Tales from the Writer's Camp

We've been having a bit of a cafeteria battle with the swimmers.

See, Kenyon was hosting some kind of swim camp at the same time as the Young Writers' Workshop. So all week, we've had to try and beat the swimmers to the dining hall (which, by the way, looks like Hogwarts without the magic ceiling. It's awesome). Or we just wait for it to clear up a bit.

The swimmers were really aggressive about their tablespace, too. They had the tables at the back of the hall reserved and they'd look at us like "DON'T COME NEAR US, YOU WEIRDOS." Or maybe that was just me. But if anyone who wasn't a swimmer tried sitting down at those tables, they got kicked off.

Which is why I felt justified in being a bit passive-aggressive towards the two swimmers sitting at the end of the table at lunch. The table that was clearly labeled "Reserved For The Kenyon Young Writers' Workshop." I didn't do anything too bad, but I did keep nudging the sign towards them until they left.

I don't think they left because of the sign, though. I think they left because there were a lot of young writers at the table and said young writers got into a loud and interesting discussion about the sex lives of condiments.

(Warning: some dirty jokes ahead.)

So on one end of the table there was a lonely pepper shaker, and on the other were two salt shakers. Obviously, my friends agreed, the salt shakers were a gay couple. The pepper was the arse of a significant other whom one of the saltshakers had left for the other saltshaker. I drew a little doodle of two of the alchemical symbol for salt hooked together.

Then we got into the ketchup and mustard. They were a couple, but the mustard was cheating with the relish. *Shocked gasp*

Which led to the catcall from the mustard to the ketchup: "You look pretty good from beheinz."

The barbecue sauce was all on its lonesome, with a fetish for other types of foods like meat and ribs.

The salt (different salt) had an abusive relationship with soy sauce, since the soy sauce just dissolves it.

This led to pickup lines such as: "Hey, baby. Wanna supersaturate my solution?" and, if the pepper was trying to flirt with the salt, "Hey, baby. Wanna grind my peppercorns?" (I told you there were dirty jokes.)

Then someone suggested the slogan: "Practice Safe Snacks. Use A Condiment."

Oh my God, the looks we were getting from the other tables. They thought we were freaking INSANE. Which, being writers, we are.

Anyway, the good news is that today was the swimmers' last day. Now they can go home and avoid us crazy writers for the rest of their lives!