Kraft Canoeing Kaper Storyline by Shelley Milligan

Introduction 2

It was 1988. I was in the 9th grade, a lowly freshman, participating in a very "popular" and active Girl Scout troop with other girls that were older than me. The other girls in the troop were very much members of the "in crowd" at the high school and I definitely looked forward to time to prove my own "coolness" to these girls. I was new to this senior level of Girl Scouting as well, and eager to prove my skills at scouting-types of activities.

Our troop took one outdoor trip each month, and the September event that fall involved a 15 mile canoeing adventure down the Allegheny River, complete with camping the evening before and after Saturday's canoe trip. Leaders and scouts traveled to the campsite late Friday afternoon and evening, spent Saturday learning to canoe and making the 15 mile journey, and returned Saturday night to the campsite before departing for home Sunday late morning.

The weather this particular weekend was fairly miserable but typical western Pennsylvania: overcast and cool, high temperatures in the low 60's and evening lows in the upper 40's. As can be imagined, after a strenuous 15 mile canoe trip, most participants were not only physically exhausted but hungry bordering on ravenous. Being industrious and "cool" Girl Scouts, we cooked our dinner in small patrols (groups of 5-8 girls each) over campfires. I had the good fortune to be assigned to a patrol which included the Homecoming Queen (a senior) as well as two cheerleaders and other "very important" girls. We planned to fix chicken tenders, macaroni and cheese, and salad.

Anxious to prove my culinary prowess, I offered to help cook. Jennifer, the Homecoming Queen, suggested that I make the macaroni and cheese. She talked to me! Me, a lowly freshman and new member of Troop 229! I eagerly grabbed the familiar- looking box of Kraft macaroni and cheese and headed to the fire. I conveniently neglected to mention to the others in the patrol (or admit to myself, perhaps) that I had never actually made macaroni and cheese before. Mom made it all the time, though, right? I'd be fine. Now, fixing Kraft macaroni and cheese is not tantamount to rocket science. Following the simple directions on the side panel yields a tasty meal of nutritious pasta and delights young and old alike. I, however, being the perfect Girl Scout, progressive freshman, and wildly popular and cool young member of this patrol, nonchalantly discarded the macaroni box -- only ignorant middle school scouts need directions.

Like all gourmet chefs using a campfire, I knew to prepare enough water to cover the macaroni. Once the water boiled, I smartly added the dry pasta. Unfortunately, however, my deft cooking skills must have floated down river because in addition to adding the pasta to the water, I immediately also added the margarine, the milk, and the cheese packet. So, to set the scene, picture a gawky fourteen-year-old stirring macaroni, milk, butter, and cheese with two cups of not-yet-boiling water, all the while anticipating scoring big points from popular upperclassmen for her consummate cooking skills.

As the 7-10 minutes of boiling time drew to a close, I realized that I needed to drain the pasta. At carefully-timed minute 8, as I secured my strainer and studied my boiling pasta,

2 ready to drain the water, panic seized my entire being. All of a sudden, the stupidity of my mistake dawned over me as I realized that I had prematurely added all the ingredients. I should have added the butter, milk, and cheese after draining the pasta. How could I have been so foolish? What would everyone say? This mistake might have been excused or overlooked in a normal situation, but we were literally ready to eat bugs, we were so hungry.

I didn’t want to drain the macaroni for fear of losing the flavor of the cheese (and butter.) I didn't want to tell anyone about my dilemma because then my incredible ignorance would be more than obvious. I didn't want to think about what the Homecoming Queen would say. I didn't want to face the prospect of not eating macaroni and cheese for dinner -- the chicken wasn't looking so good.

In my panic, I decided to pretend as if nothing was wrong and drain the pasta normally, serving the macaroni as if I had prepared everything exactly as specified on that long-lost side panel of the Kraft box. Jennifer hollered over to me, asking if I was almost done. I replied yes, and calmly took the boiling pot of water away from the campfire to drain it. I selected a spot close to the fire so as to not stray too far and poured the liquid (and most of the cheese flavoring) onto a nearby log.

