The Good, My Bad, and the Annoying

I recently attended a week-long conference with activities that included workshops, field trips, arts and crafts, and sing-a-longs. It felt a lot like summer camp for adults, minus horseback riding and canoeing. There was a lake … well, more like a good-sized pond.

The atmosphere at the start had a summer camp vibe, complete with lost souls clutching pillows and rolling suitcases behind them, desperately searching for their cabins–I mean dorm buildings.

This is an account of my week, starting with:

The Good

On Monday, the first full day of the conference, I joined ten strangers and a presenter for a workshop titled “First-Person True Storytelling.” For the next five days, from 9 until 11:45 AM, the twelve of us met in a large room, cold enough to store potato salad.

We were an eclectic group comprised of current and former teachers, a photographer, an author, a professional storyteller, the soft-spoken, the boisterous, the young, and the young at heart. We began as strangers but quickly warmed up to each other. One-on-one break-out sessions helped with that.

By the end of the week, I felt as though we’d known each other for years. That’s what happens when people come together and tell personal stories. I won’t share those stories here—they aren’t mine to tell—but I can say each one was as wonderful and varied as the people in the class.

As a bonus, I became especially close to Whit, from Florida, who became one of my dining buddies. She has an important life story, and as soon as her book is published, I hope to interview her in this blog. Another workshop attendee, Christine, from Pennsylvania, stayed in the same dorm as me, allowing us a chance to visit one night and discuss the writing process. Klara, a new friend from California, stayed in the dorm room adjacent to mine. We ate together at most meals, attended a few night sessions together, and hung out on rocking chairs on a porch while she knit, and I babbled. We referred to each other so often as “neighbors” that people thought we both lived in California. Klara also came up with a creative way of describing the dining hall’s configuration (which I also won’t share – it was one of those “you had to be there” situations).

I met a lot of interesting and inspiring people during meals. I also reconnected with Serita, a friend from closer to home. There was one time, though, when an older gentleman joined Klara and me at the table. His confusing monologue went on so long that it got uncomfortable. For us. He seemed to be enjoying himself. At one point, Klara turned to me and asked, “What time is it?” I glanced at my watch and said, “Time to go.” We excused ourselves, but I don’t think he missed us.

When the conference ended, many of us promised each other we’d keep in touch. I really hope we do.

My Bad – (im)Patience

On day one, sign-in took place in an oversized, tall-ceilinged, non-air-conditioned building on a day with 90-degree heat and high humidity. Upon entering, I encountered two long rows of tables separated by a wide aisle and a confusing mass of humanity. At first, I wondered, Where am I supposed to go? Followed by: Is my chauffeur illegally parked and about to get a ticket while I stand here confused?

Clusters of chatting “campers” blocked the aisle, prompting a new question. Are these people in line to sign in, or are they blocking my way just to annoy me?

Lettered pieces of paper taped to the wall hinted that attendees should register based on their last names. I fell in line behind two people standing at the R-S table. Coincidentally, two volunteers manned that table. I thought, Oh good. I’ll get registered in no time.

While the male volunteer helped the woman in line, the lady volunteer assisted the man in front of me. She merrily riffled through a vast collection of loose papers. When she came to the end of the stack, she smiled. “Isn’t that funny? I can’t find your name.”

Maybe the gentleman laughed. I was too busy impatiently shifting from one foot to the other to notice. She searched for his name so many times I wanted to leap over the table and snatch the papers out of her hands. How hard can this be? The names are in alphabetical order! She finally discovered she’d missed it because the man’s paper had been folded over. I puffed with relief. At last, we can move on. But no. According to the man’s paper, he still owed money. She walked him to wherever he had to go to settle up. The other volunteer, an older gentleman, now available, seemed deeply focused on the task of attaching a thin elastic band to a plastic name tag holder.

There are times when volunteers should attach thin elastic bands to plastic name tag holders, but not when a person in line is about to explode in exasperation. To help him along, I gave him my name. He replied, with the calmness of a Zen master, that all was well. All was not well. My chauffeur was probably circling the building, simultaneously searching for a parking space while wondering if I fell through a black hole. Eventually, after carefully shifting through every page, he found my registration, paid in full. Then, he informed me that I had to cross the aisle and stand in another line to retrieve a small envelope with my building fob and room key.

Naturally, at this new line, the volunteer had trouble locating the fob and key envelope for the person directly in front of me. 

