Camp Lore - 9. Chapter 9

I saw Andy briefly at dinner. He’d been assigned to a group of ten-year-old boys in addition to his computer work at the girls’ camp. The way Nate explained it was each bunk had from one to three counselors, more for the younger kids, so they were steadily supervised. But the second counselor in most of the bunks had a specialty, and that’s what he or she did during the day.

“In the activity periods.”

“What are they?”

“I’ll tell you later. Right now, concentrate on food.”

The guys were right – the kitchen did look like a McDonald’s – all stainless steel and Formica – so it made it easy to keep clean and use. Brian and I were assigned to the youngest groups – me seven-year-olds, and he one of the eight-year olds’ bunks.

“Because they’re easiest,” Nate went on. “They all pretty much eat the same thing, so they’re easy to serve.”

The older kids ordered off limited menus, slightly different every night because of the specials.

“If you can call Sloppy Joes special,” Nate joked. “Even if they’re made from organic, imitation beef.”

“Do the kids really want that?”

“Some. Though they can’t tell the difference.”

Since he worked with the Seniors, his job involved taking the kids’ orders, then picking them up from what had already been prepped in the kitchen. It was more like a restaurant. It all seemed easy enough, and it was. And the kids were as friendly, and the counselors as low-key as they had been on the train. Mainly, everyone seemed happy to see everyone else.

Andy seemed happy to see me, too, maybe because I was the one person in camp he partly knew. Though I thought that would change quickly enough because he seemed like a friendly, open guy. It was also fun to watch him working with the kids. I could do that because my table was two over from his, and I had the time, because, while the kids ate, the waiters mainly needed to stand by.

Andy didn’t have his glasses on, so I guessed they were just for reading. Or he had contacts he didn’t want to wear that morning. I sometimes wore contacts, but they weren’t the best thing to wear for wrestling and track – when I was rolling on dusty mats or running into someone’s kicked up dirt – I’m largely a sprinter. I didn’t even bring my contacts to camp, figuring they’d be too much trouble. I just packed my spare glasses and my prescription sunglasses.

Andy looked different without his glasses – less studious and more ordinary. He seemed just another guy. But still interesting, and I wasn’t sure why. The other guys in my bunk were certainly more accessible. I’d already seen Brian stripped, and most of the rest of them without their shirts. That was the other reason I liked wearing glasses – when I had them off in the locker room and the shower, I couldn’t see clearly enough to get myself in trouble.

Andy seemed comfortable with the ten-year olds, but if I had to guess what Linden mainly hired his counselors for – if he was the one who did that – it was for their ability to stay calm. They all seemed unshakable. The kids at my table were new, though from what I saw and overheard, some of them had brothers or cousins or friends in the Mess Hall – or even older sisters at the girls’ camp. But, like me, they were still there for their first summer, and there was lots to learn.

One kid just wouldn’t stop asking questions. I wanted to ask if he was related to Nate. And his counselor – who’d moved from his original chair so he could sit next to the kid – just kept answering them, even when I could tell he was making stuff up. As long as the kid had to think for a moment and then chew on something from his plate, he stayed quiet. But then he asked another question.

“Gonna be a long summer,” I told the counselor, as I served dessert.

“Nah, this is fun – and it’s my third year. I can get kicked – accidentally and real hard – and just where you’re thinking – and still just smile.”

I wished he hadn’t put that image in my head because it distracted me.

“Normally, this only takes an hour,” Nate told me in the kitchen. “Then we clean the tables, eat our own dinners, blow off a half-hour, and go to the Rec Hall.”

“What happens there?”

“Greg told you – fun stuff – evening entertainment. That lasts from eight to ten – earlier for the little kids, because they want them in bed by nine-thirty. Then the Seniors and waiters hang around the Canteen till the older girls show up and the free counselors come back. There’s one bus down every night, but if they miss it, they can walk. The Senior girls need to be back by eleven-thirty, but there’s no curfew for the rest of us. We’re just expected to be responsible.”

“Emphasize expect,” Jim kidded. “It’s never happens.”

“But we can get kicked out of camp,” Paul added. “And what’s the point of that?”

“You wouldn’t trade your summer for one sure chance with you know who?” Dan asked.

Paul needed to think.

“Nah.”

And his friends cracked up.

“Besides, when’s Linden ever fired someone?” Steve asked. “It’s too much trouble.”

Still, because this was the first night, everything was different.

“Linden isn’t always here,” Nate explained. “He alternates between camps and meals – though you almost never see him at breakfast. And his wife usually alternates with him.”

Not that night. She was at the girls’ camp.

There was also a head counselor for each camp, and that’s who was really in charge. Our guy – Keith – looked like he was in his late thirties, and I would have bet he was also a teacher – their schedules seemed to line up best with camps. I also would have bet he’d been going to camp since he was seven, because he seemed to know everything.

While the kids were eating dessert – which was steadily resupplied with either granola cookies or fruit – Linden talked, and Keith bobbed his head in agreement. Every counselor had to stand up, be introduced, and say a few things about himself, and even the waiters were named, though all we had to do was smile and wave. Still, Nate took a moment to talk – after he got a head-nod from Linden.

“There really isn’t a head waiter,” he told the kids. “We’re all pretty much the same. But there are a couple of new guys...” he pointed out Brian and me “...and they don’t know as much... Yet.”

That made everyone laugh.

“So if you’re going to give anyone trouble,” he went on. “Give it to me.” He grinned. “I like trouble.”

Everyone laughed again and some kids applauded, while Nate continued to smile. Then he had the good sense to shut up.

Dinner went long, so there was no Rec Hall or Canteen that night.

“Too soon.” Steve advised. “And some of these kids got up pretty early – to get to the train. So they want them in bed.”

Instead, we all sang – or learned – the camp song, then sang a half-dozen other songs, two of which seemed kind of familiar, maybe from grade school. It was like unconsciously knowing the words to some mindless Disney songs, just because everyone else did.

“You did fine,” Joe told me as I was leaving the kitchen. He was the thinner and smaller of “John and Joe.” John – the cook – looked like he was always eating. And they were both as friendly as the other guys had promised.

Back in the bunk, the guys hung up their whites – “Gotta keep them clean” – and pulled on jeans and dark Ts.

“Cards?” I asked, pointing to our table.

“Nah. Going to see the girls.”