We sat in a circle, on chairs meant for little kids, in the play room of the Rec Center, the home base for the summer day camp we staffed under John, the director.  Somehow John worked his way through the meeting agenda while barely speaking to us.

His anger was so hot you could almost see it coming out of his skin, like summer heat off an asphalt lot.  I began to regret how we had acted. I’m sure I wasn’t alone.

Kim, one of the other counselors, asked what to do about the newsletters, which for some reason had to be reprinted.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can stick ‘em right up your ass Kim.”

“Oh- nice John!”, she uncomfortably replied. “What’s the problem?”

That was a complicated question.

It had been a tough few weeks at day camp. It was hot. We were over-enrolled. We had behavior issues with some of the campers. Things had not gone smoothly. 

And when we needed the help and leadership of our director, he was often not there.  We felt abandoned and overburdened with work that we thought the director should have been handling.  We assumed that John was hanging out in the air conditioning at the Rec’s home office, while the rest of us toiled outside in a remote county park with over 100 kids, doing both our job and his.

As college kids studying to be teachers, we didn’t have the tools we needed to manage our concerns. So we complained to the “higher ups” at the Rec, and they had apparently said something about it to John.

“So you think I’m screwing around all day while you run the camp?”

I don’t think any of us looked up from the floor.

“Is that what you think?”, John pressed.

He wasn’t done.

“You think I don’t have any responsibilities at this job other than to babysit you counselors, wipe your asses, and make life easy for you? 

Remember the field trip problem? I fixed that.

The thing at the pool with their staff?  I fixed that.

Who do you think is pleading our case to the Rec about our enrollment being too high?

How do you think we got the extra money we needed for the archery stuff?

Just because you don’t see me doesn’t mean I haven’t been working my ass off.

What the hell are you gonna do when you get a teaching job? Cry to the school board that the principal isn’t holding your hand and doing your job for you?

We’ve all worked together for a few summers now and you think I’m a slacker?

You should know better- we’re friends!  And none of you came to me about anything, you just went right to Rec office.

You guys really pissed me off with this.”

A difficult silence went by. No one was making eye contact with anybody.  We all felt bad, but it was going to get worse.

“Fuck you Kim Gretsch.

Fuck you Jen Martin.”

He pointed firmly at each one of us as he went around the circle, sparing only Carl and Sherry, who were volunteer junior counselors, still in high school.

“Fuck you Wes Smithson.

Fuck you Todd Fulginiti

Fuck you Julio Vera.”

Meeting adjourned.

Visit Five O’Clock Shadow and Wise & Shine for more of Todd’s writing, and check out his musical projects at toddfulginiti.com.