Summer 2005

I got a job, as a general bunk counselor at a special needs camp in upstate New York, working with children and adults who were more disabled than me.  Unable to talk, dress themselves, or use the bathroom independently, the campers I worked with made me feel like a Rhodes Scholar.

I changed my first diaper at camp.  He was a 45-year old man with a mustache.  Shit, I could barely change my own diaper and here I was changing someone old enough to be my father.  Weird.

Man was I privileged.  A dysfunctional idiot barely getting by at what was basically an Ivy League School, you may as well give me the world on a silver platter.  At least that’s how I felt at camp.

I turned my life around.  I started behaving like a responsible adult and respecting women.  Actually, that’s not true, I just got myself a girlfriend.  Her name was Emily and she was lovely.  An 18-year old college student from France with the body of a video vixen and the voice of an angel, I wanted to tear that ass up and have a meaningful conversation with her immediately afterwards.   

We met at the creek during staff orientation week, smoking a joint after finding out that we would be working with severely autistic adults in cabin E5, and hit it off instantly.  Sitting on a rock talking and getting to know each other, my penis grew increasingly larger as the night wore on. 

Before camp started, I told myself that I wasn’t going to hook up with anybody other than Christina or Nicole, but that plan quickly went out the window.  “Emily’s beautiful and I’m a horny 19-year old kid, so why not?  Besides, Christina just told me that she was moving back to Greenwich, Connecticut this morning, and Nicole’s working at a sleep away camp as well, possibly doing the same thing, so fuck it, I’m going to get my dick wet.”  I thought.

And that’s what I did, taking Emily to my bunk and pounding her out like a jackhammer, starting what would develop into a beautiful relationship.

Everything was going great.  By day I smoked blunts and played with the mentally challenged, and by night I tore Emily’s ass to bits.  My life was almost perfect.  

That was until I was assigned to work with Hans.  Hans was a 37-year old severely Autistic man who was fat, balding, and asked to use the bathroom every 30 seconds as part of his Autism.  This guy could’ve just gotten back from taking a Hippo sized shit, but it made no difference, because there was nowhere Hans would rather be than on the toilet.

If taking a dump in the bathroom was his passion, then so be it.  Who was I to stop him? As long as I didn’t have to keep him company and watch, then whatever Hans did was fine by me. 

But I did.  Counselors had to watch their “kids” at all times and follow them wherever they went, even to the bathroom.  In Hans’s case, I had to actually go inside the stall with him, because he had a habit of trying to “eat his creation”; thinking it was chocolate.  

What the fuck did I get myself into?  This was not for me.  No matter how good this job was making me feel, keeping a grown man company and watching as he took a shit was something I just wasn’t cut out for.  

That could have been why I got fired.  By now I had been working with Hans for a week and not once had he eaten out of the toilet.  So then why, of all days, did he decide to do it when I came back from smoking a blunt at the creek during lunchtime? 

Man that must have been some good weed, because I was in another dimension.  “Stoned off my ass”: talk about a fucking understatement, I was on Jupiter!  Wait.  That was another understatement.  I was on planet Tatooine!!

“How come Hans has a chocolate moustache?  And why does it smell funny?”  I asked myself, as I stared blankly into outer space.  “Oh no.  Did Hans just do what I think he did?”  Yep.  He did.  And that moustache was not made out of chocolate.   

I felt like a camper.  That’s how high I was: which could have explained how Hans was able to run to the bathroom and sneak in a turd sandwich while I wasn’t looking.

When your camper takes a crap and eats it in front of you, then maybe, just maybe, you’re not meant to work with the special needs population.  That’s what the director thought, which probably accounts for why he fired me the next day.