Super troop-er, part II

Hey there, gentle readers. I said I'd be back here today, and I made good on that promise. Oh sure, it helps that most of this post was already written since I didn't know it would be a two-parter when I started, but it's still a kept promise nonetheless. You can't spell "kept promise" without Peter, after all. The moral of this paragraph: hello.

When I left you mid-story yesterday, Dusty and I had just finished working with our groups of Girl Scouts on particular improv games that we learned from Comedy Sportz. The girls were all ready to show off their stuff and play those games in front of the adoring crowd. I wasn't though. Dusty and I didn't realize until right then that not only were we there to teach the games and prepare them for the mini show, but we were also to be the emcees of the event. I thought to myself, "Well hell, if I can't wing this part of it, then I'm really not fit to be an Improv Expert, now am I?" We gave ourselves a two-second pep talk and walked out on stage. (And no, you can't spell expert without Peter.)

We started by welcoming the family members and the group of girls sitting and waiting for their turn. After a brief rundown of what they were about to see (in grandiose terms, naturally), we called the first group up. Dusty introduced the game and off they went. The audience seemed to be enjoying it so far, so I wasn't too worried. Then it was my turn with my Scantron group. I called up the girls, and asked for some suggestions from the audience. I then took my time explaining the rules of the game while the girls huddled and came up with their plan. The scene began, and I froze it at the most appropriate times to maximize the funny. The first stoppage had something to do with condiments, and the girls' answers were as follows: "Ketchup," "Mustard," "Ketchup and mustard," and "Monkeys flying out of kitchen cabinets." It was hilarious, because as the girl said that suggestion, she made brief eye contact with me in a way that acknowledged that she was already playing her wild card. I smiled back, and it was clear by the level of applause that crowd chose that last option. The girls had a great time up there, and even though the scene went nowhere and they were all talking all over one another, it was fun and the crowd enjoyed it. That's what really matters, right?

Some time passed, and I welcomed the Dr. Knowitall group up. I thought it would be funny to give this "doctor" one hell of an introduction, so I just started going. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages except ages that don't exist, we have a very special guest indeed for you this fine sunny afternoon; a guest with credentials so impressive that people have been known to get light-headed just from thinking about the years of schooling they required. Get your cameras ready, take mental notes so you can wow your friends tomorrow, and hang onto your hats and glasses, because we have the most famous and well-known doctor to ever grace this stage. He is an expert in-" I heard someone shout something. Was I being heckled? "She!" the voice repeated. "Excuse me?" "SHE is an expert." Oh yeah, that. Fuck. Then I got a little rattled, and therefore started doing the Rattled Peter form of talking. "Yes, SHE is an expert, for she is female and why wouldn't she be able to be a doctor especially a famous one because women and girls can do anything they want when they grow up or even before they grow up, right?" It was brutal for a few seconds, but I finally shut up and took questions for the audience. The scene went ok, but their answers stayed pretty ordinary. Boys probably would've done a better job. I kid, I kid.

When the event was over, Dusty and I got a round of applause, and everyone but me seemed to be over my gender slip-up. I really did beat myself up for that for a few hours, even though I know it was not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. It's just that I had spent so much time being ridiculously inclusive in my language while working at the university that this was almost as bad as accidentally referring to the residence halls as "dorms." Not quite as bad, but up there. We said goodbye to the kids and parents, and a few gave me some heartfelt thanks that truly felt wonderful. Even better than Thin Mints (I know, blasphemy). The event was a lot of fun, and The Mills did a great job preparing everyone and trusting that Dusty and I would just figure it out along the way. Ah, life imitating art.

So that was my one and only official experience with the Girl Scouts to date. I recently told my lovely wife that if we have a daughter in the future, she may need to join just so I can say, "You're doing a heck of a job, Brownie" at some point. She thinks that's a long way to go for a joke, but I'm willing to sacrifice for my craft. Have a great day, gentle readers, and I'll see you back here tomorrow. Please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with whatever you feel like. Shaloha.