I need a vacation from my vacation (part une)

Since getting back to my day job last week I've been bombarded with the same annoying question, "How did you enjoy your vacation?"  Of course, my vacation really isn’t a vacation at all.  It’s just me working somewhere else for three weeks.

Usually, I just explain that I take time off to work at a camp for teenagers that my family runs in New Jersey.  That usually puts an end to the conversation.  More often than not, the confused party skedaddles off pretty quickly with a polite smile and a confused, “Oh, that sounds fun.”

Technically, I am using my vacation time.  But working 10-hour days with a hundred kids in an enclosed space the size of a 7-Eleven isn’t exactly most people’s idea of “fun.”

After years of explaining, I can now easily identify that pleasant, feigned expression of interest on my co-workers' faces.  Nobody really wants to hear about my camp adventures. They want to know about how drunk I got on the beach or how beautiful the Eiffel Tower looks at sunset. 

So for all of you office drones who think working at a theatre camp sounds so “fun,” this is what goes on during my three weeks of "vacation."

Week One (July 16): 
Camp has already been in full swing for two weeks.  I join mid-stream, the week before our first show opens - Let’s Go To The Movies! - a cabaret/variety show written and compiled specifically for the kids who didn’t get cast in lead roles in Legally Blonde. 

I begin the painstaking and slightly creepy task of teaching slutty choreography to the teenage cast of Legally Blonde.  Between booty shakes and thrusting, Juan and Val give me the low-down on all the set and detail painting I’ll need to accomplish in the next few weeks for all four of our summer shows.  With zero budget for extra tech staff, I have gained the title of "Head Scenic Painter" for the summer in addition to my choreographic duties.

In another money-saving move, we have purposely chosen shows set in the present time to avoid renting costumes.  Instead, we send the children home to dig through their closets for usable items.  As a result, throughout the week children intermittently approach us wondering if the tiny kitchen dishrag they refer to as a "skirt" is an appropriate length for the stage.  When did teenagers start dressing like prostitutes?

The electricians are still installing our new air conditioning, so we are working in a cement box without ventilation and temperatures topping 90 degrees.  Sound fun yet?

Click here for part deux