(I work in the creche at a family camp during the summer. We have a strict “no photo” rule as part of our safeguarding policy. The day before the creche opens, parents come to register their children.)

Me: “Hello! Welcome to the creche. Have you filled in the registration form?”

Mother: “Yes. It’s really important that nobody takes any photos of [Child], because he’s adopted.”

Me: “That’s fine; we never take photos in the creche.”

Mother: “I don’t just mean that the photos can’t go online; even for internal stuff, he can’t have his photo displayed.”

Me: “I understand. We won’t take any photos.”

Mother: “Even if he’s in the background, you’ve got to delete the photo. Can you make sure all of the staff know?”

Me: “Yes, nobody will take any photos. We never take photos in the creche; it’s part of our safeguarding policy.”

Mother: “Because it’s really important that we keep [Child] safe.”

Me: “Yes, I understand. Now, does [Child] have any medical issues or allergies we need to be aware of?”

Mother: “He’s adopted.”

Me: “Yes…”

Mother: “So it’s really important that he’s not in any photos.”

Me: “If you go to the next desk, my colleague will give you an ID card so that only people you’ve authorised can pick [Child] up.”

Mother: “It could be really dangerous if any photos of [Child] were published.”

(I often go to a day camp in the summer. I am a very thin child. When my parents pack me a lunch for the day, I typically get a sandwich, a snack — usually strawberries or grapes — and money for either one or two drinks. All of these things, from the plastic baggies holding each item to the brown paper bag they were stored in, have my full name on them. One of the female counselors sees me stashing the remaining half of my sandwich.)

Counselor: “[My Name]! Don’t waste food!”

Me: “I’m not.”

Counselor: “I saw you throw that sandwich away!”

Me: “It’s in my backpack. I’m full now. I’ll eat it later.”

Counselor: “You’re just going to throw it in the trash!”

(She grabs my bag, rips it open, pulls outs the brown paper bag with my lunch, drops the plastic baggie with my sandwich in her hand, shreds the plastic, and hovers it over my mouth.)

Counselor: “EAT!”

Me: “I’m not hungry!”

(This loops a few times, and the other counselor is just as useless. With no one in my corner, I get worn down and start eating the sandwich. Surprise, surprise, “I’m full,” means, “Don’t put any more food in my belly right now or I’ll vomit!” The good news is I don’t see her for the rest of the day as she is too horrified by what I’ve done to her sneakers. The bad news is what she says as she leaves.)

Counselor: “Don’t let him do anything for the rest of the day! He made himself vomit just to be a jerk!”

(The following day, come lunch time, before I even have a chance to put the bag down and open my soda, she’s already on me and takes my lunch out of my hand. She tosses my sandwich onto my lap and then holds up my grapes.)

Counselor: “You can have the grapes back when the sandwich is gone!”

(Remember when I mentioned my brain always tells me “Stop eating!” in this circumstance? Yeah, that happens again here. So for the rest of the week, I don’t get my snack. At all. During the first activity after lunch each day, starting today, I get to see her pull my snack out of her bag and hear the same line.)

Counselor: “Since you didn’t want these at lunch, they’re my snack now.”

(I figure I need to talk to the director of the camp about this, but I am not allowed to directly approach him, so I devise a plan. After yet another day of this counselor’s lunch ritual, just as I start racking my brain for ideas, I see an odd bulge from the tree not too far from the lunch area that wasn’t there when I started camp this year. I go to examine it, and I notice it’s a hive. We have some fresh wasps! By itself, the hive isn’t a problem. At a lunch area, with sugary sodas lying all over, now we have some intruders. A splash of soda here, a few little cream filling there, and they are all over my area.)

Me: “OH, MY GOD!”

(I bolt from the table, my lunch in hand.)

Counselor: “It’s not going to hurt you! Go eat!”

Me: “NO! I’M ALLERGIC!”

(I’m not really.)

Counselor: *mumbling* “You big baby.”

(She takes me by the hand into the visitor’s center and directly into the director’s office.)

Counselor: “[Director], we have a nest of wasps near the lunch area. [My Full Name] is claiming he’s allergic to wasps. Could you pull his allergy warnings and get someone to clear the nest?”

(One scan of the cabinet later…)

Director: “Nothing about wasps. [My Name], are you sure you’re allergic?”

Me: “No, I just needed to talk to you, and this was the only way [Counselor] would let me do it.”

Director: “Oh?”

Me: “She’s been stealing parts of my lunch every day since I started here this year.”

Director: “Excuse me?”

Counselor: “He’s full of it! I’ve never even touched his food!”

Me: “Then empty your bag.”

Counselor: “NO! Why should I?”

Director: “Because I’m your boss and I told you to.”

(Amazingly, it never crossed her mind to take my snack out of the plastic baggie with my overtly male and distinctly not-hers name on it.)

Director: “[Counselor], wait here until I get back. [My Name], get your grapes and I’ll walk you back to lunch.”

(The following day, my group had two new counselors.)

My sister has gone to a sleep-away summer camp for a number of years. One of the girls turns out to talk in her sleep, but it is mainly quiet mumbling, so no one is too bothered.

There are a number of crows that love to be near the camp, an easy source for food and entertainment. They will start cawing at dawn, every day, without fail. No one can get much sleep with them partying with the sunrise.

After five days of this, my sister and her bunkmates watch as the sleep-talker grabs the pile of shoes that are at the front door, stomps to the porch, and hurls each and every shoe at the crows. She promptly goes back to bed, and the crows disappear.

After finding all of the flung footwear, my sister asks the sleep-talker what happened. It is then that she learns that the sleep-talker has no memory of the incident, and is also now a sleep-walker. At least the crows didn’t reappear for the next few days.

(I am at camp. Everyone has turned in for the night. I’m up a little late trying to finish a journal entry while my friend and tentmate is lying in the cot next to me.)

Friend: “Hey, [My Name].”

Me: “Yeah, what’s up?”

Friend: “Can you eat the car inside the duck?”

Me: “What?!”

Friend: “A cat is purple in my socks.”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

Friend: “Of course, you can be a dark in the patio.”

(It’s at this point that I remembered that he has a tendency to talk in his sleep.)

(I am part of a campground’s janitorial staff, meaning my duties include cleaning the bathroom facilities, picking up litter, etc. This occurs as I am walking with several coworkers from one of the eight bathroom facilities to the next. As we’re passing a campsite, a camper flags us down from his truck.)

Camper: “Do you guys know anything about the wildlife around here?”

(As janitorial staff, the only wildlife knowledge we have to have is what’s endangered, what’s invasive, and what’s dangerous, but while he could very well be asking for something along those lines, I have a passing knowledge beyond that, as well, so I step up.)

Me: “I’m not an expert, but I might still be able to help, and if not I’m sure I can get a hold of someone who can.”

Camper: “Do you think you can identify a bird for me?”

Me: “I could give it a try.”

Camper: “Well, it was about seven feet tall, and it had these pink and purple stripes up and down it.”

(I take a moment to think, mostly about whether or not he’s being serious.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have no idea what that could be.”

Camper: “Well, here. Maybe a picture would help.”

(He gets out his phone, brings up a photograph, and shows it to me. It’s a very clear photo of a bald eagle standing on a dune. To this day, I have no idea where he got “seven feet tall,” or “pink and purple stripes” from.)

Me: “Oh, that’s a bald eagle.”

Camper: *looks at picture* “Are you sure?”