TSA Spirit Night at Chick-fil-A
Come to Chick-fil-A of Waynesboro for dinner with your family and raise money for students in the Technology Student Association to be able to attend their national conference in Dallas, Texas. Be sure to come between 5 p.m. and 8 p.m. and tell the cashier at Chick-fil-A that you are with Wilson Memorial High School TSA, and a percentage of your order will be donated to your school! You are welcome to support your group through our drive-thru as well.
The Technology Student Association (TSA) is the only student organization devoted exclusively to the needs of students interested in technology. Open to students enrolled in or who have completed technology education courses, TSA’s membership includes over 150,000 middle and high school students in 2,000 schools spanning 48 states. TSA is supported by educators, parents and business leaders who believe in the need for a technologically literate society. Members learn through exciting competitive events, leadership opportunities and much more. The diversity of activities makes TSA a positive experience for every student. From engineers to business managers, our alumni credit TSA with a positive influence on their lives.
In the past the Wilson Chapter, advised by Maura Stout and Matthew Haskins, has traveled to Dallas, Texas; Nashville, Tennessee; Orlando, Florida; and Baltimore, Maryland, for the organization’s national conference. It’s a great opportunity to for a student to travel, meet new people, and learn more about technology.
The 2011 National TSA Conference will be held from June 21st to June 25th at the spectacular Gaylord Texan Resort in Grapevine, Texas in the greater Dallas area. During this annual conference over sixty middle school and high school technology based student competitions will be held. Also taking place will be leadership training, a career and education fair, and a program sponsored by TSA’s national service partner, the American Cancer Society. Approximately 4500 people from all across the country are expected to attend. This conference is an approved educational event by the National Association of Secondary School Principals.
Even if you aren’t involved or don’t know someone who is, just mention the name to help some kids make it to Dallas.
For more information on TSA, visit www.tsaweb.org or www.augusta.k12.va.us/66873391311749/site/default.asp.
Story by Suzi Foltz
Concert to raise funds for WMHS student group
On June 20 a group of five high-school students from Wilson Memorial High School will be going on trip to Spain. Barcelona or Bust is a concert being held Friday night at 7 p.m. in what is known as the school’s old gym as a fundraiser for the trip.
The cost will be $5 per person for attendance and can be purchased at the door. The will be food, drinks, and lots of dancing.
The bands scheduled to play are Good Will Thrifty, Voyage, Paradox, Los Maestros, and Scruffy Murphy. All of these groups are either student bands or teacher bands. The event is sure to be the greatest rock concert Wilson has ever seen! Come if you want to support the students and teachers participating. It’s sure to be a fun night.
For more information on Scruffy Murphy, visit http://scruffymurphyband.com/About_Scruffy.htm.
For more information on the event, visit www.augusta.k12.va.us/wilsonmemorialhs/site/default.asp.
Story by Suzi Foltz
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.
DCCU recognizes local scholarship winners
DuPont Community Credit Union recently announced the 20 scholarship winners at the 52nd Annual Membership Meeting. Since beginning the scholarship program over $172,000 has been awarded to high school seniors, and 180 seniors applied this year.
“We are very pleased to provide scholarships to this year’s 20 recipients,” said Everett J. Campbell, chairman of the DCCU Board of Directors. “Each winner receives a $1,000 award, and the Credit Union strongly believes that by assisting in furthering these students education it is a winning combination for both them and our community.”
Among the 2011 winners are: Michael Strickler, Buffalo Gap High School; Annie Shreckhise, Fort Defiance High School; Hope Kelliher, Robert E. Lee High School; Dalton Campbell, Riverheads High School; McKenzie Kirschnick, Stuarts Draft High School; Jonathan Isaacs, Waynesboro High School, and Jacqueline Kania, Wilson Memorial High School.
Rachel Whetzel, Broadway High School; Taylor Pumphrey, Central High School; Megan Berry, East Rockingham; Savanah Cary, Harrisonburg High School; Mark Gordon, Spotswood High School; Catherine Daugharty, Stonewall Jackson High School; Jenna Swanson, Strasburg High School, and Erica Estes, Turner Ashby High School.
Shasta Riley, Bath County High; Hayley Billingsley, Highland High School; Ethan Floyd, Parry McClure High School; Katie Frazier, Rockbridge High School, and Allison Acord, Out of Area Member.
To qualify for DCCU’s scholarship, a high school senior must submit an application and essay to the Credit Union. This year’s essay topic was: “Why receiving free money for college is important to my family and me.” The students are not required to be a member of the Credit Union or have interest in a financial career path. The Credit Union has scholarships available again after the start of the next academic year in 2012.
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: ‘Look, No Hands!’ vs. Death Grip
Up until last year, I had always been rather hesitant about amusement park rides. Things that threw your body into unnatural positions or had you upside down for any period of time were on my list of things to avoid. I didn’t hate roller coasters, I would just stick to the ones that were more old-fashioned; traditional. Come to think of it, these ones tend to be pretty old and wood and probably the less safe ones, but at the time in made sense in my mind. Last year however, a few of my friends decided to break me of this fear and said I had to ride at least one.
It had been a really hot day last April when I had gone to Kings Dominion with two friends and my sister. After the first few hours of wandering around and going on Suzi-proof rides, they decided they wanted to ride the Volcano. The volcano: a roller coaster involving fire, shooting out of a volcano, and being upside down at several points. Uhm…no.
I offered to sit out and just watch, but they were persistent, using supporting points like I was practically an adult and could handle it, they’d have an odd number without me and someone would have to ride alone, the rides are tested all of the time, people don’t die on roller coasters…often…
After a while I decided I had to do it. To fight my reasoning and fears for once. I was sixteen years old, I was supposed to love doing stupid things, and at that time, this was a stupid thing to me.
We got in line and waited for about an hour before we actually got to the ride. By then I had waited so long that I absolutely could not back out; you don’t pay money to go to an amusement park and stand around.
To be honest, I can’t remember much of the ride. I didn’t pass out or anything, it all just happened so fast. I remember starting out slow of the loading area and then all of a sudden we shot off; much faster than I had expected. When we shot out of the volcano I could feel my body jerking against the over the shoulder restraint lock; suspended in the area for brief seconds every now and then. Flash! There was the parking lot. Flash! There was some tree! Flash! That was the ground…above me. Flash! We were done.
I absolutely loved it.
I felt a huge sense of accomplishment as the attendant unlocked my seat and signaled for us to exit the loading area. I walked off astounded but then realized I was walking alone. I turned around to see the rest of my group staring at me skeptically.
“So…did you like it?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Well good…because that was like one of the worst upside down rides in the park and now all the others will be no problem!”
I hated them. I loved them. I hit them. I was laughing.
I went on two more roller coasters involving upside-down-ness that day: the Dominator and The Flight of Fear. Both of them were amazing to me and I finally understood why people would wait in lines for so long to ride them.
At this year’s Staunton Spring Carnival I even went on some questionable rides. In a way I feel these are worse than amusement park rides because at parks, even though the rides are bigger, they are stationary and regularly maitenanced. With carnival rides, the machines are moved around every week. What if one bolt wasn’t retightened quite enough? Or what if a piece wasn’t locked in properly during the move?
One ride was a room that spun so fast that the force would push you against a wall, and eventually lift you off the floor: Fun.
However, it didn’t have anything strapping you to the wall and the panels move purely by centrifugal force: Questionable.
We also rode a Ferris wheel sort of ride: Fun.
However, the carts could spin upside down and would leave you facing straight up or straight down for extend periods while people were loading and unloading: Questionable.
I fought through the sketchy aspects and ended up having a great time. I’d even recommend those rides…for anyone who is not easily nauseated.
I am not some sort of adrenaline junkie now, but I do plan to expand my acceptable rides list. I’m scheduled to go on another trip to Kings Dominion this week with some of the same people and this time I intend to do no waiting (except for maybe the Berserker, but you never know…).
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Saying yes to the dress?