As our patrol went through the food line, I prayed that no one would notice the incredibly pale macaroni lacking any semblance of cheese flavoring or coloring. It was nighttime and dark, after all - how would anyone notice the pasta wasn't that shameful orange color? Unfortunately, famished stomachs create superhuman visibility even at night, and Jennifer (of all people!) asked me what happened to the macaroni. Apparently the blush that overcame my face and neck was visible to these x-ray-vision-charged upperclassmen, because they knew at once that something was wrong based on my reaction. I felt I had to "confess the error of my youth" and sheepishly explained my situation to my friends. "What's wrong with just Kraft macaroni?" I asked, omitting the "and cheese" from the familiar name. "Who needs the cheese?" Needless to say, I was the butt of many a joke - "Who wants Shelley to cook with their patrol?" and "Shelley, have you never had macaroni and cheese before? Do you not know to drain the pasta first?" "Does anyone want any Kraft macaroni and nothing? We have plenty of extra."

Just when I thought the embarrassment was over, I again became painfully aware of my clumsiness. As we gathered to eat the chicken and salad (while some brave souls bared the macaroni), I prepared to sit down near the fire, clad in my only clean and dry pair of jeans. I so luckily chose to sit on a log conveniently located just high enough above the dirt so my backside wouldn't be wet by sitting on the dew-covered ground. I sat down, still joking and laughing (or trying to!) about my macaroni mishap. About three minutes into dinner (funny how loosely one might define that word when camping!), I felt dampness creeping into my once-dry jeans. Not only had I ruined the beloved macaroni and cheese, but I unknowingly sat directly on the same spot on the same log where I had minutes earlier drained the infamous water, cheese, milk, and butter mixture!

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This cooking escapade forever marked me as "chef" in the Girl Scout troop and actually gave our patrol something funny to bond over. In some senses, humor helped alleviate a very stressful and tense day. We were physically exhausted after exerting ourselves for many hours canoeing on a chilly fall afternoon and none of us particularly relished the prospect of cooking dinner over the campfire. That we could laugh about something as opposed to feeling like we had to perform exactly right (as we had when canoeing down a fast and at points, dangerous, river) came as a welcome relief. Truthfully, my worst fears did not become realities: the "cool" girls I tried so desperately to impress did not shun or reject me socially but rather adopted me as a "hopeless cause" in many respects. They enjoyed telling my macaroni story to their friends in the troop and claiming me as part of their patrol.

Morreall (1997) talks about how humor is the opposite of stress, and in this instance that is certainly the case. While I pretended to be calm and collected, my nerves overwhelmed me at times during this trip and probably not more so then when cooking for other, older girls. Additionally, part of me worried that the girls would be angry with me for spoiling part of a dinner for which they were long past famished. Again, Morreall talks about humor blocking anger, that one can't simultaneously be angry with someone and laughing at/with them (1997, p. 70). By infusing my confession with sarcasm and self-deprecating humor, I averted a potentially hostile situation with irritable teen-agers. As a freshman, self-consciousness took on new meaning and gaining popularity or acceptance with others occupied most of my purpose in life. The distance of time that Morreall outlines (1997, p. 41) certainly helps in understanding the humor behind the macaroni and cheese caper. The more time that passes between the actual event and today, the easier it is to see how situational humor not only diffused stress, prevented anger, but also bonded a group socially by building morale and camaraderie and providing a natural point of reference to which to refer later (Morreall, 1997, p. 132).

I suppose that I took several important lessons from this catastrophe: firstly, I learned to quit pretending to be someone I am not, that even in an embarrassing situation, I'd rather be myself (and admit to not knowing how to do everything) than to try to be who I think I should be (and risk losing that game, anyway). I learned that laughing at myself provided a natural escape for a problematic situation and that humor provided an easy way to apologize for a mistake (Morreall, 1997, p. 146). I learned that in the big picture, adding ingredients early to macaroni and cheese does not cause an earthquake or loss of life. Humor, even in the situation, reminded everyone of proper perspective. Yes, we may have been slightly hungrier at breakfast Sunday morning, but this event did not cause anyone to remember the trip any less fondly or have less of a positive experience. Sadness, anger, and frustration were not necessary emotions when the enjoyment of humor was an available substitute.

My mother is a home economist and a gourmet cook: when I arrived home Sunday afternoon to report my culinary debut (and its subsequent failure), you can bet more laughs erupted. You can imagine that a crash-course in campfire cooking resulted from my heartache, and October's rock climbing adventure featured my preparing a wonderful vegetable creation Mom taught me for Jennifer, the cheerleaders, and others whom I had

4 so recently let down. I told Mom then, as I continue to tell her now, that cooking, housekeeping, gardening, all the tasks at which she excels -- "Mom, those things skip a generation."

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