Suzi Foltz: What I did on my summer vacation
One person doesn’t take up much space. A person on vacation takes up a bit more space; you have to factor in all of their clothing, toiletries, in some situations bedding, snacks, and any extra things they need. Now picture a teenager on vacation…or even, god forbid, a teenage girl on vacation.
The scenario I was thrown in at the beginning of summer was even worse than that. It was six teenagers, two male, 4 female, all in one room, with only one bathroom.
Months ago, when the trip was in the planning stages, the group size had been 8 people and we had looked into getting a house rather than just a room. This setup would still have had just one bathroom, but it would have given us a kitchen and multiple bedrooms. However, due to people dropping out of the trip and last minute housing transfers we ended up in our little home away from home; the King’s Crown room at the Ocean Surf Club in North Myrtle.
King’s Crown is a bit of overstatement. The room had 4 beds; two doubles that the girls took and a bunk bed for the guys (yes bunk beds. Just like summer camp). Our room was also equipped with a partial kitchen; a mini fridge and a microwave that we took full advantage of with our many packages ramen noodles, easy mac, and my own personal addition, instant coffee.
Other amenities of the King’s Crown included a set of beach chairs that could be taken out of the room for use either on the balcony or beach. We however did neither due to a large questionable stain on one of the chairs that became known as the birthing chair or the labor chair.
Lucky us though, we did have a television with a DVD player! Unfortunately the DVD player didn’t work; a discovery that I didn’t make until after redboxing a movie. The TV itself did work and I will shamefully admit that I probably watched more MTV in that one week than I have in my entire life.
Another interesting side note is the amazing 24 hour beer pong champions that we got to call our neighbors. Whether it was 4 p.m., 2 a.m., or 9 a.m., you could always hear the little pattering of a ping pong ball through the not so thick walls of the Ocean Surf Club. This noise occasionally had added to it yelled curse words, laughter, cheers, an intermittent female voice, and the song stylings of Lil Wayne.
Despite all of the little fall backs, we were in all honesty quite content. I can’t speak for all of the others, but this was the first time I had ever purchased a room on my own. Don’t get me wrong, I had stayed away from home without my parents, but it’s always been with their aide. This tacky little room with a dusting of sand and a dripping noise that came from the air vent at night was all ours.
That week we became our own little unit/clan/family thing. I knew exactly who would take the longest in the shower. Who was most likely to wake up first. Who was mostly likely to wake others up by jumping on top of them and yelling insults at them. Who got cranky when they didn’t have food. Who all actually brushed their teeth at night (this statement doesn’t really need a “who all” since it was just one other person and myself). Who would borrow my hair dryer or my cocoa butter body lotion. Who would have to try on at least 3 outfits before choosing one for the club. And who would be willing to walk on the beach with me, even at 3:30 in the morning.
The week was one I’ll always remember and probably compare other future beach trips to. The group will be parting ways to further their education and to figure out their lives not only in different parts of Virginia, but in different parts of the country. However, we will always have the sketchy, noisy, sandy, overcrowded, and wonderful King’s Crown Room.
Suzi Foltz is a rising freshman at George Mason University.
Suzi Foltz: I must have a friendly face
Okay, so you’re driving in your car by yourself. It’s been a long day. A song you like has just come on the radio and there are no other cars around. What are you going to do? You’re going to blast the volume up about ten notches and sing along. At least that’s what you do if you’re a teenager, but I assume it works for all age categories.
Needless to say, yesterday when I was driving to pick up a friend and I heard a song that I was rather fond of; I turned my volume from a rather quiet 15 to about 30. I was stopped at a red light on Tinkling Springs Road, alongside Eaver’s Tire in Fishersville.
At this point there was some definite head shaking going on and knowing my stupidity, there was probably some hand motions as well. During the course of my routine I happened to look over and see and older man in a pickup truck in the lane next to me staring right at me.
More than this, he had his window down and could probably hear my music; though I doubt he’d recognize the song. It took me several seconds to realize that he was actually talking to me. I turned down my music to silence, rolled down my window, and asked him to repeat himself.
