“Are you sure this is safe?”
“Shhh!”
“You shhh!”
“Shut up, Arthur. They’ll hear us.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be quiet.”
“But GeekMan…”
“Shhh!”
“…”
“…”
“Can you see anything?”
“Not yet.”
“When can I look?”
“When you learn how to be quiet.”
“I can be quiet.”
“Prove it.”
“…”
“…”
“Can I look now?”
“Arthur! There’s nothing to see yet, and if you keep talking they’ll hear us and we’ll never see anything!”
“But why do you get to see and not me?”
“Who noticed the hole, Arthur? Who realized what a hole in Girls Bunk 5’s wooden floor meant? Who was kind enough to invite his 14 year old friend to come along with him to spy on the cute 15 years old girls in Girls Bunk 5? Was it you?”
“Uhmmm… No.”
“No. It was me. AND I found the way to crawl underneath their cabin to get to the hole, too. That means I get first dibs, so be quiet and wait your turn.”
“Sorry.”
“Shhh!”
“…sorry…”
“…”
“…”
“Here they come…”
“What are they doing?”
“They’re coming inside, stupid.”
“Can you see panties yet?”
“How would I see panties, you moron? They just walked in the door.”
“I dunno, don’t they walk around in panties and have pillow fights when they’re alone? That’s what my brother says they do.”
“That’s later, after they all shower together.”
“They take showers together?!”
“Shhhh!”
“Can I watch when they take a shower?”
“Shhhh! We can’t see the bathroom from here, you moron.”
“Oh. Then when can I watch?”
“Later.”
“How much later is later?”
“Quiet. I think Suzy’s going to take off her shirt.”
“…”
“Huh.”
“What? What?!”
“I think Suzy stuffs her bra… Wow. She must spend a whole lot on tissues.”
“She took off her BRA?!”
“Not yet, she’s just reaching under her shirt and pulling out tissues. It’s like magic.”
“I wanna see!”
“Fine. Here.”
“…”
“…”
“Heh. You’re right, it’s like magic. The funny thing is they look the same size even without the tissues.”
“They do? Why would she stuff then?”
“I dunno, maybe she’s got bad allergies?
“Yeah, maybe.”
“…”
“…”
“So, what’s happening now?”
“Uh… nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Heh…”
“Arthur, what do you see?”
“Shhh.”
“What do you see?”
“Heh… nothing…”
“Arthur, you better not be holding back on me…”
“It’s nothing. Really. Heh, heh, heh…”
“I’m going to kick your ass, Arthur.”
“Ok, ok. Michelle’s getting ready to take a shower.”
“What?! She’s got the biggest boobies in camp! Let me see!”
“Shhh!”
“You shhh!”
“You said it was my turn!”
“Now I’m saying it’s my turn again, so move over.”
“No.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Well, it’s my turn now and I’m busy watching Michelle undress so wait your turn and be quiet.”
“She’s getting naked?!”
“Shhhh!”
“Let me see!”
“One more second…”
“Arthur…”
“Alright alright… sheesh!”
“Where is she?”
“Probably in the shower.”
“You jerk!”
“Snooze and lose, GeekMan. She certainly does have big ones though, no tissues for her.”
“You’re a real bastard, Arthur.”
“Why are you so upset? I thought you didn’t like Michelle.”
“I don’t. She’s mean and bossy, but she’s got big boobies and that’s why we’re here, right?”
“Oh. Well, cheer up then. She’s got to come out of the shower sometime, right?”
“I guess.”
“…”
“…”
“So, what’s going on now?”
“Nothing. Everyone’s just sitting around talking…”
“No one’s getting ready for bed?”
“Well…”
“GeekMan! I told you.”
“Ok, fine. Beth is getting undressed.”
“Beth? But she’s so small and skinny, and she has that funny smell…”
“I know, but you asked.”
“Well?”
“Well, what? I’m just trying not to look in that direction.”
“Oh.”
“…”
“…”
“Oooo, here comes Karen!”
“Let me see!”
“You saw Michelle! I get to see Karen.”
“That’s not fair!”
“You saw big boobies, so I get to see the cutest girl in camp. Fair’s fair.”
“But…”
“Shhh!”
“But…”
“Shhh! She’s standing right over us.”
“…”
“…”
“What’s she doing?”
“She’s… She’s…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what she’s doing.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what she’s doing.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Tell me what you see.”
“Well she turned away from everyone and… wiggled… and pulled her bra out from her shirt sleeve.”
“Woah!”
“Yeah, and then she wrapped a towel around herself like a toga, with her clothes on, and started undressing under the towel without taking the towel off.”
“Freaky.”
“Uh-huh. And now…”
“Yeah? And now?”
“Now she’s pulled her panties down to her knees and is just staring at them.”
“She is? Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t she just take them off?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s she doing now?”
“She’s… she’s peeling something out of her panties. Throwing it away… and going into the shower.”
“Freaky.”
“Darn. I didn’t get to see anything!”
“There’s always next time.”
“I guess.”
“…”
“…”
“Oh, well. They’ve all gone to bed and turned off the lights. Guess we’d better get back to our cabin before the counselor’s find us missing.”
“Ok, GeekMan. You wanna come back again tomorrow night?”
“Sure, but let’s bring a pillow tomorrow, my neck is killing me.”

