LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Student CAMP: Drunken Cretins |
by Kristen Minor |
Recently, the producers of several incredibly boring and annoying "reality-based" television shows decided to grace the world with another show. This "singles cruise" is supposed to feature...well... single people on a cruise. They are currently doing auditions, and one of the places where they searched was Dewey Beach. The producers, in search of local help, called the Henlopen Theater Project in search of interns for the weekend. And thus it came to be that my girlfriend Judy and I worked for a television network for two whole days, producing several decades' worth of emotional scarring. I might have known what I was getting into when Judy and I arrived and the casting directors were hung over. When we got to the local bar where casting was taking place, the place was packed with drunken people who thought they were destined for stardom. It was 11 in the morning. Things just degenerated from there. We ended up having 300 people apply and interview. Judy and I handed out applications and herded people around. I ended up having to run to the DJ booth several times, and I had quite a collection of drinks spilled on my shirt. I should mention that I'm not the most social of people. I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs. I take myself way too seriously. Judy is nicknamed Quietgirl, and it is for a reason. Needless to say we weren't prepared to see the budget of a small country be spent on Corona over the course of nine hours. Seeing that Judy and I were not drunk out of our minds and causing a racket, several of the bar's patrons took it upon themselves to fix the situation. Not only were we hit on by several dozen people, quite a few of them offered us drinks. (Not to mention the drinks that people put down on the table and promptly forgot about. Conclusive proof that drinking affects memory.) I had the following conversation with someone: Drunk barfly: Hey, you don't look like you're having a good time. Me: Oh, I'm good. Just kind of busy with these applications. DB: Would you like me to get you a drink? Me: No thanks, I'm 18. DB: So what? Do you want a drink? Me: No, I don't drink. DB: Are you sure? If I got a drink and just left it on the table, it wouldn't be anyone's fault if you picked it up. Me: NO, I REALLY DON'T WANT A DRINK! The application featured hideously embarrassing questions. The one that proved the most interesting reading: Describe your most embarrassing sexual experience. I couldn't believe that I had accidentally brushed against some of these people. We amused ourselves by playing "guess what venereal disease that person might have." People who accuse homosexuals of being promiscuous should really read some of the responses on the application. I personally got a kick out of the guy who said that he asked his girlfriend to have a threesome, only to end up being locked out of the house. There was a boy who was wearing a shirt that said "Dewey Beach: Great music, no homos." Judy turned to me and whispered, "I don't care if we're not here. We damn well had better be getting paid for this." "Homos overtaking Dewey" was our battle cry for the rest of the day. Even though we weren't there. I think that it goes without saying that only utter jackasses wear things like that in public places. I mean, really... bigotry and profanity on t-shirts? Jerks. When the day was done, Judy and I went to Rehoboth for dinner. It was like coming home after a war. I walked on to Baltimore Avenue, flung open my arms, and said, "These are my people!" Judy and I have never thanked God for gay men so much in our lives. I am now forever jaded against drinking. I will have no social life at Dartmouth. Faithful readers, do you remember when I was agonizing over how to tell my roommate that I'm a lesbian? I ended up asking every gay teenager I knewas well as several people at randomwhat the best way to break it to a roommate was. I planned out a scenario in my head. I prepared myself for the worst. I nearly had a heart attack when I got an envelope from housing. I'm in a single room. Irony gods must love me. It's settled. I'm heading North on the 5th of September. However, I've decided to finish out the season writing my Letters from CAMP Rehoboth columns, so look forward to hearing about the joys of being the Lesbian of the Frozen Wasteland. Packing for college is much harder than I anticipatedI think that I have too much stuff. It took three hours to sort through what books I want to take. I never imagined choosing between "Patience and Sarah" and "Annie on my Mind" would be so difficult. (I ended up packing them both. I'm a sap.) I've already received some feedback from my "how to pick a gay friendly college" column. I would like to make clear that I don't think that the gay friendliness of a college should be a number one factor for deciding to go there. It should, however, be on the list, if only for the reason that moving away to school is hard enough without dealing with homophobia. Have a good Labor Day, everyone. When you're off partying at SUNDANCE, think of me, soon to be struggling in the cold New England winters. My next column will be written from my cramped single at Dartmouth. I'm a little nervous. At least I know to stay away from the alcohol. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 10, No. 12, Aug. 25, 2000. |