“Why, hello! Welcome to (insert overly priced formal wear store name here). What are we looking for today?”
Okay, that was a simple enough one, “Well, a prom dress.”
“Do you have any certain styles in mind?”
“Not really. I haven’t narrowed it down and I’m kind of looking around at everything.”
“Alright then! Let me know if you do need anything!”
Yes! They’re going to leave me alone to myself to complain about how bad I look in orange and they won’t suggest animal prints encrusted with pounds of sequins.
“Do you know if you want long or short!?”
Damn, how did she get to the other side of the store so quick? And why didn’t I see her move?
“Probably long. Seems more prom traditional to me,” I said appeasing the attendant at least a little bit with instruction.
She gave quick nod and disappeared. I turned back to the rack I was flipping through, amazed by how many colors could be forced together on the same dress.
“Are ya looking for a solid? Or are ya more of a print gal!?”
This time she was smiling from the other end of the aisle.
Was I a “print gal”? Not typically, but that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to rule out every print in the building. It wasn’t fair to the good prints of the world.
“Not sure. Just kind of looking at everything.”
Quick enthusiastic nod #2 and gone. I resumed my perusing. Too bright, this would look better on my sister, way too much cut out of this, could I fit through the door, who wears sleeves on a prom dress?
“Are ya wanting ball gown, mermaid styled, cutouts!? Got any plan in mind?”
Geez woman, I am just browsing! This time she had managed to get right behind with an armful of dresses that she hoped to have me try on as if I was her Barbie. She needed to wear a bell like a cat so I could hear her coming. Honestly, how could she move so silently? Do dressing attendants have special training for that? I didn’t want to be rude, but I wanted to get out of there.
There’s a fine line between what can be seen as assisting or pestering. Yes, its nice to have someone there; help with zippers, let you know the prices or sizes, fetch things for you if you do have a plan in mind, but some of the fancier stores make me uncomfortable. Maybe these stores sell on commission and need you to get a dress for their sake, but it has always turned me off of a store. In my years of shopping, I’ve found that the stores I’m more comfortable are the smaller ones. These ones also happen to be less expensive. Sometimes this is because they might have older styles or a less fancy or lesser known line, but there are still some incredible dresses.
Two stores that I especially like are Augusta Cleaners in Waynesboro and the Fashion Gallery in Verona. Both of these locations have plenty of dresses available for less than $300 and keep a record of what school’s the sell to so that the purchaser is less likely to run into someone with the same dress at their prom. I was not instructed to promote these stores, but with all of the help they have given me in the past four years, I owe it to them.
Alice Barret at the Augusta Cleaners had helped my sister through all of her Homecomings, formals, and proms, and has extended this kindness to me. She is honest and will actually tell me if she thinks something looks bad. Whenever I have been stuck between multiple dresses in the past she has gotten a vote along with my mother, sister, and best friend. Also, the Cleaners provide alterations and cleaning for the formal wear, even if you didn’t purchase it there; definitely beneficial.
At the Fashion Gallery, I have always had an older woman, Jean, serve as my shopping specialist. She was there when I bought last year’s prom dress (only $120) and she was there when I bought this year’s dress (only $230). She always seems to have an actual invested interest in what I’ll be wearing, without badgering me, which I always appreciate. She has even asked me to bring a picture back of me and my date so she can see how we end up looking.
A prom is not a wedding. The day is not about you, it’s about your class. There are quite a few more color options. You may have more than one prom (I know it is possible to have more than one wedding, but the traditionalist part of my brain reminds me that there’s supposed to be just one). But it is important to a teenage girl (quite a few teenage boys too). That’s what I have been to four different dress shops, some multiple times, in the past two months. And I’m one of the more conservative female shoppers. Imagine how the hardcore dedicated shoppers are; everyone knows one and I’m sure someone just popped into your mind.
This past weekend my problems were solved. (Attention: if you’re male you might just want to skip over this paragraph.) I found a dress. Not too flash, not too plain, not too short, a smidge too long but alterations are only $30. It has a large floral pattern at the bottom and around the bodice (guess I was a bit of a “print gal”). The colors are majority white, with red and black; good colors for matching my date. While in the store, four other shoppers complimented it; always a good sign.
