When It Rains, It Pours

If last week was the honeymoon period, this week was a sharp pull back to reality. Last week, there wasn't much to write about, because there wasn't much going on at camp. No kids were here and only a few counselors inhabitated the huge campus. This week, it was almost as if this universe was pulling me back to remind me: oh wait, this is actually a job, and not a vacation. Fancy that.

The beginning of the staff orientation week began with the rest of the counselors (all 200 of them) coming to camp. Although all with varying accents, ages, home countries, and specialties, we've all come together with the same goal in mind: lets have the best summer possible.

Because I am a lifeguard during the day, and a counselor to the kids at night, the whole staff orientation week felt like a big game of pulling both of my arms in two completely different directions. As a lifeguard, I felt obligated to get all the areas ready and get to know the people I would be working with during the long, hot days. I left most of my sweat on the docks at the lake as I tirelessly scrubbed, cleaned, and painted (getting most of the paint on my own body parts, but still managing to get a little on the docks as well).

Still, as my back ached from running the paint roller across the blindingly white docks in the hot summer sun, I couldn't help but think of all the time I was missing out in getting to know the other counselors that I would not only be working with, but be LIVING with (among you know, 30ish young girls as well).

This apprehension of not getting to know people didn't last long, because the next day I woke up with the most excruciating and mind-numbing pain on the right side of my mouth; so bad that I forgot what life felt like before the pain. (Side note: the pain was localized on a molar that I had received a filling on in March, and had to get checked out later because I began to feel sensitivity, a week before I left for camp. After my California dentist reassured me that no, you will not be needing a root canal, I left the West Coast a strange feeling in my gut because I knew, knowing my luck, I would end up needing that root canal at the most inopportune moment. Like being stranded with limited communication and zero transportation in the mountains of New York State, for example. )

After crying in front of my boss and fellow coworkers not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES, I was able to make an appointment with a local dentist to see if I needed an emergency root canal. While I waved goodbye to everyone boarding buses to go to a local mall, I got ready to leave for my dental appointment. Thanks to the lifesaver that is Carole (my boss) and the sweet little old man Arnie (who's in charge of Nature), I was driven (at approximately 4.2 miles an hour, bless Arnie's lil' heart) to a neighboring dentist in Pennsylvania.

Even though I dread the dentist office 99.9% of the time, the pain had gotten so awful at this point, I practically leaped in the seat and begged these strangers to stick their fingers in my mouth. Plus side, the office had floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Delaware River, which was a nice change in scenery from my California dentist, where the scenery consists of an old popcorn ceiling and posters about Crest White Strips.

While zoning out watching the geese in the river dive for fish, my bird coma was interrupted when the dentist decided the best method to find the tooth that would be needing the root canal would be... TO. PUSH. ON. IT. He jumped nearly 10 feet in his seat when I screamed a scream that could stop traffic in Manhattan (but, in my defense, who's reaction to hi, I'm Megan, my right lower molar hurts is to APPLY PRESSURE?! )

Thanks to the eventual Novocaine, my initial impression of Mr. Dentist Man soon began to change. I drifted into a nice day ream of geese and fish and wondering what life would feel like as a geese diving for fish, all the while trying to not think about the drilling sounds and burning smells coming out of my mouth.

The procedure didn't last long, and when it was over Mr. Dentist Man decided it would be best to leave the gaping hole in my tooth as a gaping hole, so as let the infection drain and have a cotton ball serve as a replacement denture until I could get it filled at another appointment. Maybe it was the Novocaine talking, but this sounded like a swell idea to me as I said my goodbyes and hopped back in Arnie's car.

The rest of the week was a combination of how's your tooth?! and freaking out that there was still so much to do before the kids came that Saturday. Because I am with the little girls (ages 6-9, what was I thinking?!) we spent most of our time unpacking their bags (HUGE economy size bags, that could easily fit two of me and half of the 49ers starting line up), making their beds, folding their clothes, and holding back feelings of jealously and resentment towards our own parents who didn't send us to such a cool camp with such cool gear.

After a staff party on Thursday night where I insisted to the kitchen staff (mostly Mexican) that they absolutely needed to speak to me solomente in espanol when they saw me around camp, the camp dream I had been dreaming for months now seemed closer to becoming a reality.