He asked if the road we were on would get him to the interstate. Yes, it would. He looked at me another second; probably debating my intelligence and elaborated his question saying Interstate 64, the one that would take him over the mountain. Yes, it still would. My intelligence probably should have been debated though; I hand been seat-dancing just seconds before.
Encounters like this don’t happen to me very often. Most people these days have GPS’s or don’t trust random people enough to ask for directions at a stoplight, especially teenage girl drivers (we have a bad reputation). However, this same situation was repeated again today.
On my way to the office, I was blasting my radio to shake off any remaining sleepiness. Different genre, different song, same scenario. I was stopped at the red light by El Puerto when I happen to notice another older man sitting in the car next to me staring at me. Already anticipating what would happen I turned down my music and began to roll down my window.
The man asked me how to get to Hardee’s. Although, he had a smooth drawn out southern accent that made it sound more like Haaaardee’s. I told him to stay on 250 a bit longer; it was coming up on the right and then drove on when my light changed.
I don’t get asked for directions that often. People know I’m not good at giving them. I have lived in the area for most of my life, about 16 years of my almost 18 years, but my instructions are sometimes messy. Most people like hearing street names rather than that road with the big tree on the corner, or that road by the restaurant that was an Italian restaurant and then wasn’t. Or they want an exact exit number, rather than “well, I think it’s 94. There’s a Home Depot…”
I reckon I just have a friendly face that looks like it knows where it’s going.
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Oh, Bloody High School
“Can you tell me your full name and your birthdate?”
“Name; Suzanne Patterson Foltz. Birthday; June 4, 1999…oh my god, no. Not ’99, ’93. I was born June 4, 1993. Sorry.”
“Okay…”
Why would I say ’99? That would make me only eleven years old. Eleven year olds can’t donate blood. I hope I don’t look eleven. They probably just assume I’m nervous. Hell, I am nervous. Shouldn’t be nervous. I’m sure thousands of people do this everyday. A few dozen from my school have already done it today and nothing bad happened to them. Although I’m a mentorship student so I haven’t really been here all day… For all I know they could have pulled in a couple ambulances and had the entire floor bleached washed from all the blood spilled… God, I’ve been watching too much Snapped.
I donated blood last year though, so I shouldn’t be worried. Granted, it didn’t go so well last year. I wasn’t able to fill a bag. Apparently I have great platelets. Uhm, thank you? This caused me to clot too quickly and not have a steady outward flow of blood to the bag. Or maybe they just didn’t hit the vein right and didn’t want to admit it. Don’t know how they’d do that though; I’m incredibly pale and have rather prominent veins, a trait inherited from my mother’s side. Hey mom!
“Come on over here to this little booth and Mike will help you out.”
“Hi Mike.” Insert crazy laugh here (I don’t know why).
Mike was nice. He explained everything that he was doing; checking my vitals and whatnot. Rather calming.
“Alright, now I’m gonna prick ya.”
Okay, not so calming. But I knew it was coming. Distract yourself Suzi. Make conversation.
“So…you make anyone cry today?”
Well dang, that was an awful thing to ask.
“No, not yet. But I have in the past. Blood drive at Bridgewater. The entire football team wanted to donate and this one big guy burst into tears. Big sissy. Rest of them made fun of him all day.”
I found this oddly calming.
The pricky-thing was set up and he asked for my hand. I did a crazy sort of jazz hand motion as I tried to decide which hand to use and settled on the left. Then I looked around for something to focus on rather than my finger. Uhm…athletic trophies, table of snacks, free t-shirts, fountain outside the window…wait, we have a fountain?
“We have a fountain?”
I don’t know why I asked Mike. I was the student here. I came into this building everyday. Gosh, I’m oblivious.
“Oh, yeah you do. They installed it this morning when we were setting up.”
Yay! I’m not completely dumb. And the finger pricking was over. Not bad at all.
The next step was a series of questions I had to answer on a little tablet screen. Have I had malaria? No. Have I lived in the U.K. for a time that equaled up to five years? No. Have I served in the military? No. Have I had sex in exchange for drugs, money, or other payment? No. Have I had sex with a man who has had sex with a man? No. Have you taken an aspirin in the past 72 hours? Oh my gosh, yes. Beside the question they had a little picture of a bottle of Bayer. I had in fact, taken a Bayer. The tablet screen knew… I shamefully clicked the yes button with the stylus.
