
suck it
I spent the ENTIRE weekend at a Red Cross lifeguarding/CPR training course.
22 mind-numbing hours later I walked out with piece of paper (that promptly got wet in the rain) that says, and I paraphrase, “this paper will have to suffice as proof of certification until we can send out the official card…in June.” Seriously, Red Cross? Don’t pull out the champagne or anything.
It was bad enough that the average age in the class was 16. Do you remember how not awesome you were at 16? How awkward the boys were and how ditzy a girl would be to try get a boy’s attention? Imagine now that everyone is in their bathing suits and has to practice water rescues on each other…..
I’m poking my eyes out with your No. 2 pencil, Red Cross.
On top of all that greatness, I now have bruises on my knees from administering CPR on a tile floor to a plastic head and a minor case of the sniffles because apparently it’s vital that we watch a video on EVERY one of the various in-water saves meaning, at least twice, I donned a cold, wet bathing suit.
So, no, Red Cross, I’m going to need my card asap or, at the very least, a balloon.
Isn’t the sole purpose of CPR class for 16-year olds to make out with each other? What is this plastic head nonsense?
For the record: I was awesome at 16.
what do they not have underwater techno parties in your honor anymore?
Yeesssssssssssss… this is well done. I mean, sorry for your awful weekend – but know your sacrifice and misery have resulted in me smiling. Which is really what it’s all about, right?