the longest day
It rained again today at camp, and rain does not mix well with rowdy kids confined to a sketchy shack of a building and two counselors on their last nerve. In a desperate attempt to kill some time in the afternoon, my fellow counselor Chris and I decided to beg our bosses for a tv, but we were sadly informed that it was being used at another site, another site with a freakin' indoor pool to use as well, and that we would have to make do with what we had. They suggested we try playing charades. I mentally suggested they double my pay. As my panicked looked told Chris that luck was not on our side, we looked over at the kids running, screaming, and kicking in this 15 by 15 foot old wooden space. Honestly, the first thing that popped into my mind was to bribe them into something...actually that is my first thought on many camp occasions. The kids have been asking when they could paint the walls inside the shed, and I'm being generous by calling it such, like the year before. I soon realized that I could kill time and get them to clean up their previous messes with such a promise. Without even saying what I was thinking, Chris seemed to understand and we quieted them down and told them the good news. With screams and general freak outs, they picked up tiny beads, sea shells, and yarn from earlier attempts at works of art and stood ready to attack. We carefully poured paint and moved things that could get in the way and warned over and over to be careful. It started out well and I was able to immortalize myself and Chris and Cate, the other counselor whom I went to elementary school with and recently realized that our friendship hasn't really changed even after 8 years of not seeing each other, with a few stick figures and "we rule" in green paint. Mature, I know, but give me a break. No sooner had I thought "gee, this wasn't a bad idea," when things went to insanity. Paint was in hair, on clothes, and covering up entire limbs. The kids looked like an alien race, their eyes gleaming and drool practically coming from their mouths at the idea of the mischief they were doing. Basically, we played "paint the shed" for 45 minutes and "holy crap we need to clean this kid up so their parents don't kick my ass" for over an hour. As I was washing the paint out of one boy's hair with moistened toilet paper, as our camp is too cheap for a lovely invention known as the paper towel, I heard more screams than I felt represented a good time, so I headed back to the shed only to find that brushes had been ruled out as a good means for decorating the wall and they had resorted to repeatedly throwing the paint bottle itself at the wall hoping that enough of their contents would flail out and make some sort of modern art design. After even more cleaning, I emerged with only a small amount of green paint on one sleeve and just a couple of kids refusing to be washed and presentable. Sure, it looks like vomit on the back wall and I'm praying that the paint washes out of everyone's clothes and I'll probably die a few months ahead of schedule from the stress it put on me but whatever, the rain stopped, I'm alive, and Chris and Cate still talking to me. The sun even came out later, and we played a few rousing rounds of musical chairs, which involved dragging a bunch of folding chairs over to the basketball court and me opening the doors to my car and blasting the radio to whatever kid appropriate song was on a number of stations. Oh, and my ass has yet to be kicked, so maybe it worked out well in the end anyways.