The questions continued on for quite a bit and I stood up when I was finished and was redirected to my next helper, Bill. He clicked through the system and then paused and looked up at me.
“You took an aspirin?”
“Yes… Before work. On Saturday. Just two. I had a headache.”
He smiled and continued clicking, then told me to go sit in one of the donor chairs.
The chairs were like stretchers and could be propped up at different angles. I sat in it awkwardly. Not sure of what to do with my feet. I kept crossing them and uncrossing them. Why did I wear white to a blood drive? Seemed like an odd color choice at this point. Bill came back and cinched my arm to get the veins to stick out more. Then the nervousness came back again.
I wonder how big the needle is. I can’t remember from last year. If I can’t remember it must not have been that big. Either that or it was so big that I am suppressing that terrible memory. I’ve never had a problem with flu shot needles or IVs when I’ve needed them. Deep breaths. Drugees do it all the time. Why would I think that? Why am I thinking so fast?
I was handed a rubber stress ball-like object and told to squeeze three times and hold the squeeze on the fourth count. Bill would count with me. One…two…three…four and hold.
The needle was in. I won’t lie, it hurt a bit going in, but not enough for me to get as worked up as I had. I was fine. I kept rolling the little stress-relief object as instructed and kept taking deep breaths. At one point my finger hit something. I looked over to see what it was. My fingers had been brushing against my little tube. The little tube was red. Well not red, but it was filled with red liquid; my blood. My blood was coming out of me from that point in my arm…
“I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
“Yeah, I thought you were looking kind of pale.”
I’m always pale, how can people tell? My seat was adjusted, I was told to cough “like I meant it”, an ice pack was placed on my neck, and I was offered orange juice. Mmm orange juice. I was feeling much better, just couldn’t look directly at it or think about it too much. People are always saying find your happy place, maybe that works. I let my mind wander. Hmm maybe hiking? Somewhere in the mountains. With a lake. No, a creek. And lots of rocks to jump to and from across the creek. Sunny day in…August? Picnic lunch with a PB&J. My “happy place” face must not be that pleasant, because a nurse came up and asked if I was alright. I was.
The rest of my donation went fine. I just sat there. The removal of the needle didn’t feel that unusual; happened really quickly. I selected blue as my bandage color, which Bill wrapped and added a pink bow (made of the bandage material) to. After a few minutes I got up to leave, stopping at the table to grab my free t-shirt.
My vision began to get a bit cloudy like it does sometimes when you stand up too quickly. It’d go away in a second. I wanted a medium sized shirt. I grabbed for the second pile and looked at the tag. My vision was worse and I could barely make out the M on the tag. I turned slowly and headed back to my chair. I reached my hand out to find it.
“I think I need another minute of sitting.”
“I think we need another orange juice.”
Yes…
After about a minute I was fine again, but Bill told me not to move yet. I instead watched all the other donors; I could handle this. One guy was having the needle placed him. One girl was sitting drinking juice too. Apple. People were waiting in the booths answering their questions. All of a sudden I noticed that one girl was passing out. A nurse noticed the same minute I did. Three of them rushed over to her and immediately took out her needle and placed her bag to the side. Her chair was adjusted, ice packs were brought, and they began asking her is she could hear them and if things were getting clear. I had remained oddly calm during all of this, just observing. Either I was completely drained from my own donation or I was self-centered and only cared if it was happening to me. I decided it was the first as my mouth searched around for my bendy straw.
