This morning was quite interesting. I spent thirty minutes or so iChatting with my beautiful wife and was wrapping things up when this guy comes charging into the tent along with about eight others and tells me that I’m in his place. Buckets of attitude and aggression. Good morning to you too.
The remainder of the guys that were in the fest tent had to move out this morning. The majority of them moved into my tent. As is the case with anyone who is forced to adjust their living situation, these guys were unhappy. Gradually, everyone calmed down. We got everyone settled in and now we can set about the task of learning to live together in significantly tighter quarters. The area that I can call my own is about six feet by four feet. The tent is designated by the Army as an eight man tent. We currently have eleven guys living there.
There’s a line of logic that is often offered up around here. “It could be worse.” This has always bothered me a little bit but now I’ve started to really wonder if people who say this have really thought it out. I mean, who really cares if it could be worse. What is the consolation in finding someone whose condition is worse than the one you find yourself in? This seems just plain silly to me. I don’t get it.
Having said that, my own situation is really pretty good. The guys that in my tent are all people that were near me when we were in the fest tent. They seem mature and responsible. After the initial blast of frustration they all settled down to the business of figuring out how to make the space we had accommodate the people who had to live there. Everyone is now settled in and hopefully, we’re done with the anger and frustration. Supposedly, more tents will become available to us in a few weeks and then we can reduce the density a little bit.
If we could actually get down to eight people in one of these tents it would be pretty comfortable. Even roomy.