24 July 2002 - 9:19 p.m.

Today, my desire to follow camp rules and regulations resulted in pants peeing.

Brace yourself. This is not a funny story.

But, you protest, how could a story about pee not be uproriously funny?

Let me tell you.

Today was not the best of days. In fact, this week has not been the best of weeks, considering that for two out of four periods, I'm supposed to coax children who can't quite read to write essays about what it must be like to live in a global village. Riiiiiight.

The kids who can write thnk this is boring, and claim they don't know what to write about, even when I tell them just to tell about themselves. Another reason I just can't seem to sentimentalize children: they are lazy. as. fuck. I sure as hell was. I don't think it ever occurred to me to take any kind of pride in my work until late in high school, and that, I'm sure, was some combination of wanting to get into college and being old enough to have crushes on my teachers. So it's irrational to criticise kids for being lazy.

Well, call me irrational, but after an entire day of shushing arguments, breaking up pencil fights and acting on the age-old "knock it off or I'll separate you" threat, when little blonde Abigail said she had to go to the bathroom and it couldn't wait, I wasn't too concerned, I'd only heard that 30 or so times by fourth period, and never once did it turn out to be true.

The problem with the restroom situation in Porter Hall will be a familiar one to any CoMputer U. students/graduates who have ever had a class in the A19 area. For those of you who have never been near my university-cum-day camp, I teach on a floor with no ladies room. I thought this was unfortunate all through my undergraduate career. Now that I'm in charge of at least 60 elementary school kids every day, it's hellish, particularly because camp, unlike CM, does not have a large majority of male students, and is closer to 50/50. Also, university students are typically allowed to use the W.C. unchaperoned, without fear of kidnap or molestation, and in light of the fact that few of them think it amusing to lock themselves in a stall, use the toilet, and crawl crawl out from underneath the stall, thereby pissing off the many grown-ups who must use the restroom to such a degree that I, the English teacher, was given the task of explaining what it means to be "evicted" to the toung pranksters.

Given the awkward layout of the building, the ever-resourcesful camp directors hired an extra counselor for the sole purpose of inturrupting each class partway through and shepherding kids to the loo. So when I told Abigail that said counselor had come every period prior and to just wait for him, I was not concerned. When she doubted her own ability to "hold it," I offered up the next best option: the men's room. Strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to take kids there, either, but at least I can walk someone there, run back to the classroom to maintain law and order, and usher the child and his empty bladder back to class without time for any major disaster to occur.

So when Abigail said she didn't need to use the men's room, I figured that this was not an emergency, and let the kids draw for a few minutes. But as she continued to complain, I decided to cut the period short and provide a pit stop for everyone.

Within thirty seconds, everyone had made an orderly line, except Abigail, who was sobbing. "I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose, but I peed my pants!"

I hurried the kids into another room while apologizing profusely to Abigail, who, given the wetness of her skort, had drunk about a gallon of something. We waited for every last camper to gather for snack time before slinking to the ladies room, where I held her sodden clothes under the hand dryer and she hid in a stall.

The worst part, though, was her trying to retain her dignity and be understanding about the whole thing. "I'm sorry I'm crying, I just don't like to be dirty," she explained. "I know it's only water, but some things are embarrassing for me. I hope I didn't get any on the floor. I know that you couldn't take me to the bathroom because of camp rules, so maybe next time I will bring extra shorts in case it happens again."

I wish kids did not have to learn about being fucked over by the system at the age of like, 5. I also wish they didn't have to do it while reeking of urine.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: