because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Team Milano.


Internet, meet the team I’m working with this week. This is Annie, Derrik and Judith, which with the addition of me is also known as Team Awesome. Without me, they’d be known as Team Above Average. Obvi.

L-R Judith, Annie, Derrik, ME.

Annie is from Chicago somewhere in America. She’s a total space cadet. Often, in team meetings to discuss camp activities she will go into screen saver mode, mouth agape and eyes glazed, and then she’ll answer a question with, “Urm, Posh Spice!” Even to her kids. She smokes like a chimney and worries that she isn’t dressing conservatively enough for school. “My love,” I told her. “If my thighs didn’t chafe at the top I’d wear athletic shorts that teeny too,” I said.  She said she felt better after that. And then she saw something shiny and wandered off.

Going, going, gone...

Derrik is from Utah, BUT NOT A MORMON. He has a sense of humour and EVERYTHING. When Derrik was on his tutor orientation and I was responsible for helping to train him up, I soooo had my eye on him. I TOTES needed to have him in my camp, and the other tutors would tease me that I was so enamoured with him that he could literally poop on a plate and I would eat it up. We’d all be in the training room, all hundred-and-something trainees and the staff, and from across the room one of them would make eye contact with me, hold up an imaginary plate, and then eat the imaginary poop. Then somebody would ask a question about adverbs of frequency and I’d have to say something intelligent. Whilst thinking about Derrik’s poop.

Derrik is not at all afraid of me and my poop-eating ways. That's love in his eyes. Not fear.

Derrik is such a gentleman that one could be forgiven for thinking that he is gay, as such a charming straight gentleman surely could not exist. I dropped this into casual conversation over a diet coke break yesterday. “So… have you left a special somebody at home?” I asked. “A boyfriend or anything?” Derrik looked at me from across the room. “Is that the rumor?” he replied, and I had to cover up the fact that us three girlies had been talking about it constantly since we arrived and I just sort of got flustered and tried to say, “Posh Spice!” Turns out he is straight, ladies, and he asked me to tell you that he is single. I’ve thought about his poop too much to date him now. You have him. I'll keep the plate, though.

And Judith. Judith and I are living with the same host family, in the same room, IN THE SAME BED. When we arrived on Saturday I took one look at the sleeping arrangements and asked her if I could buy her dinner and a cocktail first. AWKWARD. Judith is very softly spoken and from Northern Ireland, and listens to me talk about not only Derrik’s poop but also my own- and with quite good humour. Every morning so far I have drunk a cappuccino before leaving for the school, and then two minutes into the walk I’ll stop and say, “DAMMIT! I’VE DONE IT AGAIN. I need a poo really badly and we’ve gone too far for me to turn back.” Judith will often just keep walking and without flinching say, “Well you’re probably just as well doing it at school anyway. I don’t reckon much to that compostable toilet at home.”

Judith and the toilet. She loves it.

We all go for tutor beers at the end of every day. Except for yesterday, when I was determined that we should all have a traditional Italian spirtz so we did, because I have a dominating personality and don’t let people say no to me, and it was horribly made, and so we all awkwardly sat in slurpy silence as we held out noses and drank the orangey syrup through a straw. And THEN we had beers. It’s a pretty nice way to finish the day.

If it's smaller than your head don't bother: bigger is always better.

So, Internet, say hi to Team Awesome. HI TEAM AWESOME. 


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