[Speaking as someone who patently refused to set one foot in the dark woods of Route 29 and instead grumpily waited around New Bark until someone actually flew down to pick his stubborn ass up: Reid, you're all right. Good job having a head on your shoulders. Good job appreciating the legitimate concern of potentially dying hideously in the forest by bear or other assorted wildlife.]

Yeah. People around here treat it like some kind of rookie rite of passage hazing ritual. Can't earn your stripes as a true participant in this whole damn charade until you've suffered your three days in the great outdoors.

[OR UNTIL YOU CALL UP YOUR BEST FRIEND AND MAKE HIM FLY DOWN TO PICK YOU UP but obviously that's not exactly a solution that will work for Reid, will it.]

You see anybody else around you? Safety in numbers.