Typical Day
Chris Campster blinks the sleep from his eyes, and drags himself up from the bed in his mother's house. Sugarplum dreams of owning his own apartment slowly dissolve from his mind. The bleating alarm clock flashes 5:45AM. It's far too early, but at least it's Friday. On the other hand, Friday brings its own set of problems.
Under the hot water of the shower, he thinks through the day's itinerary. It's the third week of a month-long camp, and most kids should be wrapping up their projects. There's a talent show today, which he isn't looking forward to. He's seen one of these "talent shows" before, but he'd describe it as more of a circus.
Toweling off, he finds his mom standing outside the bathroom door. "You ready, sweetie?" she asks. "I packed a lunch." She hands him a baggie with a single piece of salami pressed between white bread. Yum.
The drive to work is long and only made manageable by several cups of coffee...followed by several more cups of coffee.
The second he parks his car and gets out—in a blinding instant— there's drama. With one foot out the door he's grabbed by the head counselor, Dana DoGood, who's talking a mile a minute. "Chris, we're having a pow-wow—we need you right now." She seizes him by the shoulders, and steers him across the campgrounds.
Every staffer in camp is gathered in the cafeteria, watching Dana pace the tiled floor, arms pumping, and fingers pointing like Patton.
"We're losing this war." Worried, anxious eyes follow her. "We said we'd address the lunchtime situation, but it's getting out of hand. I'm seeing kids out there with nut allergies in the nuts-only section. We served meatballs and they turned them into cannonballs. We need to get these campers under control, and we need to do it now!" Then turning on a dime, a little smile lights up her face. "Now I want everyone to go out and have a Friendly Friday. Smiles, guys! Go, go, go!"
Chris' first stop on Friendly Friday is an art class. Dana had once seen him doodle, so he's ended up as "Art Guy." Chris waits for the kids to arrive, glad to not have to do sign-ins on Mondays and Fridays. The door to the classroom opens, and Chris braces himself for the rush of children. He's pleased to find Megan (his fellow counselor) instead. Megan is cute, in that girl-next-door-and-I-do-macaroni-art kind of way. She smiles at Chris and they enjoy a moment of awkward staring.
They set up the room together, eyes connecting here and there, but neither saying a word.
Suddenly, the door kicks open and kids, ages five to eight, pour in like a tidal wave. The art instructor—the camp hired an actual teacher to teach the art—steps aside, before following the mob into the room and dragging a bag of supplies behind her. She'll run the class, but it's Chris and Megan's job to hem in the chaos.
Take your seat, Brian!" "Morgan, the pencil doesn't do that!" "Tyrese, get that eraser out of your ear!"
When the kids eventually settle down, Chris and Megan spend the next hour and a half moving amidst rows of chattering children, supervising and providing gentle suggestions as the kids construct ornate and remarkably unstable houses out of marshmallows and toothpicks. At one point, a big tower collapses and kids cry. But when they discover that they can eat the marshmallows, the tears dry up. Unfortunately the rest of the class consists of the kids trying to stuff as many marshmallows down their throats as possible.
The bell eventually rings, and everyone files out for lunch.
In the doorway, Chris and Megan fumble their way through some more awkward glances. Chris tells Megan that she looks "pretty nice" and Megan posits that Chris is "kind of cool."
It isn't cool.
Chris experiences one brief moment of genuine glee, when Benny Baxter runs up and informs him that he's gotten Counselor Kerry back. Good.
Counselor Kerry's been kind of a jerk. A mischievous smile comes over Chris' face as he notices that the back of Kerry's khaki shorts are now splattered in an elaborate patchwork of ketchup and mustard. Kerry should really look where he's sitting.
Before Chris can laugh too hard, his heart suddenly sinks. Lunch is a fiasco.
Dana's pep talk was no use. Things are bad. Someone had accidentally mixed up the kids' lunches. Again. The lunch bags for kids with the peanut allergies are supposed to be kept separate from the other kids' lunches, but somehow one bag has gone missing. The staff spends ten minutes hunting for the stray bag, while kids scream and demand their lunches "Now!"
Things are made worse by the fact that one counselor brought chocolate covered raisins as group snacks, and they're proving to be remarkably aerodynamic projectiles. Raisins spiral over the heads of the counselors, as kids dodge and hurl them at each other until finally—with a very sharp blow of her whistle—Dana manages to calm the storm. She gives them all a stern talking to, and assures them that if they don't clean up their act, they might not be coming back next summer.
After lunch it's time for soccer, which actually turns out to be a period of relative calm. As the kids kick around the ball, Chris lets his eyes wander over to Megan, who's supervising a game of kickball across the lawn. Megan kicks the ball back to the kids and three little boys jump into a pile, jumping and laughing. It's kind of violent, but a little cute.
Then comes the big event of the week, the moment that Chris has been silently dreading since he stepped under the shower that morning—the talent show.
You see, the important thing to remember about young kids is that they don't really have any talent—at least not yet. Talent takes time and effort to hone. With only seven years under their belts, these kids just don't have it. It's not their fault, they're just young. But they don't know that. They think they're great, so....
Little Carly Simmons bellows at the top her lungs, letting out a sound that could break glass. Counselors cower, covering their ears. Carly then moves into a dance routine, which makes everyone very uncomfortable.
Next up is Danny DaMonte who recites a poem about a frog. It's pretty good, even though it ends with the line, "Frogs are the color of boogers."
Then in the big finale, twenty eight-year-olds get together and sing a powerful rendition of "Seasons of Love"...which is of course totally inappropriate, and ends with a nosebleed.
With the grand performance coming to a close, Chris breathes a sigh of relief—he's made it through another day, no...another week. Summer is this much closer to ending.
He picks up his afternoon paycheck with great anticipation, which quickly fades when he sees the actual check inside.
As kids file off into their minivans, Chris waves goodbye to Megan. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he can gather up the courage to finally ask her to hang out. But he only manages a sputtering, "You're neat!" before awkwardly shuffling away to his car. He climbs in, shuts the door, and takes a big breath.
The ride home is long and grey. Chris is tired, and thick bags hang from his eyes. His mind slowly replays the day—the lunchtime fiasco and the "talent" show. But somewhere in the bottom of his chest, a slight warmth rises. He remembers the art class and eating all of those marshmallows. That was pretty fun.
Monday will surely have something fun in store for him as well.
But boy...he couldn't wait to do nothing but sleep, eat, and semi-guiltily watch "Project Runway" with his mom all weekend.