My Fish Story
When our car finally rolled into Boy Scout camp, our group stepped
out. A happy energetic bunch of boys would be scarred for a lifetime.
After getting our swim suits on we joyfully walked into a line of all the Scouts
with their huge camping backpacks and waited. The first bad thing I
encountered at camp was the huge cloud of dust that people seemed to kick
up, most of it intentionally. Being at the back of the line I was
subject to these menacing clouds of dust coming at me and burning my eyes. When I finally reached the top of the line, I filled out the medical waver. Now
medical wavers had always freaked me out, but this one talked about all
types of death: hit by stray bullet, stray arrow, drowning and falling
off the climbing wall. After the medical waver we waited in a small
area where my older counterparts subjected me to your momma jokes and
asked me if I wanted to see a cool karate move. Little did I know I was
to be the example. We then grabbed our backpacks and walked a mile to
our campsite which was infested with mosquitoes and other "creepy
crawlers". When I asked where the toilet was, my scout master pointed
at a run down shack outside of camp. When I went in, I was immediately
surrounded by flies. Then I ran out. I kept on telling
myself, “You can wait you can wait.”
The next five days were and still are the worst of my life. Every day
we woke up at 6:00am to walk a mile to breakfast. The eating area was
not positioned very well. You ate and cleaned your plates with a
hose, then spread detergent all over the table. The mosquitoes loved
these still pools of water under the tables. The "chef" couldn't be
compared to Scrooge but he came pretty close. Here's what he told us at
our first meal: "Now I don't care about you. If you run in MY dining
area and crack your head open, I would hate that. You know why? Because I
would have to fill out paperwork!” He repeated other gruesome scenarios
that could occur in his dining area and after each one he would ask
why these scenarios would be bad. All of us would chime in "because you
don't like paperwork." After my first meal at Boy Scout camp I
staggered out into the parking lot and threw it all up.
The next day was filled with signing up for activities. I signed
up for Swimming, Rifles, and First aid. At my first swimming class we
only focused on First Aid. Our counselor talked to us about the
importance of treating someone passed out. "O.K. Let’s just say Alex here
had too much to drink at a college frat party so he's like...uh now
passed out on the floor. We need to make sure he doesn't choke and
die on his own vomit so we turn him to the right.” That's when I
started contemplating quitting swimming.
As the days wore on I started to despise camp more and more. I
especially hated being the Patrol Leader of the Polar Bears which gave
me too many responsibilities, one of which was waking up the Scouts in the
morning. On one such morning I was waking up a kid in my patrol. We'll
call him Mao. I had known Mao through all of elementary school and
knew his fits of rage and on this morning he was especially moody. "Mao
get up, "I yelled. No response. With the help of some other Scouts we
started to move his tent - still no sign of him awakening. Then suddenly
out of the blue a blade of a Swiss army knife punctured through the
tent and shot out near my hand. Everybody lunged back! "I DON’T WANT TO
GET UP! "yelled the enraged voice inside. After another lunge with the
knife we called in the scoutmaster. In a calm reserved voice he walked
over. "Mao, did you know it’s time for breakfast?”
"Duh! "
“Well, then can you get up please?”
"Get away from me or I’ll slice you open!"
The scoutmaster called in the assistant scoutmaster. Now, you have to understand our assistant scoutmaster was a different than any others. He was in
Vietnam with "the core" and enjoyed discipline. He was given a shot to
crack Mao's rebellion. "Mao get the Hell out of that tent or I’ll strip
you of every badge you have ever gotten and will ever get!”
"I don’t care!"
“Then I'll send you back home. Is that what you want? is it, is it!”
"YES".
We decided to just leave him there and let him go hungry . After the first couple of minutes of breakfast we saw him appear and he sat down with his
Fruit Loops like it had never even happened.
The trading post was a small store that sold Gatorade and candy with
country music in the background. Sounds like a nice spot
right?.......WRONG! The storekeeper called the guy helping him Nickel
Boy and whenever he would need change for the register he would yell,
"Hey, Nickel Boy, do your job and get me some change!” The storekeeper
would also not let poor old Trevor in because he smelled so badly.
When I asked for Gatorade without ice he said, "Here you go, your
majesty!"
It was our last full day at camp when I and my friends decided we
should get our fireman's chit and Totin chip. When we came into the
learning area we saw the guy who had toured us around camp the first
day. He was different. For one thing where his hair used to be he was
bald with scars all over the top of his head. He also seemed
kind of.....out of it. We first did the Fireman Chit. He took the stove
and started talking. "Okay......um...you get your crackpot. I MEAN Dutch
oven and um.... start a fire!” After we received our fireman chit we
moved on to the Totin chip. After we finished the Totin chip, we went
and collected our badges. The counselor there kept on questioning me>
“Diebel? Diebel? What kind of last name is that! Here, you write it down.”
After that little confrontation was over, my friend Julian forgot his
card and went back to get it. When we reached there the counselor
started yelling "Can’t you remember your @#!&ing badge Jesus @#!%ing
Christ!” We quickly ran away. We tried to avoid that counselor for the rest of our stay at camp and we were pretty successful.
Our last night at camp was completely mosquito bitten and exhausting.
We were ready to go home but we were subjected to a last campfire meeting
where counselors made bad jokes like “good news, Monica, I just saved
a lot of time getting my swimming badge by switching to camp Marin
Sierra!” and other really bad takeoffs on Gieco commercials.
We then slowly wobbled back to our campsite. On the way there we passed Iebac lodge and saw it for the first time with the windows open. We looked inside and saw a huge plasma screen TV spanning a whole wall and attached was an XBOX. Everyone started making threats about breaking in and stealing it or just breaking it, but to my knowledge none of those people ever followed through.
Our last breakfast at “camp” was really not satisfying. First there was the unsuccessful efforts by counselors to make the last breakfast fun. The first thing they did to try to encourage this was cooking us Mcmarins, which was an attempt to copy a McDonald’s breakfast food. The second was an attempt to start a conga line where if you joined you would go around shouting pro Camp Marin Sierra slogans. And last but not least, they told us about what a great week they had had with us and how they couldn’t wait to see us next year.
After we got out of camp Billy’s dad Michael asked us all about camp, so we gave him a short overview. He told us, “Well, next year you’ll be older and you’ll have more experience like the other guys.” Billy and I looked at each other knowing that if there was any god or higher power there would not be a next time.
When Michael’s red Ford pickup came on the sidewalk near Scout Hall I walked in slowly, looking around feverishly for my mom so I could get the Hell out! Soon I was spotted by the quartermaster. Now the quartermaster is probably the worst position you can get and usually it’s the person who sucks up to the scoutmaster because basically all you do is keep track of cooking equipment and propane. At the split second when our eyes met I knew what he had in mind. “Hey, Max, come over here and help the Scouts with their checklists.” I slaved away checking for forks, sporks, propane, bags, plates, knives, merit badge books and first aid equipment. When I was finally done I ran to my mom and we drove back to our house. Nothing ever felt better than to have a nice hot bath.
Epilogue
Camp Marin Sierra has made me never want to go to any camp at anytime ever. But this summer I built up the courage to go to Washington D.C with Jake and personally I’m terrified. Only one of my friends is still in Boy Scouts and is going to camp this year even after much coaxing not to by us. All I can say to him is “The First Aid lady left her keys in her car last time.”
