It seems to be a good a time as any to let you know why I got kicked out of camp. It was sleep-away camp in Montreal. I was a counselor teaching drama. Not the head of the department but a member of the team. The head of drama was this pale gonzo looking woman with a crooked shnozz and ostrich-like features. She was an untalented bitch and I’m not sure who she blew to get to be head of the drama department but whatever. I was young, going into my third year of theatre school and thought I was going to be hailed as the next Laurence Olivier. One of the members of my team was a girl from my theatre program named Wendy. Another member was this girl named Jessica whom I wanted to bang. I walked around camp with my finger nails painted green, and a single daisy sticking out of my curly curly hair. These were the best days of my life. Then I asked some kid in class one day if he ever felt like touching his Mother and WHAM! BANG! FUCK ME!@@@! I’m in the owner’s private office with the camp psychologist.
DR: Tell me what you said.
OWNER: There is a boy in camp because you are teaching drama.
ME: Thank you.
OWNER: He is in camp only because he wants to be in Little Shop of Horrors.
ME: He’ll audition.
OWNER: Tell me what you said in class.
ME: I am being set up by the shnozz.
MARCY: Please don’t call me that.
DR: That’s an insulting term.
OWNER: Marcy is the head of drama.
DR: You want to give someone a complex?
OWNER: Maybe one day you’ll be the head of drama.
MARCY: Look at your schnozz!
OWNER: Right now you are working for her and you are working for me; Tell me what you said.
ME: They were playing an acting game. It’s a Meisner repetition game where someone asks a thought provoking question and your partner repeats the question and it’s usually filled with subtext. So if I were to ask, “Do you think you’re a real Dr. cause you work at a sleepaway camp-
DR: Get out!
MARCY: He does this.
DR: I have an office in the city.
OWNER: This is serious.
ME: I’m explaining-
DR: I like mountains.
ME: …. the acting exercise.
DR: I like children.
OWNER: Ok, Fran.
MARCY: He won’t let me speak in class.
DR: Little shit.
OWNER: Know your place.
DR: You think it’s ok to ask a camper if he thinks about touching his mother?
MARCY: What’s the difference?!
ME: I can’t believe your the head of drama.
OWNER: This isn’t theatre camp. We’re not the RSC.
ME: Royal Shakespeare Compa-
MARCY: I know what it is.
DR: What if that camper felt like touching his mother? What then?
This was something I did not think about it. It seemed like such a far fetched idea “touching your mother” I used it as an example when the kids asked me what’s a thought provoking question. It wasn’t the first thing to pop out of my mind it was the very last. I had to contrive it. I thought of something so far out that I was sure nobody would have associated with it. And if they did associate with it they’d do the smart thing; bottle that shit up inside and say what everyone else was saying, “Oh, that’s fucking disgusting!”
OWNER: You’re going to pack your bags. You’re going to leave this camp. There will be no talking to anyone. No explanations. Nothing. You’re out.
ME: I wish I could punch you all in the face.
ME: Can I still come back next year.
I was escorted to my bunk. Packed my bag. Went to the parking lot. Started my car. Drove to my aunts country house. Sat by the lake for a bit. Then drove back to the home where I lived with my grandma.
What you doing back?
I got kicked out of camp.
Good. You’ve made Bubby* so happy.
The person saying that sentence IS “Bubby” (Yiddish for Grandma), she enjoys referring to herself in the 3rd person.