Been a while, hasn’t it? If you didn’t know, I was off in Woodburn, Oregon for the second edition of my church’s week-long mission trip. It was fun, I admit, but I could have done with less little kids and praying. Less of both, I mean. But then again, the lack of scraping paint and washing buildings with bits of denim rags was a plus. Now, if I can find my little journal thing, I will relate the bits of the trip I remember. Note: these are not necessarily in order.
Cast of Characters (B-Unit):
Me (aka Code-Lo)
Sarah Tviet (aka Little Tweet)
Michelle Reichert (aka Mishizzle)
Lindsay Thomason (aka Sparky)
Clayton Farrel (aka Blue Jeans)
Jackie Peterson (aka Jackay)
Mary Brown (aka Da Mar)
Katie Pollatz (aka Special K)
Pastor Mary Bosell (aka El Pastor) <–chaperone
Millie Fosberg (aka Mudda Mil) <–chaperone
“Hide and freak” - I believe it was Wednesday that this happened. Okay, so we were over at Russel’s house (Russel is a member of a Mennonite youth group in Woodburn, cool guy) for a barbeque. It was fun, but eventually we had to leave (duh). That night was clear and dark with a particularly full moon (a large one too, we watched it rise), so Clayton and I freaked out Jackie and Mary (two very easily scared girls). It was the usual stuff. “Oh look, a werewolf!” and “Rattlesnakes can float through cars…” and the like. There was one point where I made a very soft howling noise. THAT got a rise out of the two. That’s not all, though. When we got back to the church we were staying at (Immanuel Lutheran, nice place, easily screwed-up soundboard), the two evil masterminds (meaning Clayton and me) faked everyone out by pretending there was somebody in the church. We simply flashed lights down the stairs and made loud noises and everyone else let their imaginations run amok. It was fun, even if it was later determined that Clayton had told everyone except Mary and Katie, the two of whom later chased us into the bathroom. Ah, good times.
Host families - So there’s this place called Nuevo Amanecer (you Spanish-speaking kids can figure out what that means), which is a major housing development specifically for migrant farmworkers in the Woodburn area (there are a lot of ‘em). We all had the chance to stay with some families in the complex and sort of, I don’t know, “mesh” with the culture. I have to say, in my case, it didn’t quite work out like that. I just went in, ate their food, slept, took a shower, said “grassy-ass” a lot, and left. It wasn’t all my fault, the lady didn’t speak any English and the guy just yelled a lot in the manner that half-deaf dudes yell. Not a life-changing experience, but an experience nonetheless.
Eminem guy - I never saw this guy for myself (although I did see someone who looked amazingly like Vanilla Ice), but the girls in the group were sure some white dude looking like Eminem was following them around on a skateboard and later a “stolen” bike. I don’t know. Those girls…
“Mila-hee”, or “that sodo moto song” - You wouldn’t have guessed it by what Michelle was calling it, but this was really “Dragostea Din Tei”, by O-Zone, also known as the Numa Numa Song. On the way down to Oregon, I put in some my most excellent mix CDs and this song came up. The lives of those in the car at the time would never be the same. By this, I mean they wanted to play the song 24/7. Of course, this is the type of song that you like a lot, but not that much, so I was forced to hide that particular CD in various places in order to preserve the sanity of those in the general vicinity. Besides, they just kept butchering it! “Fetucinni, mozarella! Mila-HEE! Mila-HA!” and so on. No clue where that mysterious “el” sound came from. It’s “miya” for anyone who cares.
Prank phone calls - Ah, one of the best prank phone calls of all time. So, first crank call of the trip, I call Russel. I was planning on pulling the old funeral home trick, but for some odd reason, the following popped into my head:
“Hey, Russel. I saw your profile on MySpace and I gotta say…wow. You’re such an interesting guy. We should hang out sometime and…get to know each other. Call me back. Later.”
This was all said in a creepy stoned/gay voice. Perhaps it’s my subconscious trying to show the real me…just kidding. I’m straight. Straight enough, if the porn on my computer has anything to say about it. Kidding again. Forget I ever said that. Anyways, other prank calls involved a fake funeral home. Invariably, I called someone and said, in the most depressed, drawling voice (think “Beuller…Beuller”) “Rawlings Funeral Home, your loss is our gain,” and continue on with a fake confirmation for an order of some insanely expensive (or inexpensive in some cases) casket. This got a couple threats, and, in retrospect, was a tad bit on the morbid side, but it was funny at the time.
Yeah, there was a lot more, but my fingers are falling off one by one (oops, there goes my left thumb…and my right pinky…dang) and I’m tired from working with my uncle, who I now firmly believe is a sadist. But at least he pays fairly. Seven bucks an hour. I got sixty-three bucks. So that figures out to be…nine hours between today and yesterday. Five yesterday and four today. And I’ll bet there’s more work to come…See, he’s building a deck on his shop and my cousin (the ex-Navy AWOL guy) was supposed to come out and help. He didn’t, so here I am breaking my back (and my arms, and my legs) instead. I hate you, Zach. No, not really. But I’m really going to take up Pastor Mary’s offer on that Pizza Factory job…or Double Barrel BBQ. I don’t care. I just want fair pay, a large chunk of my paycheck, and NO HARD LABOR. That last is a must. I don’t want to get enough money to buy an iPod and a car stereo at the expense of not being able to use them for lack of useable arms.
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