I aspire to be a patient person. But if the registration process was meant as an exercise in patience, I failed miserably.

On a positive note, my chauffeur had found a parking space and easily conveyed me, my yoga mat (never unrolled), and luggage, to the dorm building where I’d stay for the duration.

The Annoying (Dyslexia)

Thanks to early morning jogs throughout the week, I learned the lay of the land. Sort of. Reality didn’t always gel with my internal map. Often, I’d exit a building only to be deposited unexpectedly onto unfamiliar terrain. Fortunately, the conference took place on a small college campus. Eventually, I’d recognize a landmark and continue on my way.

Certain building interiors weren’t much easier to navigate. On the first day, locating the room for my workshop turned into a scavenger hunt. But that wasn’t my fault. The architect placed it down a hidden hallway.

The dining hall often baffled me. I blame my dyslexia and all the doors that surrounded the food area. One door opened into a hallway with classrooms and a restroom. Another led to a meeting room. Entrances to two separate dining rooms also figured into the equation.

One morning, I placed a bowl of oatmeal on a little round table in a corner of the food area and marched to dining room number one (or was it two?) for a napkin. I returned to a mystery. No oatmeal bowl. And no little round table that I’d put it on. Hoping to retrace my steps, I marched through an entranceway, turned around, and came back to find my oatmeal and the little table. No wonder I write fantasy novels. Wizardry surrounds me!

Weatherwise, the week ended as it began, with 90-degree temperatures and high humidity. While my beloved chauffeur patiently waited in his air-conditioned car with my luggage, I set out to return my key and fob in their little envelope. Due to a misreading of the sign-out process, I sprinted through the heat to the wrong building and then had to dash across campus to the correct one.

There was something magical about this building. During the conference, sometimes, when I entered with friends, we climbed a staircase to reach the main floor. Other times, we entered through a different door that led directly to the main level. The structure was either built into a hill or … more wizardry.

The instant I blasted through the door, I spotted a staircase. My brain immediately convinced me I had entered the lower level. A table stood at the bottom of the stairs, where a young man sat, surrounded by individual COVID test boxes. Rather than pausing to ask for assistance, I tore up the steps. At the top, I scanned left to right and recognized … nothing. In certain sarcastic circles, the experience might have elicited the retort, “What a fine howdy-doo.”

I charged back down the stairs and turned to the guy and his COVID tests. “Where do I hand in my key?”

He pointed to a counter on his left. If I hadn’t been so focused on the staircase, I would have seen it when I’d first entered the building. Two people now stood in line ahead of me. The first gave her name to the “key guy.” I watched in frustration as he unsuccessfully flipped through his multipage printout for her name. If I’d only been paying attention instead of stampeding up and down staircases, I would have been first in line, handed in my keys, and be halfway home by now.

Unlike the volunteer on my first day, this young man simply jotted her name at the bottom of the list and relieved her of her little key/fob envelope. The next person in line sheepishly confessed, “I threw away my little envelope.” I huffed in silence. Of course he did. The cheerful volunteer assured him that wasn’t a problem. He kept extra little envelopes for that very reason. It only took a moment for him to step from the counter to produce it. When it was my turn, the volunteer easily found my name. I’d even kept my little key envelope, speeding up the process.

Now, all I had to do was run to my awaiting car. Apparently, my internal map never got the memo. When I burst outside and ran down the street, I believed I was heading toward the outdoor track where my chauffeur waited. In an air-conditioned car.

For the first time, I discovered a gravel road that I’d never seen before. And what lay in the distance? A baseball diamond. I’d seen the track and the tennis courts, but during the entire week, I had never so much as caught a whiff of a baseball diamond. I called out to a woman nearby, walking her dog. “Where’s the track?”

She didn’t know. Why would she? It was one hundred degrees outside. Naturally, I’d have to race through alien terrain. That’s what happens when wizardry (or dyslexia) is afoot. I tore down another road and kept running until the track finally came into view. So did the car that would take me home. I hopped inside, huffing and puffing.

Ignoring all the ways I got misplaced on campus, and the fact that IT couldn’t synch my personal laptop to their wi-fi, I really did have a wonderful time. For that, my thanks go out to my workshop buddies: Erik, Whit, Christine, Bonnie, Katie, Casey, Beth, Ed, Rufus, Stefan, and Kathleen. Thanks, guys! And one final, special shout-out to Klara, who added to the fun!

Finally, a collage of pictures from the week: