“GET OFF that towel, young man! Get off of it right NOW!”
It was 8:00 A.M. and Sheryl was already yelling at one of the kids–a ten year old boy wearing red bathing trunks and neon green flip-flops. 
Sheryl taught special education students at a nearby elementary school. Now that the academic year was over the fifth grade instructors had taken the kids to a three day camp on a private beach outside of Honolulu. It was a sort of “last hurrah” before everyone went their separate ways for the summer. It was the most beautiful beach I had ever seen.
“I don’t want to! You’re a bitch,” cried the boy, tearing off a flip flop and hurling it in the direction of the ocean.
“You got that right! We are going to breakfast, NOW.” Sheryl grabbed the child’s arm, pulled him to his feet and looked over at me. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“I think I’ll read for a while. I’m not really hungry.”
“Well, you will never lose weight by skipping breakfast.” She started to walk away then stopped. “Oh yeah. We’re making chocolate covered peanut balls after we eat. I’ll need your help,” Then she proceeded onward, dragging the flailing boy with her.
Well, I figured, a snack couldn’t hurt.
***
We had been at camp just shy of 24 hours. I had hoped that after our adventure at sea, things would settle down and we could relax a little but it was not to be. Two nights before I left for Hawaii, Sheryl had called to tell me about the camp. “You don’t have to come,” she assured me in her southern lilt. “It’s fine if you want to hang out at the apartment. Mark will be at work.”
Mark was in the Army and his and Sheryl’s apartment was located on a military base. It would have been easy for me to take a bus downtown to shop or site see. But I felt a bit uncomfortable staying behind so I told her it was no problem, I would tag along.
The morning after the disastrous sailing trip, I had second thoughts.
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” I told Sheryl at breakfast.
“What’s not a good idea?”
“Going to camp with you. I’m still feeling really jet lagged. It might be better for me to stay here, after all.”
Sheryl nearly spit out her coffee. “No! I don’t want you staying here. Mark will be working. He’ll be busy.”
“But you suggested I stay here when we first talked about this. It’s not like he’ll have to entertain me. I can do stuff on my own.”
“I said ‘no.’ You’re not getting out of this.” Sheryl stood and took her coffee cup to the sink. “You’d better get ready. We have to meet the kids at the school in forty five minutes. Remember to put your cup in the dishwasher.”
***
It wasn’t long before I saw that Sheryl’s teaching skills were not, shall we say, on the subtle side. For reasons I didn’t understand, yelling was her foremost method of communication with her special ed students.
“Yeah, that’s her style,” said Sandy, a fellow teacher. “I guess it works for her,” she shrugged.
I guessed it must though I couldn’t imagine how. Every few minutes it was “Get over HERE,” “Go over THERE, and “I am not going to say this AGAIN,’” but it wasn’t long, of course, before she was saying it AGAIN.
After two days of this, I was beat. Once they got the kids to sleep, Sheryl and her teacher buddies would sit on the beach and gab but all I felt like doing was going to bed. Of course, that didn’t mean I would be able to get any genuine rest. On our first night I
quickly discovered that the children and adults would be snoozing together on a series of bunk beds in two sleeping quarters—one for the girls, the other for the boys. Each bed had a dull gray metal frame that came equipped with a mattress about as thick as a matchbook cover. Who were the previous campers, I wondered. Monks wearing hair shirts?
The first night passed without much incident except for the usual, “I need to go to the bathroom,” requests from kids who had gulped too much apple juice at dinner. But the second night wasn’t quite so serene.
“He’s touching me, he’s touching me! He’s touching my woo-woo!”
Woo woo? Wha? It was 2:30 in the morning. I was trying to process what a “woo woo” was when someone switched on the overhead lights and Sheryl’s vocal chords swung into action.
“What the HELL is going on?”
“It’s just Rodney,” said Sandy. “He’s having a nightmare.”
Well, that made two of us. Mine was called My Hawaiian Vacation.
I sat up and squinted. Turns out Rodney was the kid with the red bathing trunks and neon green flip-flops. Sheryl, his favorite teacher, stood over him.
“Nobody’s touching your woo woo, Rodney. Nobody! Turn over and go back to sleep. Right NOW!”
And with those soothing words of comfort, Sheryl flipped off the lights.
***
On the third and final day of camp, we took the kids on a field trip to the Nu’uanu Pali Lookout. The site is known not just for its views of the Ko’olau Mountain Range but for its extreme trade winds. We actually had to lean into the winds in order to stay upright. Some of the kids thought this was a ton of fun. Others, however, were less enthusiastic.
“I don’t like this! I’m scared,” little Wanda cried, leading the revolt. “I want my mommy! I wanna go home!”
Pretty soon most of the kids were crying. “Let’s walk down to the next—” Sheryl hollered but the wind had taken over, making it impossible to hear. Of course, this did not deter Sheryl in the least as she continued to yell soundlessly until we made it to a calmer overlook.
Catching my breath, I took in the scene. The cliffs had an eerie, menacing characteristic. I asked Sandy if she felt the same way.
“Yeah, they’re hard to take.” she said. “A 19th century Hawaiian king forced his enemies to march to the top. When they got there he told them, ‘You have a choice. We can push you. Or you can jump.’ Nice guy, huh?”
“I wanna go home! Right NOW,” Wanda wailed.
***
The next morning Wanda got her wish and we boarded a bus and headed back to Honolulu. The grownups had spent the previous evening throwing themselves a “farewell” party. Giant bowls of chips, dips (macadamia & cream cheese dip—who knew?), and 2-liter bottles of soda were spread out over the dining hall table. Sheryl continued to pretty much ignore me so I had snuck away in order to get to sleep early.
“What happened to you last night?” Sheryl asked once we were settled on the bus.
“I was tired so I went to bed.”
“Well, you didn’t have to be so antisocial. I hope you’re not going to be like that during the rest of the trip.”
End of Part Two.
Sheryl needs a vacation, preferably in some place with padding.
LOL, Jim!
I feel guilty (but not too much) laughing so hard at what clearly was a miserable experience. Thanks for sharing.
Stop making me laugh…my stomach hurts!!!
Wow! You’d think being in Hawaii would erase any worries, but I don’t see how anyone could ignore all of that stress. I hope you were able to take a vacation when you got home from this miserable vacation! This experience just proves, it’s not the destination, it’s the company that can make or break a get-away!
Well said, Karen! A tropical paradise turns into a tropical nightmare when you’re with miserable company.
you’re a great writer!!