Work America 1997 - Camp Greylock Summercamp, Part 1
June 17, 1997 7:34 pmAmerica has always beckoned me. A land of diversity and excess, where everything goes in one state or another. In May of 1997, I found myself reading a poster for BUNAC’s Work America scheme. And before I knew it, I was attending an orientation at Southampton University.
I’d already decided against the Camp America or KAMP schemes. It was transparently obvious that these were schemes that were just cleaning and doing the dirty work on camps that Americans didn’t want to do. There was a Camp Counsellors programme, but I really didn’t have previous experience. So I paid over the odds to register and get a flight, and, to cut a lot of packing short, arrived at Heathrow airport early on the 14th June 1997. I boarded the plane, and off we went. I’ve only flown once before, on a pretty basic service to Majorca, so I was impressed by the Virgin flight. The best parts of any flight are take-off and landing… I don’t think I’ll get tired of that take-off feeling for a while!I spent the next seven or so hours looking at fluffy clouds, but as we descended into New York, I started to see tiny houses, and a great spit of sand jutting out into the ocean.
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Before long, we were landed at JFK. We’d been warned about customs, and not unjustifiably. I spent what seemed like an eternity being questioned by a very thorough immigration officer, but was eventually allowed through. We waited in a badly organised group for a coach, and played a sort of “musical coaches” game, involving everyone getting on various wrong coaches.
We had a guided tour into Manhattan, seeing the lights of Chrysler building, Empire State building and such. Our destination was the dorms of Columbia University, where I very quickly fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. After an excellent breakfast the next morning, the people with pre-arranged jobs set off on their way, while I set about the task of job-hunting. I’d armed myself with a stack of Résumés, and proceeded to find the jobs section of the New York Times and a telephone. The day passed, and I checked into the New York youth hostel on Amsterdam Avenue, and continued my job-hunting the next day. By the third day, I had the occasional “we’d like to see you” type of thing, but all so far ahead. We were talking about a week here. This was bad. I wanted a job. And I wanted it yesterday!
At which point, I sauntered into the BUNAC office. Could I drive? Was I 25? Great! They had a job for me as a driver on a summer camp. I spoke to the office manager, a lady called Ferrel Porcelli who was to be my taskmaster, as it were. It was long hours. It was diverse. But I’d get plenty of chance to do things like water-skiing and stuff. And time off in lieu of long hours. And so I found myself on the Bonanza Bus up to Massachusetts.
Here’s the camp promotional video…
I was collected from the town of Lee, Mass. after having had a Dunkin’ Donut (are you really from England? Do you know the Queen? Oh your accent is so cute! etc etc). As we pulled in the gates, my initial thoughts were that it was a dump, but to be fair, this was pre-camp, and there was a lot of work to be done. And so I worked and shovelled and dug and humped and raked and brushed. And ate. And drank. And slept. And went to the Mall. And then I encountered Mike Fuller. I’m trying to find an alternate word to describe him, but no. I cannot. The word to sum him up is… wanker. An English member of the management team who’s been there for several years, his sole purpose in life to embed his tongue deep in the rectums of the directors, while at the same time embedding his boot deep in everyone else’s! He was to be my Nemesis through the whole camp.
Camp started, and I met Ferrell. The first couple of weeks were fine. It was hard work, but I’d expected it. And Ferrel gave me interesting work. Two weeks passed. And then Ferrel left. At this point, you have to understand that Ferrel had been there for ages. Years and years as their office manager. She was good at it. She held the office together. And yet, like all their staff, they didn’t appreciate her. And they pushed her… until she went. Couldn’t take the crap anymore.
And so it was me, responsible directly to the directors. It was all downhill from there. They’d send me out on tasks without co-ordinating with each other, and then blame me. The office became stressed because no-one knew what they were doing without Ferrell. I went a month without a day off. And was then told, on the morning of my day off, to work. And it was either start work at 10am, or pack my bags and leave by 11am. Some people had quit by this time, but, (foolishly with hindsight), I was determined to see the bastard through.
