It has been said that unless we fail at some things, our life will be devoid of real learning. I was working at the sleepaway camp my father had sent me to, and watching a cabin of twelve six-year-olds one night. I was expecting a visit from another counselor to relieve the monotony of early night in the Adirondacks.
I had collected some empty beer cans from the camp commissary, and lined them up on the mantelpiece of the cabin fireplace. As a lark, I would pretend to be drunk when Dunne arrived.
I must have played the role convincingly, because Tom Dunne never spoke to me again, and it must have taken all his loyalty not to report me to the camp director. Sic transit gloria mundi. (So passes the glory of the world.)
Civilization 