So there we are. Nothing more to worry about. Just the hair, makeup, shoes, dinner, pictures, what to do before and after, time constraints …
Suzi Foltz is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: At least now I know what the registration looks like
“Can I see your license and registration?”
Words that no one likes to hear. Words that I hadn’t had to hear with consequences to myself until Wednesday morning. Yes, I’ve heard it in movies and TV shows and when once my dad was pulled over and I happened to be in the car. I’ve even been pulled over twice myself before, but only due to a broken taillight that the officers wanted to inform me of. But never had I received my own personal yellow piece of paper summoning me to court.
It all started that morning before I came into the Augusta Free Press office. I was doing my usual morning activities; raiding the fridge for something to call breakfast, attempting to find matching socks, Facebook creeping, and drinking my daily glass of Sunny D (yes, I realize it’s not real orange juice…). Somewhere during this lovely routine I lost track of time and then noticed I had only 8 minutes before I had to be behind my desk where I’m writing this story now. I then grabbed all of the things I would need at school and the office, shoved them into my blue ’98 Volkswagen Bug, and took off.
I was driving down Old White Bridge Road, a rural road that is 55 mph with lower markings for specified curves. This is a road that I have driven down at least twice a day, every day since I’ve had my license; whether it’s for school, mentorship, work, or just to be able to see something that is not a cow field. So needless to say, it’s a road that I feel pretty comfortable on. I know the rough spots, I know how fast I can take the turns in my car, and I know all the little roads where a car could turn onto Old White Bridge. With all of this said, I was probably going a little too fast…
Towards the end of the road, you are entering the “city” of Waynesboro, and the road becomes residential and therefore is marked as 35 mph. At this point, I was honestly slowing down from whatever speed I had been going, but I suppose I did not do this in time, because the flashing blue lights appeared in my mirror.
The police car was all black, one of those undercover cop cars, the kind that frustrate drivers even more because they’re thinking they’re getting away with whatever they’re doing and then bam…pulled over.
I slowed my car to a stop as far over as I could, which wasn’t very far, because there is not much of a shoulder on this part of the road. My stopping point happened to also be right in front of the house of a friend of mine. I was silently thanking the fact that she was in school, and therefore not home to see this occurrence and text everyone in her phone about it, when the officer got out of his car.
Flashbacks of my sophomore year in Driver’s Ed class popped into my head. I could picture Coach Grove in his slow, slurred, southern accent saying alright, “if’n you’re gonna get pulled over you wanna be your politest. Make sure you have your winder down and your radio is cut off. Don’t be fiddlin’ with stuff. Ladies, don’t try to, ahem, promote yourselfs, cuz this’ll jist make it worse. Look em in the eye and say ‘yes, sir’.”
Despite the many differences of opinion I had with Coach Grove, I followed all the advice he had given me. I even quickly tried to get rid of my gum by sticking it to a piece of paper shoved in between my seats (a fun tidbit that I forgot about until later that afternoon). When the expected ‘license and registration’ came I pulled out my license and opened my glove box to find my registration.
“Uhm…sir, to be honest, I don’t exactly know what the registration looks like. I’ve never had to do this before,” I tried to explain as I pulled out air-fresheners, artificial flowers, and a page of stickers.
For a second he just looked at me; a look that I bet a lot of clueless teenage girls get from him. I pulled blindly at a paper and held it out to him.
“Is this it?”
“No.”
“Oh…how about this?”
-Blind grab take 2-
“No.”
“Well, what exactly do they look like? This?”
“I think it’d be in that envelope there.”
“Oh okay, thank you, Sir.”
Why the hell was I thanking him? He was giving me a ticket. I was late for work. I’d have to pay a fine. Possibly attend driving school. Tell my parents about this fun little encounter. And here I was saying “thank you” in what I can only describe as my speaking-to-an-authority-default-cheerleader voice.
The officer informed me that I had been going 51 in a 35, did I realize that? Well, no. He took the items with him to his car with him and told me to “sit tight” for a minute. I did. For a moment during this I actually felt kind of proud of myself. I’d imagined my first police pull-over before, and I thought I’d freak out more. I’d heard of a lot of girls who had burst into tears upon receiving the first ticket. I’ve never been much of public crier, so I was not totally shocked when this didn’t occur, but I thought I’d be shaky, or maybe I’d even throw up. But none of this occurred; instead I sat staring straight ahead thinking (insert first curse word that pops in your mind here).
The thing you get a lot when you own a Bug is weird looks. The thing you get when pulled over by a cop is sympathetic looks. The thing you get when pulled over in a Bug by a cop is comical expressions. Laughs, full on head turning, steering wheel slapping; yes, thank you residents of Waynesboro for that.
The officer came back and handed me a summons, killing the little bit of hope I had that he’d take pity on me. He then told me to be carefully as I pulled off.
I drove on to the office, and decided that before I went in I should probably call my mom.
“Hello? Suzi?”
“HI MOM! How’s your morning?”
“Well, it’s alright. Is something wrong?”
“I sort of just got my first speeding ticket… I know it was bad, and you’re always telling me to be more carefully and to watch my speed, and everything, and I know that I have to pay the fine, and that I have a job, so that I’ll be paying it for myself, and that I might have to go to driving school, and I didn’t even know what the registration was and mom…?”
She was laughing on the other end.
Column by Suzi Foltz. Suzi is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Unfit for fitness?
“So, you wanna hear something funny?”
“Sure Suzi, why not.”
“I’m going to a gym tonight…”
This little exchange with a friend of mine in class pretty much sums up my attempts at fitness. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not morbidly obese or incapable of movement; I’m just…well, not very coordinated.
I’ve attended pretty much every sporting event our school has to offer; football, basketball, soccer, volleyball, baseball, softball. I’ve even been to some of the lesser attended sports like cross country, indoor track, and wrestling (I have yet to attend a tennis match, but the year is not over and it will probably happen), so I can say that to an extent I understand sports. I understand the competitiveness, the camaraderie, the attempts at bettering yourself, and possibly working to achieve the upgrade to college level sports.
With all this said, I have never played a high school sport, been on a team, or possessed a gym membership. I have however, endangered others with my attempts in gym class, damaged gym equipment because of misuse, and been told that I look stupid when I run… If you’re picturing a teenage girl with arms flailing and heavy breathing, then you’re close.
People have told me that you do not necessarily have to be an athlete to exercise, and with this statement I agree. I do enjoy hiking, skiing, swimming, walking my dog, and other outdoor activities. I feel like I’m safer as long as there isn’t a specific guideline for what you have to do and preferably if not many other people are around. I was quite content with my solo attempts at fitness, until the invasion of the Powerhouse Gym employees.
I know that last statement sounds like low budget indie film, but it’s actually what happened while I was at working my regular shift at Zeus Digital Theaters. I had been taking tickets when a group of young women in workout clothes came in.
“Hi! We’re from Powerhouse!”
“Oh…that’s great…?”
“We’re here to set up for the exercise demonstration.”
“Ohhhh, ok. I hadn’t heard of this, let me get my manager…”
-Enter Sheldon, my manager-
“Hello, what can I help you with?”
“Hi! We’re from Powerhouse!”
“Uhm…ok? What can I do for you?”
“We talked to Brett about doing a demonstration in the lobby to promote our fitness classes?”
And thus my day changed from watching the customers at the counter and listening to movie soundtrack music play through the speakers, to watching overly energetic girls dance around the lobby to what my guess was a mix of African tribal chants, Bollywood music, and Rhianna.
At one point, they offered for the employees to join in. I instantly refused, knowing my lack of coordination would probably disrupt the furniture or a small movie-goer. My coworkers were a little more tempted to join, but even they refused because we were on the clock.
After a couple hours the people from “Powerhouse!” packed up to leave and handed out passes for three free days at the gym for all of the Zeus employees. Somehow, in the week that followed my friend and coworker, Megan, convinced me to try a Zumba class with her.
Visualize a gym, any gym. I’ve had this habit in the past of always picturing super buff people lifting weights that I can only move with my car, or people who can run distances that again, I could only accomplish in my car. It’s a strange mindset to have, but in my head it’s like you have to be physically fit to a certain degree to be accepted at a fitness center, which kind of defeats the purpose of a gym…
I will, however, fight through this and use my three-day pass. I will do whatever Mrs. “Hi I’m from Powerhouse!” tells me to do. I will ignore Mr. I-Can-Lift-Refrigerators and Miss I-Ran-Here-From-Tennessee. And I will attempt to enjoy fitness.
Column by Suzi Foltz. Suzi is an AugustaFreePress.com intern and a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: Out of the nest, and onto the beach
Thousands of short stories, novels, TV series and movies include coming-of-age stories. A young boy must fill his father’s shoes and take care of the family, a young girl moves away from home and must make it on her own, a warrior must go off and kill something yadda yadda yadda. It’s the idea of a literal event being symbolic to a young person as they grow older; showing change, achievement, and independence. An event that takes place every year and serves as the “leaving of the nest” for the residents of Augusta County is Beach Week.
Some of you are probably thinking, Oh, she has it wrong, it’s graduation. And yes, as an honor student, I agree that graduation is a tremendous achievement, but it’s not what I’m referring to. Graduation is recognition of what you have done; the handing of the tools, the dubbing with a sword, the “follow the yellow brick road” of life, but Beach Week is the let loose, unsupervised, “no hands!” moment in life for teenagers.
In this area, everyone and their hairdresser has a story. Literally. Last year when I was getting my hair done for prom, the hairdresser told a story of her Beach Week; one that included coming up with money for bail for two members of their party. My sister’s Beach Week ended with a few members coming home with some extra ink on their skin. I don’t think that the group I have planned my Beach Week will have that intense of a week, but I am curious what thoughts are running through my mother’s mind.
While looking online for a house, my best friend and I came across a note from a beach-goer’s mom that had fallen out of their bag and had been put up online. It was a list of things not to do at Beach Week, which we read through with my mom. Please do not drink, please do not do drugs, please do not have sex, please do not drink and drive, please do not do drugs and drive, please do not have sex and drive, please do not ride with anyone who has been doing any of these things, please do not eat beef or caffeine, please do not get pierced or tattooed, please have a lovely weekend; just be careful. Geez, moms kill all the fun. … Actually, after reading this, my mom laughed, told me she’d be okay with me doing three of these (she did not specify which three), and then went off to make pancakes.
To anyone reading this who does not know my mother, you are probably thinking she is a bit strange, but I know she worries about me. She is not immune to the stereotypically beach happenings of “Jersey Shore” and about half of teen movies. I am the youngest of four, and a female, so there are lots of possible negative outcomes, but she has level of trust with me because of the way I have behaved throughout my underaged years. She knows that I will be going off to college next year, where anything could happen pretty much any night. Also, she has met everyone I am going with, a fairly respectable group of kids (who might be reading this article; love you guys!), and feels that whatever happens we will do it with a level of dignity and safety.
Our plans are well underway. The beach and week have been selected, we have registered with a beach house company, and the first of three payments has been sent in. It might not be ideal; we will be sleeping on bunk beds and futons, and it will be six teenage girls and two teenage guys sharing one bathroom, but it works for us.
At least for me, it will be my first trip “on my own.” I’ve always had my parents, a teacher, an adviser, or at least my sister with me when I traveled. It will be an interesting experience, but one that I am definitely looking forward to. Now all I have to do is wait four months.
Suzi Foltz is a senior at Wilson Memorial High School.
Suzi Foltz: I must have a friendly face
Posted by afp on May 24, 2011 · Leave a Comment
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.
Filed under Blogs · Tagged with fishersville va, suzi foltz, wilson memorial high school