Fathers and Sons and Rachel

My awesome friend Alice made our welcome sign.

I currently hold the second best job in the United States, the first, of course, belonging to my pal Barack. (The only reason President Obama's job is slightly better than mine is because he gets his own bowling alley.) I work as a head counselor for BYU Sports Camps. My friend Derek is my co-head counselor, and he and I are in charge of the counselors for the summer. This meant hours of advertising, interviewing, and scheduling. I love it all (that's a lie. I didn't love the time when we had to take one trillion ads to every building on campus during what I believed to be a freezing apocalypse. The oblivious weather man claims it was just a blizzard, though.) and I've been so excited for the summer to start! Memorial Day weekend kicked off our very first camp, Fathers and Sons!

On the first day, the planner of the camp, David, asked me if I could take some flags over to the football field in the GEM, a little electric golf cart. I said I would and I hit the road. The GEM can only go 25 miles/hour at most, but that was fine because it was only a 3 minute drive to the stadium. Just as I was getting there, the GEM started beeping and felt sluggish, but I ignored it, grabbed the flags, and brought them into the stadium.

Because I love watching sports, my job is the perfect one for me because sometimes I get to stand on a field/court without actually being athletic. I took the flags next to the first row of seats and then marched right onto the field. This had nothing to do with my actual job, but I've always wanted to stand on the field where I've watched so many games. In the middle of taking a goofy looking selfie on the field and thus checking another item off the bucket list, David called and said he needed the GEM back.

I went back to the GEM, which continued to beep at me as I drove through the parking lot. It took me a little bit too long to realize that this chirping noise was not installed as an attempt for a poor radio system, but instead to warn me that the little electric car was RUNNING OUT OF ELECTRICITY. Would it really be that difficult to make sirens start blaring when such a life crisis arises instead of a tin beeping noise?! Obviously Heavenly Father loves me, because just then my wonderful friend and co-worker Natalie drove up to see what I was up to. We exchanged our concerns that I was going to die into the golf-cart-turned-death-trap and she promised she would follow me back to the Smith Fieldhouse. I puttered over to the stoplight and said about one hundred prayers as I crossed the busy intersection. This may seem like an exaggeration, but there was enough time to say one million prayers in the time it took the cart to cross the street and safely onto the sidewalk. Going down hill was a little bit faster, but eventually I hit level ground and I was back to going the speed of a three-toed sloth. (You better believe I just read an article about the top 10 slowest animals in the world.) Part of me tried to tell myself, "Hey, you're not actually going that slow." Then another child would pass me on their Barbie bike and I would come back to my senses.

It turns out that if you drive a golf cart 5 miles an hour on the sidewalk, people think it's a great idea to yell at you via their car window. Didn't they know I was ON A MISSION?!? How would the crew of Apollo 13 feel if spacecrafts kept speeding by honking their horns?!  Fortunately some of the voices yelling at me were familiar, as Derek and David yelled to me, "RACHEL! YOU CAN DRIVE THE GEM ON THE STREET!" Apparently they thought I was driving incredibly slow on the sidewalk because I was too scared to go fast. IF ONLY THAT WAS THE PROBLEM. Every intersection I reached I would look back at Natalie and she would cheer me on as if I was completing a marathon. (If completing a marathon was ever for some bizarre reason on my bucket list, this event could definitely count in lieu of an actual one) We would yell back and forth to each other about whether or not we thought I would actually make it, but usually we couldn't hear what the other one was saying because we were both laughing too hard at this ridiculous spectacle. At least Natalie was nice enough to pretend like she thought I was going to survive to eat another pork salad from Cafe Rio. Finally I crossed the last intersection and made it back. What took a few minutes getting there took about 15 minutes to get back. Natalie and I had a good long laugh, and I promised myself I would never put my life at risk again by getting in that death machine. (That promise was broken a few hours later when I decided that only fools walk around campus, but whatever.)

The rest of the weekend consisted of pretending I was part of the basketball team, running errands all around campus, proving I was not part of the basketball team by consuming large amounts of ice cream, and glaring at the GEM every time I passed it. On Sunday we got to take the campers to Music and the Spoken Word in Salt Lake City and then had sacrament meeting in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square. I was hesitant about being one of the only girls in Sacrament meeting since many of the talks talked about father-son relationships, but it reminded me of how much a hero my own dad is to me, and how much I love him. I was also able to think a lot about my relationship with my Heavenly Father and how grateful I am for him and his unconditional love.

This weekend was also a good reminder that no matter how hard you plan, things won't always turn out your way. During the fireside Sunday night, my awesome counselors scooped ice cream into bowls so they would be ready for the campers when they finished. The fireside went almost half an hour too long, and all the ice cream melted into soup. I only wish I had a video of the kid next to me who slurped up his dessert with no spoon. The moral from this story is never plan anything in advance.


Overall it was a great weekend, and I'm glad I got to be a part of it. To complete this blog post, here's a picture of the men's basketball coach, Coach Rose, riding a pink moped. Me and the GEM could beat him in a street race any day.

Tour de France: Scooter Style

You could say that I’m a pretty hard core person. (I am pretending, of course, that the post I wrote about the fiasco at Kiddieland does not exist) Sometimes I walk up the stairs next to the Richards Building without stopping. Other times I eat yogurt on which the best by date was five days prior. (That was an accident, but whatever.)  Most recently, I have had the chance to join a scooter gang. (I suggested the name Transportation Club in order to not be so exclusive and also so people would not confuse me with a mob boss or something, but this idea was quickly vetoed by the rest of the members) Naturally, the crew consists of two of my all-time favorite people, Cami and Emmie.

Emmie’s birthday was last week, so we did what every college student does on their birthday and hit the pavement with our scooters and headed to Guru’s for dinner. (At least, that’s what I assume hip college students do on their birthdays. I obviously hang out with my parents more than your average adult, because I am still learning what the cool cats do. #YOLO) Apparently when you see someone scooter to a restaurant it is totally acceptable to stare at them like they’ve showed up to the BYU testing center in leggings. That’s okay, judge away, gas guzzling folks. To be honest, I was surprised that they were giving us looks of judgement instead of looks of terror. We are a pretty rough looking scooter crew, after all.

After dinner we scootered through the city and headed to a rooftop concert. We continued to get lots of weird looks, and then someone finally broke the ice:

“Hey, are those your scooters?”

“Yeah, they are!”

“Oh, fun! I used to have a Razor scooter back when it was cool. Like when I was eight.”

AND THEN HE WALKED AWAY LIKE HE HADN’T JUST INSULTED MYSELF, MY ANCESTORS, ALL THAT I STAND FOR, AND THE SCARIEST CREW THAT HAS HIT THE STREETS OF PROVO.

There are a few things that you should never say to someone:

1. “Are you pregnant?” If you have to ask, you’re probably wrong.

2. “Man, you sure look tired today.” This is an easy way of insulting someone without actually using the words, “You look terrible.”

3. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” For those naive people out there, this is a big no-no to say because then people think you’re serious instead of just asking so you can appear to be nice, and then you’ll actually have to do something that you probably hate.

4. “You seem to be disgruntled.” Side story on this one: during high school, I created a twitter account for my school’s National Honor Society. Yes, I know, I am beyond helpful. Besides tweeting about the society’s meetings, I also included a few tweets that may have seemed a bit smart alecky, such as, ‘I wonder what it must feel like to be average’ or ‘Calculus homework is way too easy today. #Goodluckrestoftheclass #youwillneedit.’ This, of course, was all a joke, and I created the account with the permission of the NHS advisor. Apparently some people weren’t that pleased with it, and contacted my advisor, saying that it seemed to be a  ‘witty but disgruntled’ student that had created it and that I needed to be found. I thought this was hilarious, and my public relations career was over before I even graduated. A few weeks later I was reading in the newspaper, and I found the headline with the word disgruntled in it, so I figured I would read it, because us disgruntled people all have to stick together, right? I read the title: Disgruntled Shopper Attacks Customer at WalMart. WHAT?!? The same adjective for a maniac shopper can be used for a girl with a twitter account?! I don’t think so. The only time you should be calling someone disgruntled is right after they have been handcuffed and sent to prison for life.  

5. “Hey, I used to have a Razor Scooter, back when it was cool.” Quick Public Service Announcement, folks: RAZOR SCOOTERS NEVER STOPPED BEING COOL.

To live underappreciated in this world can be sad, specifically if they’re trying to insult your completely cool mode of transportation. (And especially if it’s a jet pack.) The best thing about life is that you can scooter away all your problems.

(Unless you scooter down Provo Canyon on a Saturday like Cami and I did, which apparently is where the Tour de France is held and the entire nation shows up to cruise past you down the trail.)  

Lagoon's Newest Terror: Kiddieland

Let me be the first to say that I have a lot of fears. I live right next to the mountains, but I see no reason why it would be anywhere near exciting to strap your feet to a board and fly practically vertically down a CLIFF. I’m not sure why anyone would bother climbing 40 feet in the air to the highest platform at the swimming pool if there is one 2 feet above the ground. In fact, I’m not even sure why there are people still living in Florida, because seriously, haven’t they seen the youtube video where the alligator comes right in someone’s doggie door?!

