe it was a blessing in disguise?

I don’t have to tell you how hard seventh grade is. I know you understand the complex social hierarchies that exist and the need for one to establish a persona that will pluck them from obscurity and secure their position among classmates.

Look at me, Counselor Nicole. I’m twelve with the soft paunch of a forty-year-old man. My hair is not what most people would classify as “good” and my mouth is frequently agape, not by my own choosing. It just happens. I’m aware of how I exist in space and I’ve determined my strengths. I know the course of action I must take and I know the role I must play not only at Camp Yodel, but when I return to Brynsbar Middle School.  I must act the fool, for everybody loves a clown, and I am not coordinated enough for organized sports nor will my mother pick me up from regular student council meetings.

But also, please remember, this whole thing was totally an accident.

So Counselor Nicole, I apologize. Even though accidents are not a thing you have to apologize for because the intention was never there, I am a nice enough guy that I will still extend my regrets.

I had no idea your cell phone was in the emergency pack in my canoe.

I had no idea the sandwiches would all fall out and float away like that.

I had no clue you were waiting to get a call back from Emerson and missed it and now might not be a college-bound person, but rather a person who is a perpetual counselor. That maybe doesn’t sound so bad.

I had no idea that we had no other food options and that so many of the kids in our cabin have blood sugar regulation issues.

No one told me any of these things.

But I’m sorry. I’m sorry times a million forever. I hope that’s enough. And I think we can all agree, the blow was slightly softened by how friggin’ gut-bustingly funny that splash was. I mean, did you see my face? Or the picture Neil took of my face as I was falling out? It’s so classic. You should really look at it, Counselor Nicole.

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Caitlin Weigel is a writer and performer based in Philadelphia. She directs and teaches at the Philly Improv Theater and performs sketch (House of Solitude, Mani Pedi) and improv (Triple Double, The Future) around town. She works in public television by day, does comedy by night, and sleeps heavily by later parts of the night. This is her website, her sketches live here, and a bunch of short weird brain farts live over here.