All in all, I’d say it was a good experience. Despite all of the moments I was nervous or freaked myself out, it truly is for a great cause. My own curiosity lead me to the Virginia Blood Services website where I learned that if only one more percent of all Americans would give blood, blood shortages would disappear for the foreseeable future. There are four main red blood cell types: A, B, AB and O. Each can be positive or negative for the Rh factor. AB is the universal recipient; O negative is the universal donor of red blood cells. (My own blood type is O negative). In Virginia healthy adults who are at least 16 and weigh at least 110 pounds may donate about a pint of blood – the most common form of donation – every 56 days, or every two months. Sixteen year old donors must have written parental consent to donate. One pint of blood can save up to three lives. About 1 in 7 people entering a hospital need blood. Only 38 percent of the U.S. population is eligible to donate blood – less than 10 percent do annually. Someone needs blood every two seconds. Females receive 53 percent of blood transfusions; males receive 47 percent.
Blood donation is a safe procedure using single use sterile supplies. It is normally a pleasant experience, and drinking plenty of fluids and eating well prior to donation can reduce donor reactions. The donation process may occasionally cause nausea, vomiting, dizziness, fainting, tenderness, bruising, bleeding, nerve damage, or even infection at the site.
It’s been one day since my donation and so far there have been no problems. I had to take a nap yesterday, but that’s really not that unusual. My arm has a little dot where the needle was but that can be fun to show off.
If you have any questions regarding your or your child’s decision, call Virginia Blood Services Customer Service Advocate at 1.800.989.2201 or the Donor Advocate at 1.800.989.3666. To learn more or find a donation site, visit www.vablood.org.
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Congratulations Class of 2011…Maybe
I never really thought that planning a graduation would be all that difficult.
Yes, it is a big deal for all the students and all the parents, grandparents, and lifelong friends who attend, but the actual planning and scheduling of it shouldn’t be that hard, right? It’s an event that every single high school has had to plan every single year of their existence, so there are plenty of guidelines in place. However, my school, Wilson Memorial High School, keeps having bouts of confusion and mishaps.
At the beginning of the year it was just assumed that my class would graduate at the JMU Convocation Center like the last couple of classes from our school had done. I went there for both my older sister and one of my brothers. It’s a nice building that seats 7,612, and it fit all of our school’s needs fine. We were then informed that the center would be having renovations done and that we would need to look for another venue.
At this point it was thought that we would just hold the graduation at the high school. (Insert disappointed sigh here). In theory this isn’t a bad idea. It’s where you met some of the people you’ll be sitting with. It’s where you tripped in the hallways and found out “that she said that he said that they were…etc”. It’s where you earned the diploma that you will be parading up to get. But it is not exactly pleasant.
The ceremony is supposed to take place on the football field. It would probably have enough room for everyone to be present; it’s what Waynesboro and some other schools do. It’s the plan B to this outside setting that is dreadful.
Plan B (to occur in event of inclement weather): The ceremony takes place in the gym. Each student is limited to 2 guests. All overflow guests will sit in the auditorium and watch their loved one/family obligation graduate on a screen.
This was the setup when my oldest brother graduated. My parents went to the gym and I went to the auditorium. Both rooms were full, hot, and miserable. I did not want this for my own graduation. If there were a way to guarantee that it would be on the field, I’d go along with it. But our school tends to be unlucky with stuff like that so…
This semester we we’re told that it had been decided our ceremony would be held at Eastern Mennonite University, June 4 at 10 a.m. I do not know much about their facility, but it’s got to be better than the divide and suffer method. So I and the rest of my class (at the ones that will be able to graduate) were placated. It was smooth sailing for a bit after that; everyone ordered caps and gowns and were able to at least tell their parents where they would be.
Last week, Jostens, the company that we do all of our school memorabilia ordering from (class rings, yearbooks, graduation, etc.), brought in our orders. Try on your cap, try on your gown, hand everything else over to Mama.
However, another mistake had occurred. The graduation announcements had a misprint in the address of EMU. Apparently I will be graduating in Harrisburg rather than Harrisonburg. Road trip to Pennsylvania anyone? Jostens’s apologized and scheduled a reprint for all of the orders.
The reprints were delivered and all was well again. I do wonder how much this cost the company though. Also, not many people who receive a graduation announcement actually attend the ceremony because they live out of town or don’t actually know the child that well. Technically I could send out both sets. That way, twice as many people know and have the opportunity to be generous…
Maybe not. Oh well, as long as I graduate, I’m not too perturbed by the bumps along the way.
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: More is less, less is more
“Suzi? Are you feeling okay?”
“Uh…yeah?”
“You aren’t feeling sick or something?”
“No, I’m alright.”
“Oh. Did you oversleep? Just got out of bed?”
“No? I woke up around 8.”
“You just look…well, different.”
“Uh…I’m not wearing eye makeup.”
“Oh…sorry.”
Apparently me without at least some amount of eyeliner or mascara looks sickly. So much for guys who prefer the natural look…take that Seventeen, Cosmo, and People!
I’ve never been one to spend excessive amounts of time on my appearance. Yes, I bathe and I do own a curling iron that I pull out every now and then, but I’ve never been the type of person to wake up at 5:30 to be ready by 8:00. I have dyed my hair twice (not excessive), had one spray tan in my entire life (within the realm of sanity and before prom so I didn’t look whiter than my white dress), and I do wear makeup (all purchased from Wal-Mart or CVS because I’m not hardcore and I’m kind of cheap). I’m not a pumpkin colored teen whose hair smells like an old toaster oven and face looks as if Picasso has been given free range over it.
With this being said, I didn’t think it would be too noticeable if I skipped a day or two here and there, but people notice. The magazine articles I referred to before say that most people would rather see the “natural look”, I’m arguing that maybe they would rather see what they think is the natural look. This in actuality is at least some amount of foundation, shimmer, or mascara. Enough to cover up flaws but not be noticeable; subtlety. At least that’s how it seems to work for me.
Or maybe it just depends on how often that person sees me. For instance, if they only see me one a week they might not have a set image of my face in their head, at least not every precise detail. If it is someone I see everyday, or at least several days a week, then they have an expectation of what my face will look like. Think about the people in your lives; the ones that pick up when something’s different. The people who ask if you’ve gotten a haircut even if you’ve only had a short trim. The people who ask if it’s a new shirt, or a new way of parting your hair. These people you tend to be closer to as well, so they’d be more likely to flat out say if you look “…well different”.
I do admire a girl who can pull off the more daring makeup looks. The people who have winged eyeliner, mix eyeshadow, or wear lipstick in a way that doesn’t make them look like a clown/hooker (Note: do not do all of these at once). But I also admire a girl who can pull off the absolutely no makeup look.
To each their own. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and whatnot.
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Bathroom etiquette
Everyone does it, not many sit around talking about. Even I, who rambles on about everything, find bathroom discussions weird. I won’t disgust anyone talking about the process, but I would like to say that there should be some rules followed when using a public bathroom or one that is not your own. Maybe I’m just obsessive over little things (some of my friends find my little complaints amusing), but this is my weekly rant that I would like to share with you.
1. A bathroom is a bathroom, not a hangout. Do not go in there to stand; it’s weird. There are plenty better smelling places to talk to friend. I understand that sometimes its nice to leave class or your desk for a mini break, but don’t do it to just stand in a bathroom. Especially don’t give people “the glare” if they walk in. They aren’t interrupting you; they have just as much right to be in there as you. If you’re waiting on someone, there is some leeway, but don’t be there for an extended time.
2. Do not cozy up to an occupied stall. If I am in an empty bathroom with 8 stalls and I choose stall number 8, do not come in and choose stall number 7. If the bathroom is crowded it’s understandable, but if we are in an isolated room with only a 1 inch metal wall separating you from doing your business and me from doing mine, it’s weird. I don’t care if it’s your favorite stall or if you half way through a sharpie marker mural on the back of that stall’s door, just let me have my space. I’m not a guy and have never had to experience it, but I’ve heard the same rule should be applied to urinals.
3. Do not create “the awkward silence”. You probably know what I’m talking about. You have to go, you get in, and suddenly it’s quite…too quite. You know there’s another person is in the bathroom but they have made absolutely no noise. They are either a.) hanging out in the bathroom and not actually needing to use it (See #1), b.) having the same issue you are, or c.) are a ninja. You don’t really want the only noise to be the noise you make; it’s just strange and feels like they’re listening. The other person texting is not better. I’ve run into that before. It’s even weirder because then you know that they are present, are just hanging out, and are touching a phone whilst in the loo (highly unsanitary). Silence except for the rapid click, click, click. On the off chance they are having the same issue are you, maybe try to make some noise. Eww…not like that. And don’t bang on the walls like a lunatic. Go for something more subtle. Turn on the faucet, flush the toilet, rustle around some toilet paper. DO NOT HUM. Again, just weird.
4. Do not be a bathroom eater. This is one that you think would be kind of obvious because of the gross factor. The transfer of certain…substances…onto what you’re eating is just nasty. However, I have found this is not as clear of a rule as I thought. At work, when I’m assigned to clean bathrooms, I’ve noticed an abundance of food on the floor. Some people argue that they are just holding it because they had nowhere to put it. Lies… Have a friend hold it. No friends? Just leave the food where you were (this might not be applicable every place, but at a movie theater, which is where I work, it is). Paranoid someone will steal your precious food? Have an employee watch it at the counter. I’ve done that plenty of times for people and I respect them more for it.
5. Do not be astonished when a bathroom smells gross. It’s a bathroom, what did you expect. Yeah, as a teenage girl I understand sometimes complaining just comes naturally (See entire article), but don’t be amazed or act like it’s out of the ordinary. Especially don’t do this if you are just hanging out in there (See #1), because then you have to undergo this intense process call “Just leave the f***ing bathroom”.
6. If you make a mess or if something goes wrong, try to fix it. Yes, it is the employee’s job, and they will do it, but it’s nice to not have to mop up urine splatters or bathroom-eater’s spills (See #4). If your stall was out of toilet paper or if there is a clog, let a staff member know. If you’re at someone’s house this would be embarrassing, especially if you’re not to the “hey man, I clogged your toilet” level, but try to solve the problem as best you can.
These are all of the rules that I had presently on my mind, but there are probably many more out there. Please follow them or encourage others to do so. If you have one of your own, feel free to add it.
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Higher education and interesting situations-Laundry Day
Posted by afp on August 31, 2011 · Leave a Comment
Hmm…I hadn’t noticed anything. That might not be good, the smell could be me.
“I hadn’t noticed anything yet. We can Frebreeze the crap out of the room?”
“No, I think it’s just all the laundry that’s built up.”
And thus, Tuesday became laundry day.
I’ve never been scared of laundry. I’d done quite a few of my own loads back home in fact so I wasn’t nervous as I headed to the laundry room. I had with me my laundry basket full of cute first week of college outfits, Gain Apple Mango Tango, and matching dryer sheets.
As I walked I attempted to balance everything all on one hip so I’d have a free hand to pull out my ID card to get into the laundry; not the easiest task. I was still scrambling with this issue as I came to the door, where to my relief, someone held the door open for me.
Once in I looked around for a machine not in use…not many available. I suppose a lot of freshmen were starting to develop a smell.
“Ah crap.”
I looked over to see where this mumbled comment had come from. A tall dark-haired guy was sitting there scanning the machines with a perplexed look on his face.
“This your first time?” I offered with what I hope was an understanding tone.
“Yeah, well no, but I’ve only done like 3 loads of laundry in my entire life.”
We then exchanged names and I offered to help him out if I could.
This is a common example of many of the conversations I’ve had this first week at Mason. All of the freshmen seem to have the anyone-can-be-your-friend mentality; which is nice, especially if you don’t have many friends up here.
I tried shoving all of my clothes into the one machine, hoping that nothing fell on the ground. Mission failed. And of course with my luck it would be a bra. Oh well, it’s a college guy, he’s seen bras before.
I tried narrating everything I did so he could follow one step behind. Load clothes, pour detergent in here (this one took us both a second because the machine requested a certain slot in the machine), close the door, select the type of load. He insisted that his mother had told him to use cold water, so we figured out how to do that for Mr. Laundry-Room. After that final discovery we were done loading our first load of laundry on campus.
“I’m sure your mother would be proud.”
“Thanks. See you in 35 minutes for drying.”
Hmm laundry day might not be so bad.
Filed under Blogs · Tagged with college freshman, george mason university, laundry day, suzi foltz