However, there is one thing that I am confident in (or at least was, until last week) and it is that I am not afraid of roller coasters. I don’t spend a lot of time at amusement parks, but I’ve made a handful of trips to Lagoon, and a trip to Disneyland. (That trip ended with me sobbing and wailing as loudly as I could, wondering why on earth my parents wouldn’t let me ride the Monorail. Lots of people stared, either wondering why my parents wouldn’t let me ride the monarail, or why I wanted to ride the monorail in the first place, which apparently is similar to riding an incredibly sluggish TRAX train. Either way, it was another Rachel Hardy tantrum for the books, so obviously it was a success. Sidenote: I was definitely 4 years old when this happened. Everyone knows that responsible adults only have temper tantrums about mature, adult things, like who has to take out the trash, or whose turn it is to mow the lawn.)

Anyway, this past week was my brother’s fifth grade Lagoon Day and I got to take him! He is one of the funnest people to hang out with, and I sure have missed spending so much time with him since I’ve moved to college. I ended up taking my sister, my brother, and a friend of his from school. I was the oldest one of the group, so naturally this makes me the bravest. I informed them on the drive up that I would go with them on any ride they wanted. My brother took full advantage of that, picking the biggest and scariest rides in the park. I figured that if an eleven year old could go on them, so could I. What I did not expect was the wails and screams that apparently emitted from my voicebox during the rides. As our group was flying further and further into the air, I panicked more and more, and my sibling laughed louder and louder. Because it was raining so hard, there were no lines at all. Once I stumbled off one ride, my brother was pulling me towards the next loop-de-loop. Sometimes we wouldn’t even get off the ride and the ride attendant would let us go multiple times.

Once I got on stable ground again, my brother wanted to go on a ride on the other side of the park, so we started walking in that direction, and on the way we crossed through Kiddieland. My brother spotted the Dinosaur Drop Ride and insisted that we go on it. For those familiar with Lagoon, this ride is a small child’s version of the Rocket. You strap yourself into a seat, and the seat moves vertically, all the way up to the top of the ride, and then drops quickly. I told my brother that this was a kid’s ride, and we were both way too tall to ride it. The ride attendant heard us, and said it was okay for us to ride, so I stood in line to wait for what looked to be the most boring ride of the century. Why waste your time on a mini version of a ride if you could go on the real thing? Kiddieland also prides itself in playing annoying, condescending music in order to infuriate responsible, mature adults like me who are way too good for these rides. What I didn’t know when I was putting the safety harness around me was that I was literally securing myself so I wouldn’t fall off this deadly ride. When the ride started, I was certain this ride would be the same thrill level as walking to school. Unfortunately, the ride for some reason did NOT stop at a normal, kiddieride level, and continued to rise until we were as tall as the tree tops. Let me just give you a mental picture: not only were we higher in the air than the Merry-go-round, but we were also above the Ladybug Bop! My shrieks were heard throughout the park as I was certain the ride was broken: no kiddieland ride should be that horrifying. Apparently the ride was in perfect order though, because in the middle of my screaming I could hear the laughter and joy of a couple of 11 year olds. As we continued to shoot up and down, I continued to yell, until the ride attendant below asked, “Hey, are you alright?!” It took all I had to inform her that NO, I was NOT alright, because who pays someone to send them flying 15 feet into the air?!  Then I realized that yes, I was only 15 feet in the air, on a ride made for 6 year olds. If my hands weren’t holding so tightly on the harness, I would have made a quick call to Barack Obama, letting him know the terrors that are available to children nowadays. What on earth were all these toddlers thinking?! As soon as the ride ended I quickly hurried to the exit, making sure that I did not make any eye contact with the teenagers running the ride.

I wish the story ended there, but my brother then wanted to go on Flying Aces, yet another child ride. Surely this one would be nice and calm one, since a bunch of kids got off it laughing with joy, as if they had just won a new tricycle or something. My brother and I shared a small airplane compartment, and the ride swings in a circle. Just as the ride is about to end, I started feeling a bit under the weather. I kept trying to tell myself I was feeling sick because I was so happy: spinning around in a tiny metal compartment brings WAY too much happiness to handle. But, like most things that day, things were not going my way, and the sandwich that I had eaten for lunch ended up on the pavement beneath the ride. After the ride ended I quickly exited the premises and wished the ride attendant an EXTREMELY lovely day, which we both knew was not going to happen since I just ruined her ride.

If there's one thing that I learned from this trip, it's that children these days are MANIACS. Get ready for a generation of ravenous thrill seekers, world. Who knows what these reckless kids will be doing next, probably scootering without helmets or something. I've finally met my match, and my match is Kiddieland.