Friday was chaos day. I spent most of my time running between lifeguard stations at both the lake and the pool helping last minute details, and with the other counselors making glittered up welcome signs for the campers. By the time I laid my head on my pillow that night, I took one last deep breath, appreciating the silence that would soon disappear in mere hours.

The next day, Camper! Welcome! Day!, felt similar to a high school graduation.... for a high school I never attended. As new faces (for me) got off the buses from Florida, Long Island, and New Jersey, I helplessly sat by all the returning counselors ran at abnormal speeds to get the first hugs from the kids they hadn't seen for ten months.

After this initial reunion, we divided all the campers into their separate age groups (There's 750 kids that divide into Lower, Middle, and Upper Camp ranging from ages 6-17. I'm in Lower Camp that's divided further into the Frosh- ages 6-8, Soph- ages 8-9, and Debs- ages 9-10. I have the Debs, otherwise know as the "old timers" in Lower Camp), and attempted to begin ice breaker games in the least awkward way possible.

Because it's only been a day since I've been with my girls, it's all still very get-to-know-you. Besides me, there is literally one other red headed girl counselor in the entire camp and, of course, she's in the bunk next to me. Because of this, all of our campers constantly confuse us, deciding instead that we're not "Megan" and "Jennifer" but sisters, who will respond to both names. First goal for summer? Make. This. Not. Happen.

I have so much more I can write about, like how strange it is to live with seven nine-year-olds 24/7, or how extremely hard it is to have absolutely no "me time", or how standing in the sun for six hours straight is so draining, or how every single moment can be so tiring, yet completely rewarding at the same time. But, alas, I have run out of internet time. (This job is seriously testing my write-under-pressure-and-time-constraints.)

I'm sorry for the length, I can often write with no end in sight. But, forewarning, I could write for so much longer. I'll try and keep it down so as to not lose readers, but just plan to proceed for caution in the future :)

I hope everything is well on the Golden Coast. Send me mail! It's really the only form of entertainment we have here.

Love you all.

Best,
Megan

Time Is Such A Funny Thing

It is Saturday afternoon here in Glen Spey, New York, which means that I have officially been here for four days. Funny thing is though, that short time that I have been here feels absolutely immeasurable.

Being here at camp, time feels like we're stuck in a bubble; our own little camp bubble. Here in our camp bubble, meals happen early, and don't wait for you to be hungry. Sleeping in close quarters with strangers feels natural. Talks of drunken memories from college and first date horror stories from high school happen often and late at night. It is in this camp bubble that I've forgotten what midterms, papers, and lack of sleep feels like. It is here in this camp bubble that I've met some amazing people, who (whether or not this camp ends up being a total dud) will make this summer a positive experience, no matter what. While I've only known these people for a few days, in our camp bubble it feels like we've known each other for a lifetime.

I shouldn't be surprised that time has such a different feeling here in New York. The strange and unnatural quality that time can have began to follow me the second my feet walked onto the runway towards my plane. On Monday night, I took a red eye to Newark, New Jersey. By the time we landed at 6:30AM (3:30 California time), my body was unsure what to feel.

Thankfully, instead of being forced to deal with my jet lag by having to function normally, I had to spend the next seven hours waiting (in the form of sleeping and eating, followed by more sleeping and more eating) in the airport for everyone else to get there, including our ride which would be taking us to camp. Finally by 1PM, every bag had been claimed, every girl had been located, and our van had arrived. After a very short time getting to know these six girls, we were off, unsure of what to expect, but absolutely excited to find out.

In a trek that was supposed to take two hours, we clocked in at almost four hours, thanks to a combination of road kill, GPS failure, and misfortune. About one hour into the journey, while participating in lively conversations about tattoos, my ear drums nearly popped when one of the girls screamed at the top of her lungs. In what felt like milliseconds after that moment of sheer volume, our van suddenly tapped something hard, on our right side. What followed felt similar to that moment after you've been spun around a baseball bat a few times, and now have to look up and figure out what the hell was going on. Thankfully, that feeling didn't last long, as some very vocal girls began to scream: "WE JUST HIT A DEER! A. DEER!!"

