When I worked at summer camp as a teen, we did a lot of things just for fun. From dawn to dark we found a variety of ways to have fun in-between our long work shifts. The list runs from typical pranks (like short sheeting and underwear up the flag pole) to skinny dipping. (Yes, I went skinny dipping)
One day, a few of the staff decided to hold a special dinner; a special treat for a few of the staff that had been recently been the victims of our pranks. Some of us baked little, individual cherry pies in the resident director’s personal kitchen. They looked delicious as we slid them into the oven to bake. We set the timer and moved to the next item on the dinner prep list.
Suddenly, there was a loud ‘bang’ and a sad announcement from the director’s wife: There would be no pies for dinner. In fact, there would be no dinner. It wasn’t just the pies that exploded, it was her stove.
I always felt that Mrs. Director handled that very well; no one was bleeding or burned, and the explosion was an accident, so there was no reason to be upset. She was calm, truly calm, as clean up commenced – she set an example for us: how to behave when things go really badly. I still remember her calm manner clearly, 45 years later.