While in college I worked at a local camp in their office. Besides helping my friend Nicole with basic financials my main post was the window. The window was large, slid open horizontally and served as the main spot for campers to ask any imaginable question rolling around in their highly caffeinated surgarized brain. They would sign up for paid activities like white water rafting and horseback riding. They would request new bed sheets because another camper peed in their bed or planted water balloons. Without fail I always had a camper fall in love with me. I would always take this opportunity to mooch sodas off them for me and my desk mate Chelle. HEY! Don't judge! These kids came to camp with an extravagant amount of money usually blown on junk food. I simply presented my parched throat to which they gladly bought 2 sodas to two beautiful underpaid camp office staff. It worked out great!
On Monday evening and after registration and settling into their cabins and meeting their counselor, all 500ish teen campers filed into the gym for an hour of orientation. The camp director discussed general rules that would get you kicked out of camp during this time. One specific Monday evening at the beginning of his orientation rant, the camp director decided to mention the importance of taking care of the money you brought for the week. He waved a $20 bill in the air and proclaimed he found this $20 bill on the sidewalk. For the remainder of the orientation hour all the campers heard was the sound of Charlie Brown's teacher as they focused on this $20 bill.
As the Monday night 9 o'clock hour rolled around I sat by my window balancing money bags for activities around the camp. Eyes closing a bit. Tired. Ready for bed. The campus was quiet while the teens were sitting in the gym planning all their naughtiness for the week. A few moments after their release from the gym and like the slow motion lifting of a dam wall, a horde of determined campers headed straight to my window. Every camper in line had lost $20. I feverishly took down names and cabin numbers while cursing the name of my director and presenting my exhausted fake smile.
After a nice Tuesday breakfast a young man named Gary Jenkins came to my window. He was 13, awkward, short for his age and fat. His chubby cheeks forced his eyes to continually squint and he hobbled as he walked. Gary Jenkins was a bully. Period. I happily slid my window open for my first customer!
Me - Hi there!! how can I help you this morning?
Gary - I lost $20. I stopped by last night but I haven't heard if my $20 was found.
Gary's fists were tense. As he spoke he would grind his teeth and even spit a little hoping to express to me in early teen mafia fashion. I needed to give him $20. After this transaction he would be on his way and I would never see his face again. Gary Jenkins WAS getting $20. Period. I smiled again, wrote down his cabin #, counselor and we both went on with our day.
Wednesday morning, engulfed in balancing money bags again, I heard a LOUD knock at my window causing my heart to RACE and shoot straight out of my chair. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! It was Gary Jenkins. As I slid the heavy window open for the first time that day, I didn't even get it opened and inch when Gary exclaimed in a voice much louder that yesterday, "HEY! DID YOU FIND MY TWENTY DOLLARS?!?!" Taking a deep breath helping me to regain composure, I smiled at this young man and said, "No sir. We have not found your twenty dollars." His response, "WELL MY NAME IS GARY JENKINS AND I WANT MY TWENTY DOLLARS BACK AND I WANT IT NOW." His spit covered my paperwork as he yelled. I reassured him we were doing everything we could to find his $20 and when we found it I would personally deliver it.
Thursday morning something amazing happened that I will never forget. I was ready for Gary Jenkins. In the distance I recognized the hobble of the sheep dog haired chunky early teen heading straight to my window. I opened it LONG before he got there. I was standing with hands on my hips. I was ready! As Gary approached my window he saw I meant business. In a calmer tone - realizing you attract flies with honey not vinegar - he asked, "Ummm . . . .Hi . . . .umm . . Have you seen my twenty dollars?" I leaned forward with my face now extended out the window, my nose and eyes level with his, and in a low but intense and deliberate tone told him we had not found his twenty dollars.
I realized the only way to communicate effectively to Gary would be to communicate to him the way he communicated. I learned the language of Gary Jenkins.
That day I realized I am the only person in the world that thinks and communicates the way I do. I am unique. Let that sink in for a bit.
Gary Jenkins never came back to my window. Friday morning he came around to the main desk in the camp office to harass the other secretaries for his twenty dollars. I peeked around the corner, made eye contact with Gary shooting him a smile and a little wave.
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