Paintball Camp
Yes, you read that right. I decided, as a person who hadn’t ever so much seen a paintball, to sign up for a week filled with nothing but combat simulations with a group of 50 thirteen-year-olds.
50 kids. 2 girls.
I do NOT like those numbers.
Here's where the fun sexual harassment element comes into play.
Exhibit A: Every time I was not facing the throng of furious spotty masturbators they would do jerkoff motions.
Exhibit B: They would calculate the number of dudes I could take on based on the number of orifices.
Honestly, I think that should be enough exhibits.
Every morning, my councilor who I was FORCED to call Jellybean (I asked her real name and she said something about camp policy. You best believe I used to shake some salt her way when I said her name.) would wake me up.
I would roll up from having slid into the corner of my broken cot and kindly remind her that I wasn't in her JetSkiing group and that she had once again woken me up a full hour earlier than I needed to be up.
After each morning's rather rude awakening I would head to the vans to be driven to a paintball ranch(?). The first day wasn't too bad.
Sure, Old Navy jeans and a vintage T-shirt from the now defunct 80's cabler, SelectTV, don't exactly constitute appropriate protective gear per se but I trudged along for the day and aside from the rampant mooning (still their best angle), I was almost having fun.
Day 2 happens and I find out that war is cruel as I hit my instructor on his helmet but because he couldn't feel the hit he stood above me as I was lying on the ground and shot point blank into my torso.
That was basically the end of the paintballing. I spent most days sitting in a van with no A/C with one of the three following songs on rotation:
- She's So High by Tal Bachman
- I Need to Know by Marc Anthony
- Pay My Bills by Destiny's Child
It was a good time.
A brief moment away from the narrative to showcase the camp's high moral standards.
There was an 18 yr-old Japanese kid who didn't speak a lick of English. There was no one at the camp that spoke ANY Japanese. Somehow this did not constitute a cause for concern.
He ran away and was gone for a full day and a half.
Did they call anyone? ANYONE?
Clearly not.
He did come back and if he was traumatized, no one was any the wiser.
Alls well that ends well (if the person can't tell you they have PTSD).
Back to the story.
So basically this camp has become sexual harassment/wait in van in 100+ degree weather adventure camp. Which is great, because clearly as a child that was what I was really looking for.
One of the mob had taken an interest in me (again the 24 to 1 ratio was probably at work here) and he and his an even more midget version of Stephen Dorff ass proposed "making out."
As I was pretty self actualized as a kid, I said then, what I would say now...
"Ew" (maybe I threw in a no there too but I could have kept it simple, who KNOWS?)
Then he moved onto one of the "Watersports" girls (typical) and I went about being sexually harassed by 47, instead of 48 "youngsters."
One camp councilor, whose chosen name was "Tinman," decided to share with me a story.
He pulled me aside and told me about how he wanted to be a Marine. He went to apply but he had a hearing issue that kept him out. He told me that he can only hear higher registers and has a hard time hearing low noises. At this point he looks at me and says,
"So, I can't really understand what you are saying"
An adult male pulled aside a 12-year-old girl, who had been trying to communicate to him for the better part of a week, that her Barry White bass-down-low voice renders her essentially mute to him.
Just grand.
As in the previous week, they gave out awards to each camper. This week, due to the paintball theme, they gave out a trophy made for a shooting competition. A man in aviators and a ballcap holding a shotgun (or rifle...aren't you glad I don't know the difference?) stands atop a pedestal with a small plaque on the base that stated...
"Most Sarcastic"
Another moment for the highlight reel.
And now for the crowning moment of my camp career.
The final day, we're all saying our goodbyes and this one fellow, Kihei (a very white person I'll have you know) pulled me aside and told me that he thought I was a really special person. A ton of fun and I had great things in my future. He then wrote his number on my camp provided duffel bag and said that he would love to meet up.
Minor hitch in the plans.
He was 19 years old and one of the councilors.
Nothing like an appearance by Pedobear to really wrap up a sexual harassment camp story.
Needless to say, I never returned to that trailer park, nor did I ever attend camp again.
I moved on to the glory of playing men of all kinds in musical theater and the rest is history.
I should probably seek professional help but do you know how many shoes therapy money gets you?
I'm finding that out every day.
Thank you for your time
-From the Desk of Bronson Pinchot-
No comments:
Post a Comment