1999 Summer Day Camp, Day 2:
Dear Diary, it’s only the second day of camp, and I’ve already witnessed a boy get hit in the eye with a tennis ball, the same boy have an asthma attack later that day, and an unnamed bastard counselor named Stryker bounce a kid into the pool off of the slippery wet pool deck and grate. And despite the 11 year old girls’ endless attempts, they can’t hook me up with any of the female counselors. Or tear my arms from my body. And if Gary asks me to tuck my shirt in again, I’m going to tuck it up his ass. If I’m not running from 25 kids in a spirited game of “Get Mr. Dustin,” I’m busy being a host to these parasitic leech children, usually with one of them around each foot like two anchors making sure I can’t drift too far out to shore, what with all the high tides I experience and everything. And these kids are the only ones who keep my sanity. Unfortunately, they also keep my whistle. And my extra shorts. And the keys to my car. I dread the day I go into work tired and cranky and give the first unfortunate soul who tries to jump on my back a bloody lip out of frustration. But as of yet, they don’t know about my bad temper. Or my criminal record. Or the box of razor blades I keep in my top desk drawer. I must go now Diary, it’s almost time for lunch. And I almost forgot about Billy. It’s probably about time to uncuff him. I’ll write again tomorrow. I love you.
Geoff into a crowded gym when a parent comes to pick up their child: “Jarret Davis! Let’s go. You made bail.”
-The taller Mr. Jungle Gym.
Mental note: Stay away from Stryker when near the pool.
Testing the boundaries of child abuse,
Still Standing Right Here…