Why didn’t anyone tell me it was summer?

When I was a kid, the advent of summer vacation was heralded by the end of school and a whole two, or sometimes even three, months of freedom. The freedom to do whatever I wanted every hour of every day of the week until school would once again rear its ugly head sometime in September and suck my unwilling body back into its annoyingly educational embrace. Back then, summer meant long days of fun in the sun with my friends with nary a care in the world. My days spent on the beach, my nights out on the town with close friends and every day another wonderful adventure with all the beautiful people I knew. Ah summer, what a wonderful time.

Ah, bullpoop.

I don’t know how or when my real memories of summer were glazed over with these happy-go-lucky false imaginings, but it seems as if my own mind is trying to brainwash itself into recalling things about my younger days that never actually happened. I don’t know about you, but when I was a kid summer meant one of two things; being sent away for two months of sleepaway summer camp, or two months of absolutely nothing to do!

And, as we all know, boredom is evil.

Stripping away all the varnish from my memories, I’m getting a clearer picture of what summer was REALLY like for me as a kid. For one thing, I was a kid. And being a kid meant that most of New York was closed to me. No bars, no clubs, not even some back-room poker games with knife fights breaking out like zits on a nervous high school boy.

Also, as a kid, I had no job.

That means I had no money. And no money in New York means you can’t go anywhere or do anything. You can’t afford to see a movie. You can’t afford to buy a toy. And forget about asking out that cute girl down the block. Hell, you can’t even buy food for yourself let alone the girl you’re trying to impress. Now, I ask you, what kind of sick summer vacation memory is that for a young boy to have?

“So, did you enjoy our first date Suzie?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked me out GeekMan, but I can’t help but wonder if this date might have been better if we had, you know, gone somewhere or done something besides walk around my block and talk about the Thundercats for four hours.”
“Well, I wanted to take you to a movie…”
“That sounds wonderful! Let’s go!”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“No money.”
“Well, I’m sure your allowance…”
“No allowance.”
“Well, that’s alright, I guess. We don’t need to see a movie as long as we have a nice time together. And I did have a nice time, even if you are a bit… strange. But just now I’m a little bit hungry.”
“Well…”
“Oh no. Don’t say it.”
“It’s not my fault! Do you know how much a Happy Meal costs? I’m not made of money, you know! I’m only 10!”
“Sigh. My mother was right.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“All of ten and already a loser.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Take me home.”
“Ok.”
“Oh, and GeekMan?”
“Yeah?”
“The Thundercats suck.”
[sob]

“GeekMan. FishMan. You’re sitting over there with the other kids.”

