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