Our driver (another specialist counselor) pulled over in a gas station and turned the van around so we could began to inspect the damage from afar. What we found was that the deer was no where to be found, and in his place was what we initially thought was an animal limb, but actually turned out to be parts from the bumper of our van, including the New York license plate.

After calling someone at camp to verify that, yes, driving without a front license plate is in fact illegal, our van went back to the site of deer murder, and participated in a game of: can we park on a highway, run out and grab our license plate, and not join the deer in roadkill heaven, all in a matter of 5 seconds. After getting the license plate, confirming that the deer was in fact dead, and solidifying my fear of the movie Bambi, we continued on in our journey, still reeling at the fact that in Deer v. Van, we had come out victorious.

After the deer scenario, I didn't think the story of Megan Travels to Camp could get any more interesting, but thanks to our sheer dependence on the GPS technology (followed by its inevitable failure) we found ourselves driving aimlessly in the Catskills Mountains, attempting to figure out which direction was north.

Finally, after traveling for much too long, we arrived at camp. It all felt like a dream, like we were going to get out and find out that we had in fact gotten the wrong directions from the kind mountain folk, and we were going to have to get back in the van and drive for another 4 hours. But, it wasn't. It was all real, and it was my home.

The rest of the day was quite uneventful. After our first meal, we spent the night getting to know the international counselors, where I successfully mastered using my British accent (so long as it remained to three to four word sentences such as "to the loo" and "is that your shirt?") .

Although the past few days have been pretty boring (I can now say with confidence that I AM the CPR Master), I wouldn't have had it anyway. As of now, only the lifeguards and ropes course people are here, and I am having an absolute blast getting to know them. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when the counselor count quadruples in size this weekend, and then all 750 campers arrive next weekend. Although camp is small in size and still pretty tame, this summer is promising to be one that will change my life forever. If anything, the people I have met, and the others I am sure to met in the near future, will broaden my scope on life and give me so much to learn.

For now, there's not much to report. But that is sure to change soon. And I cannot wait.

Until then,
Megan

Why Hello There!

So it's T-minus 6 DAYS until I board a red-eye to the concrete jungle of dreams.

In case you're just joining: I am spending my summer in New York to work as a lifeguard at a sleep-away camp for two months (Think: The Parent Trap). Since this experience is going to be many firsts for me--first time on an airplane alone, first time lifeguarding a lake, first time to New York, first time living in a non-California state etc etc--I've decided to do what I do best and write about it.

My brain is still in lizard study mode for finals, so I don't think it has quite hit me yet that I'm leaving for two months. But regardless, I am still absolutely terrified. Every 10 seconds my brain thinks of an outrageous question or situation and makes me feel like I've been punched in the stomach. Falling asleep is the worst, I'll give you a little preview:

"Oh my god. After I leave for New York, I am never seeing all of my graduating friends again.
What if there's a post-apocalyptic disaster that affects only the West Coast, and they all DIE?!
WHAT IF THE POST-APOCALYPTIC DISASTER HITS THE EAST COAST AND I DIE?!
What if I die in the airplane before even getting to New York?
I don't want to die and have the only famous person I've met still be MC Hammer. I'm too young!"

And then of course I fall asleep to the sweet melodious sounds of "Can't Touch This" while reminscening on that special day when the Hammer (yeah, we're besties like that) hugged me and gave me his autograph on a piece of receipt tape. Oh, memories.

Still, I think the most terrifying fear is this (and I feel about four years old thinking this, so there you have it): What if they hate me? I've gotten myself in pretty deep, there's no backing out now. I took all the lifeguarding classes, doing CPR on a dummie with no legs about 1,200 times. I can't turn back now.

All of these fears, although quite awful, have yet to truly mask the excitement I have. I have never done anything quite like this in my life. I'm the play-it-safe girl. It's the reason I go to school 1 hour away from my hometown, and the reason why I am a part of the serial single girl club (monogamy is for quitters! is our motto).

Although it may get old to you, it never does for me: THE FINAL COUNTDOWN SHALL NOW COMMENCE!

SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....SIX DAYS....