My brother and I looked at my mother in disbelief as she turned us away from the dining room and all the grownups chatting amicably within and pointed us towards the ‘kids’ table located in the kitchen. It wasn’t just that we were being turned away from the big people that was so shocking to us, it was that she didn’t even bother to get up from the table to escort us to our seats. In fact, she didn’t even bother to turn her head and look at us as she shooed us away. She merely made her declaration, pointed regally towards the kitchen and took another sip of her merlot. It was an almost physical slap across our faces, letting us know in no uncertain terms that even though we were in our early teens and didn’t think of ourselves as kids anymore, to ‘real’ grownups we were still thought of as nothing more than children.

Slightly taller children true, but children nonetheless.

Feeling insignificant to the max, FishMan and I left the grownups behind and made our way to the Kiddie Table. As we got closer to the table it dawned on us that of the seven kids present we would be the oldest children sitting there and thus, we were supposed to be the baby sitters of the other children during the meal so that the ‘real’ grownups could enjoy their meal in peace.

We nearly turned back then. Nearly.

After what seemed like hours of internal rebellion we realized that it was useless to argue and, sighing in resignation, we approached the table, found the only two available seats and sat down amongst the chaos that is the Kiddie Table. Now, many of you might think you know what I am speaking of when I say Kiddie Table, but on this day you would be wrong.

Horribly, terribly wrong.

You see, most Kiddie Table’s are fun affairs where children cavort with other children around their own age in freeform food flinging funfests. All the kids have fun until the meal is over and the grownups come to collect their children for the long car ride home. Or until one of the kid’s winds up with a plastic fork in their eye and blood running down their face.

You know, whichever comes first.

Sometimes there’s an older child who’s designated the ‘adult’ of the table and is considered to be ‘in charge’ of the other kids. The designated adult need not actually be the oldest child present; they just need to be considered the most ‘mature’ by at least two of the real grownups in the house. One of whom has no kids and thus considers themselves an expert on all things pertaining to children even though the last bit of ‘advice’ they doled out led to the arrival of EMS and what is now known as The Toaster Incident.

Remember, if a baby wants to play with a toaster, unplug it first.

The designated adult of the Kiddie Table will then be given instructions on what is, and is not, proper behavior for all the children during the meal. These instructions can be summed up as, “Keep the noise levels down, eat what we give you and stay in your seats until we’re finished eating.”

Sometimes, “And don’t kill each other.” is thrown in for legal reasons.

The designated adult would then nod in the most mature fashion they could manage and immediately start ordering the other kids around. The other children of course, would take great delight in ignoring the designated adult until they became so frustrated that they would go running to the adults with news of the other children’s’ misdeeds. This was in the hopes of courting favor in the adults’ eyes and thus being allowed to sit with them at the adult table and become the object of envy of the other children when they were punished for not listening to the designated adult.

Obviously, more often than not, the designated adult was female.

In this instance however, there was no designated adult. For while FishMan and I at the tender ages of 12 and 15 were clearly too old for the Kiddie Table, the other five children at the table were clearly too mentally retarded to be without constant adult supervision.

And when I say mentally retarded, I’m insulting the mentally retarded.

These kids were psychotic. If ADD and ADHD were animals and you were to trace their history you would find that they were first discovered here with these children. They weren’t just hyper; they were kinetically, frantically, hypersonic! Here’s an example of what I’m talking about. We all had chairs, but only FishMan and I were actually using them for their intended purpose. One of the other kids was using their chair as a podium from which to spout high-pitched sermons on the virtues of the Transformers vs. Go-Bots, complete with visual aids involving throwing all their Go-Bots toys to the hardwood floor one by one and watching parts fly in all directions while holding their Transformer toys aloft and screaming, “Go-Bots are poopie!”

And that was one of the girls.

