[utter drivel from 1999. this dream did not have product placement or credits. Note: yerdad will hate this.]

I spent a long time getting ready for the camp. Every part of packing and primping seemed to take an eternity.

With two of my friends, Beth and Lilly, I was set to depart for an art camp that they had chosen. It was very exclusive and very expensive. We might even be expected to speak French. I deferred to their choice, even though I wasn’t sure that the camp was “for me.”

I was the only one who could operate the trash compactor, so everyone had to wait for me to compact all the debris before we left. We didn’t want to leave a lot of empty boxes and wrappers everywhere. That wouldn’t be a thing that polite girls would do.

By the magic of dreams the camp was reached with Instant Travel, even though the camp was in Canada. I think it was Prince Edward Island, actually.

It consisted of a large collection of arts huts, some of which were very rustic, others were sort of streamlined and suggested that they were really just entrances to larger places.

sjsharktank on flickr cc – close enough

Sure ‘nuf, some of the huts were connected by tunneled corridors that felt a lot like a high school due to the mint green walls and the janitors.

On the hurried intro tour, our guide told us that we’d better be in good shape for this camp, because it was always more grueling than anyone expected.

We peered in at classes that were in their eighth hour of building sculptures out of wooden marbles; most of the students’ hands shook.

In our class at last, our instructor appeared, naked. This was a ploy to get our attention, Lilly whispered to me. Lilly always knew or claimed to know ulterior motives. Whatever her reasons, I thought that if I looked that good naked, I wouldn’t wear clothes either.

The instructor explained the sketches we were going to produce, and most of the students were vibrating with eagerness. Some began sketching while she still explained the process and found that they were going to have to start over as the rules unfolded further. I was patient.

My friend Beth put her feet up and began producing a stream of quips that made me need to leave from laughing.

I wandered the corridors, went above and into the most inviting looking hut. Thorough more corridors I found myself in a steely room with dozens of doors. It wasn’t until I entered one that I realized I was in the largest men’s room in the world. It was a mysterious stall. It had TWO doors and only a large bullseye to hint what it’s real purpose was.

Back outside I found the fields. A few heavily padded people played a deadly game of Croquet Tag while the others picnicked and lounged and complained about their Art Failures. A little boy (or a midget) in a helmet ran up and tossed a telephone at me.

On the phone was The Doctor. I was thrilled to hear from The Doctor, because he was a very busy and important doctor and had spent an appalling amount of time and effort to track me down. He said that it was imperative that I come back to The Office, since my blood tests had shown that I had a Bad Case of Guano.

I was very happy to hear it, I said, because I just knew that something wasn’t right. I’d never had The Guano before, but I’d heard about it.

Oddly, even though I told everyone, and they understood that I was contagious, they pressed in closer and tried to persuade me not to leave until I infected them.


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