This weekend, my girlfriend KW came into town from the mitten state and we went camping. The noise police was on patrol, and we were notified twice to keep our voices to a whisper. Quiet time began at 10pm, and we received our first verbal assault at 10:15pm. Ranger Danger was on POINT.
After several (muted) beer pong games, we all settled in for a long winter's nap. But what we thought would be a peaceful slumber turned into Nightmare on Elm Street when we were awoken around 4am to the sounds of blood-curdling screeches coming from a neighboring tent.
I shot up in my sleeping bag, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I heard the screams again.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! MY ARMMMMMMMM! IT'S BROKENNNNNNNNN!"
Holy crap. What was going on?
"CAROL. GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THE TENT."
"Yes, you can. It's OPEN. Just get out."
"I CAAAAAAAAAAAAN'T! MY ARM IS BROKENNNNNNN!"
"Carol. Walk towards the door. It's unzipped."
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" (Fierce rustling sounds -- apparently Carol was battling a raccoon?)
We crawled out to get a better view of the action. Carol's screams continued for about 5 minutes, while her friend coached her blindly toward the door. Yelling finally diminished to muffled sobs, and it was clear that she had found her way out of the labyrinth.
Whatever became of Carol? Did she really break her arm? Or was she just a victim of an acid trip gone wrong? The world may never know. But I'll be checking the police blotter for an update on her status.