The other kids were worse. Two were banging their plates screaming that they wanted their food, another was playing a game of tag… all by themselves, and the last was doing his best to find out if his whole hand could fit inside his right nostril because he was positive that he could then grab his brain and pull it out for show and tell at school on Monday.

I almost tried to help him. Almost.

After what felt like hours of this torture, but was probably more like a couple of lifetimes, one of the grownups took pity on us and brought out our food. And it just so happened that on this day our meal was spaghetti. Plain, no sauce added, spaghetti. No meatballs, no garlic toast, not even some cheese sprinkled on top. Just a mound of plain spaghetti with a tiny amount of butter on top of each plate and a glass of apple juice.

It’s a miracle that I was able to hold back my tears.

The grownups were busy laughing at their table, eating fried chicken, barbeque ribs, corn on the cob and other assorted dishes of delight, while FishMan and I were stuck in hell eating plain spaghetti with little monsters. And, as if that weren’t torturous enough, the other kids didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, they went positively bonkers with delight as plate after plate of plain spaghetti was placed in front of each of them.

[in unison] “Spaghetti!”
“I love spaghetti! Isn’t this a great dinner?”
“Hey, GeekMan! Doesn’t this spaghetti look like worms?”
“Ew! Worms are yucky!”
“No, not worms! It looks like hair!”
“Look at me FishMan! I’m wearing a wig made of Spaghetti!”
“No! It’s not hair! It looks like brains! Right GeekMan?”
“Oooo! Brains! Look, I’ll make them come out of my nose!”

[a fake sneeze and a handful of spaghetti flies to the floor]

[in unison] “Cool!”

[fake sneezing begins and handful after handful of spaghetti-brains begin flying in every direction]

“Oops! Sorry about that FishMan! I didn’t mean to get my brains all over you!”
“GeekMan! Hahaha! You’ve got brains all over your sneakers!”
“Don’t the brains look like worms when they’re on the floor?”
“Ewww!”
“Don’t let the worms eat your toes! They love to eat toes, so don’t let them!”
“Eeek!”
“The only way to stop them from eating your toes is to eat them first!”

And back onto their plates, and then into their mouths, the spaghetti went. At this point FishMan and I were in such a state of shock that we didn’t even know how to react to the fact that these kids were eating spaghetti that moments before had been on their chairs, their bodies, the floor, the walls, and even on, and under, dirty shoes. Thankfully, during this whole fiasco, FishMan and I had managed to protect our plates from their grubby little hands, so at least our food was…

“Hey GeekMan, can I have some of your spaghetti?”

[grubby little hand that moments before was shoved deep into right nostril grabs a handful of my spaghetti]

“Thanks!”
“Hey! That wasn’t nice! You shouldn’t take from other people like that unless they’re done and he hasn’t even started yet. You should go get him some more spaghetti!”
“I’m sorry, sis. She’s right GeekMan, I’ll go get you some more spaghetti, OK?”

[goes to giant pot in kitchen, reaches in with his dirty, snot encrusted hand and plops a handful of spaghetti onto my plate]

“Ok, that’s it. Mom, check please, I’m done.”
“Me too.”
“But GeekMan, FishMan, you haven’t even eaten anything yet!”
“But somehow, I don’t think we could eat another bite, right FishMan? Isn’t that amazing?”
“Well. Are you sure you don’t want some more spaghetti?”
“Mom, I think it’s fair to say that we are so done that we may never be able to eat spaghetti again. Ever.”

And, to this very day, I still have trouble eating spaghetti.

I always wondered what they ate.

When I was very young, I truly believed that there were people living in the television whose sole purpose in life was to entertain me. Don’t misunderstand me, I knew cartoons weren’t real. I just thought that the people in the TV could draw really, really fast.

So fast that I never saw their hands, no matter how hard I squinted.

