Yesterday started off like any other day of my life: hosting Hollywood Squares in front of a giant tic-tac-toe board full of counselors, a monkey, a self-proclaimed lion king, and some guy who answered to Speedy Gonzalez and spoke broken English (and broken Spanish). Like I said, just another day at the office.
We busted out one of the most underrated toys ever for the team game time yesterday morning… Some 150 rubber duckys joined us on the fields. It was after the kids had cleared the rubber ducky station that the “adults” began to realize the true joy of an endless supply of rubber duckys. They’re like little decorative grenades. If I ever have to have rotator cuff surgery, you may point to August 1st, 2011 as the responsible party, sans responsible parties of course.
Last night, we played two of the games we’ve played ever since I was a camper. Play-Doh Pictionary and Counselor Scavenger Hunt.
If you’ve never played it, I don’t expect you to understand the controversy that is inherent in Play-Doh Pictionary. Suffice it to say, when people smell Play-Doh, they instantly flash back to 3 years old, and the world is out to get them – campers and counselors alike. I got to make the list of items that would have to be created with the magic putty, including Justin Bieber, Play-Doh (a personal favorite since no hand gestures were allowed), and a rock. Hours of controversy later, someone got some points or something for their efforts.
As we have done it for years on end, it was a seamless transition from Pictionary to the scavenger hunt. The premise is simple – all the counselors hide, and the campers try to find them to earn points for their teams. Of course, if there’s ever a group of smart campers, they’re not going to find us, they’re going to incapacitate the directors who stay back to track scores, and they’re going to take over the camp. Another year of avoiding a mutiny is a success in my book.
Normally, I’d get decked out in my Threat Level Midnight gear, but for the past two years, the seeking just hasn’t been up to par, so I donned my silver shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops. Mistake.
They had built a new pavilion at camp this year, so I thought it a great idea to hide in the rafters. As is the case with all good decisions, I dragged someone else into the mix. Once we got up to the pavilion, and I topped a picnic table and did a pull up to get into the rafters of the 12-foot tall shelter, I thought (and professed aloud) that this was no longer a good idea. I claimed I didn’t believe any campers would come this far out, so we could just hide out on the ground level and never be found.
Once I helped the other counselor up into the rafters, I settled in for the 30 minute wait until victory. The last words from the guy in the ceiling before the campers approached were, “I’m in a good spot. I feel good.”
Ten minutes later I was found. This was most likely because I was lying on a bench in the middle of the unenclosed (apparently that’s a word) structure, trying to sleep. As any good counselor would, after some brief banter with the kid who found me (and tried to talk trash), I headed back to the Mess Hall, sure to not sell out the guy in the attic.
Of course, I come back to find a majority of the counselors complaining about how much better the seekers were this year. Noted… Now, some of you kids may be reading this and taking notes on where to find a counselor next year. Keep reading.
After the game was over, I headed to my car to go save my fellow counselor whom I had left in the rafters without a flashlight. As I begin my approach, I turn on my hi-beams and see a pair of feet dangling from the sky. His walkie-talkie has fallen, and he is still without a flashlight as I had had to provide light for his ascent.
I have never received a warmer reception. He’s in rough shape. His walkie-talkie fell, and he had decided to wait out help or plummet to perceived paralysis. Lesson learned – when you get someone into a pickle, at least go back to make sure they get out.
Finally, the night ended with some good ol’ fashioned cabin wrestling matches atop the 3-inch Lysol-coated mattresses. We began in the little kids’ cabin. Two of those little 2nd graders went at it like Bret the Hitman Heart and Shawn “Sexy Boy” Michaels. Surprisingly, no blood or tears, though there was some legitimate anger.
We moved on to the middle boys’ cabin. As I made my way through the door and into the arena filled with chants of “Tap Out!”, the smallest middle-schooler in camp had himself a legit MMA chokehold on the biggest middle-schooler in camp, complete with legs wrapped around the big guy's torso. After two minute of struggling to get himself up off the ground, the big guy finally got up and went for the body slam. Once he got him airborne, another counselor stopped the bout. While I am of the opinion that if you, of sound mind, agree to the fight and have some success in it, you are entitled to the results, it probably wasn’t a bad thing that the smaller guy wasn’t put through the wooden floor.
A couple of rounds later, I made my way back to my cabin, leaving the high school boys to continue watching and/or participating in the wrestling. When they returned to the shadow of my wing, those who the night before had been quite weary of each other, mostly silent but not quite hostile, had bonded and were reliving the joys of the night. The good news is that the boys bonded. The bad news is the awkward silence was replaced by a united front of high school boy conversation. An hour and a half after they re-entered, I fell asleep. Five hours later, I woke up… Now I’m off to wake them up. I’m trying to decide if dirty jokes and flashlights to the face are sufficient... Quid-pro-quo, Clarice.