For a while I wouldn’t even turn off the TV in the middle of a show for fear of accidentally killing one of the TV gnomes who lived inside it. Once, I even watched a whole episode of Bonanza desperately doing the pee-pee dance, scared to death that if I turned the TV off, or even walked away, one of the poor miniature horsies would die. I wouldn’t even change the channel unless there weren’t any ‘real’ people on the screen, just in case they got caught in the dial.

Yeah, dial. Remember those? No? Smart-alecky whippersnapper.

Anywaste, one day, I was watching some stupid show when one of the people turned directly to the camera and said something along the lines of, “You can’t hide from us!” I think it was a detective drama and the character was supposed to be talking to the suspect, but I swear to you I actually believed he was talking to me.

And I was frightened out of my mind.

The TV gnomes were watching me! They knew everything I did! They could tell my mom that I had hidden my brother’s favorite toy in the toilet’s water tank! I’d be in trouble, big trouble, and the TV gnomes would probably just laugh at me when I wasn’t allowed to watch them for a week. They’d probably even be happy to have a week off. They could go on a vacation, or something. Get out and see the… world…

Oh. My. God.

What if the TV gnomes could get OUT of the TV whenever they wanted?! They could be sneaking around the house at night trying to find where my mother hid the knives so they could kill us! Oh no! What was I going to do?! I knew, even at such a young age, that no one else would believe me because the kids on TV were never believed until it was too late.

And I didn’t want it to be too late.

So that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I set a TV Gnome trap. I don’t remember the actual mechanics of it, but I do recall it involving Tinker Toys, a very large Tonka dump truck, marbles and peanut butter. Yeah, peanut butter. I don’t know how I knew, but somehow I did know that the TV gnomes just adored peanut butter. But, because I liked chunky Skippy peanut butter, I was using the crappy creamy Jiffy that we kept in the house for peanut butter emergencies.

What? Yeah, like you never had a peanut butter crisis as a kid.

Well, I set my trap and went back to bed. I had been careful not to go anywhere near the living room as a safety precaution so as not to give away my plans to the TV gnomes, and I was sure I had succeeded in keeping them in the dark. And even though I knew my trap was perfect, I just couldn’t fall asleep. I kept going over my plans in my head, sure that I hadn’t made any mistakes, but also positive that there was something I had forgotten. If only I could remember what it was. If only I could think of the thing I had forgotten about. If only I could stop that annoying licking sound so I could think of the stupid thing I…

Oh.

Quietly getting out of bed, I went to the hallway where I had set my perfect TV gnome trap and found it in shambles as Sam, our family dog, licked up the lovely, super-delicious peanut butter I had been using as bait for the TV gnomes. As she realized she was being watched she stopped her licking and shamefacedly looked up at me with her eyes, but without lifting her head from the floor. Mustering all the authority I had in my tiny four-year-old body I put my hands on my hips and frowned.

“What are you doing?”
[shameful look]
“Do you know what you’ve done?”
[sad look of confusion]
“You’ve ruined my TV gnome trap! Now they’re free to get me!”
[hanging head of shame]
“What am I going to do now?”
[ears perk]
“What? You think you know?”
[single wag of tail]
“Huh? You’re going to protect me?”
[head up, tail high]
“But they’re clever, the TV gnomes. Are you sure you can protect me?”
[wagging tail]
“Ok. But, and it’s not that I’m scared or anything, but you’ll have to sleep in my room, ok?”
[spastically happy tail]
“Right. We’ll have to be very quiet. You’re not allowed in there and if FishMan hears you he’ll tell mom and we’ll get in trouble, so don’t make any noise, ok?”
[orgasmic tail wagging]
“Oh, and if the TV gnomes get in the room, you have to protect me, but you can let them eat FishMan, ok?”
[Sam goes into convulsions and sees a tunnel and a white light]
“You’re such a good dog.”
[joy-induced heart attack, hamburger-frisbees and fire hydrants await in heaven]

And that is when I stopped being afraid of the TV gnomes.