On the Waterfront - Chapter Two

The dining hall, the largest building at Camp Baker, was monumental. Its central location and the fact that every camper ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the dining hall brought everyone at Camp Baker together. The mud brown building, trimmed in forest ranger green, looked like it belonged in the forest.
I remember the thick wooden steps stretching across the front of the building that led to a broad porch with its many layers of thick green boot scuffed paint. The entrance to the grand hall was two sets of wooden double doors, each with eight panels of glass straddling a wide stone chimney built with a jigsaw of mismatched grey rocks held in place by thick mortar.
Late that first afternoon, I stepped through the door and entered the big bright dining room with high ceilings supported by varnished log beams above the two-tone brown tile floor. As I walked across a checkerboard of light and dark brown tiles, I looked back at the grand rock fireplace and tall chimney at the front of the hall. It had a raised stone hearth and above the mantle hung the painting of a dour-looking Mr. Alton Baker, the namesake of the camp.
Summer sunlight shined through large glass windows that lined the walls, giving the room a golden glow. Rows of long tables and wood benches separated by a center aisle filled the dining room. Behind the far wall was the kitchen.
To enter the kitchen, you passed through a swinging door that was next to a long rectangular opening in the wall framed in stainless steel through which we served meals to hungry scouts' cafeteria style. The swinging door intrigued me. I'd seen them in movies and comedy sketches on TV, but never in real life. I pushed the door. It swung forward, making a thunk-thunk sound as it passed the door jamb. Its hinges rocked with the change in direction, coiling the springs with tension. The door swung back with less force, almost reaching my hand before it swung back, settling in the doorway. I pushed the door harder, and the door swung wider.
A woman's voice growled from the kitchen, "Care to join us?" Her brusque words startled me. When the door swung to me, I pushed it wide enough to step through before the heavy door swept behind me; thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk. I spotted a large woman with coiffed yellow hair wearing a white apron over a light blue dress. Four other adults wearing white kitchen uniforms flanked her. I walked slowly toward a group of boys, who were staring at me. They were taller and older than me.
I waved and said, "Hi. I'm Danny Novak."
The woman looked at me. "You must be the runt of the litter." The boys laughed. "Aren't we expecting one more?" she asked.
"Eric's on the way," I said. I scanned the large room filled with stainless-steel tables, an industrial oven, a heavy-looking door to a walk-in cooler, a gas stove, and other kitchen equipment, all surrounded by pale yellow walls that reminded me of margarine.
The large woman put her hands on her hips. "We're gonna feed lots of hungry boys this summer. Just you wait, you'll see," she said as Eric slipped through the swinging door. "You do not want to be on my bad side, isn't that right, Eric Turner?"
"No Mom, sorry. Won't happen again," Eric said, looking at the woman with large puppy dog eyes.
"She's your mom?" I asked Eric as he shuffled over to me and the other boys.
"No, shut up," Eric said in a hushed voice.
"For those who don't know, I'm Mrs. Garrett. This is my kitchen. The adults standing next to me are the cook staff. Do as we say, and you'll get along just fine." The woman said with a stern look on her doughy face.
A tall skinny blonde guy with pimples covering his face leaned down. "Her bark is worse than the bite. We all call her mom. I'm James." The boy towered over me, standing six foot two inches tall. His arms were long and gangly, and he had a huge Adam's apple poking out of his long neck.
"You can call me Mom if you work hard and follow instructions. You might just have some fun if you all work together. Eric and James were here last summer and know how the kitchen works. I'm depending on you two to help train the new boys.
"You got it Mom," said Eric.
James nodded and swallowed. The way his Adam's apple moved up and down his neck, I imagined his head was about to fall back like a Pez dispenser. I put my fingers to my throat, swallowed, and felt only a slight bump.
"Jerry didn't come back this summer?" Eric asked Mom.
James spoke up before Mom could answer. "You mean Jerry the fairy? Does Eric miss his boyfriend?"
Mom folded her arms, giving James a stern look. "We will have none of that in my Kitchen. You boys were so cruel to that sweet boy. It's no wonder he didn't come back."
Mom walked across the kitchen to a set of deep stainless-steel sinks installed below windows on the far wall.
"This week we only feed the camp staff, so it will be light duty while you learn the ropes. Everyone will help with serving and cleaning. James will assign your clean up duties." Mom then went to the stove and the cook staff returned to preparing the evening meal.
I stood off to the side as the other boys begged James for the simple jobs. "Eric and I will wipe down the dining tables and counters," James announced. I assumed that was the easiest job. Eric pointed at a husky guy with dark brown hair. "What's your name?"
The boy stood stiffly. "I'm Kurt."
"Kurt's in charge of the dishwashing machine."
James walked to the dishwasher and set a green plastic tray on the stainless counter. "You load the green trays with plates, spray them down with the nozzle, then push them into the Beast."
The beast was a stainless-steel box housing the dishwashing apparatus. You lifted a metal bar to raise the steel box, opening the beast, slid in a tray of dirty dishes, pulled the bar down to close it, then pushed a button. The beast groaned and throbbed, spinning high-pressure pipes, spraying the plates with soap and hot water. When the wash cycle ended, you lifted the handle, releasing billowing clouds of hot steam and slid in another tray, pushing the clean tray out the other side, pull the handle down, and repeat.
Eric stepped to me. "You're too short for that job."
James then pointed to a blond-haired boy. "Who are you?"
"I'm Tony."
"You'll sweep and mop the kitchen floor."
Bruce, a tall guy with brown hair, would unload the dishwasher and stack the plates and bowls.
I was the last one selected. Eric looked at James. "What have we got left? There's got to be a job for Danny."
James looked thoughtful for a moment. "I know what we forgot."
"The pot and pan scrubber," Eric and James said in unison.
"It's the best Job," Eric said sarcastically. I could tell by the way he said it, scrubbing grimy pots and pans was absolutely the worst job in the kitchen. Yes, teenage boys are mean. I had a sinking feeling that I'd spend my entire summer elbow deep in the large metal pots scrubbing off half burnt crud.
Mom barked instructions for us to place stainless steel trays filled with food into the heated serving table on the kitchen side of the rectangle window. We then used large metal spoons to pile food on the camp staff's plates as they filed past. Once everyone was served, we filled our own plates and walked into the dining hall with our trays.
All the camp staff sat grouped together, filing five tables in the expansive dining room. Some of them wore scout uniforms, which I thought strange since there were no boys at camp. Eric and I looked for empty seats.
"What do all these guys do?" I asked.
"Half of these guys were here last year. That geeky looking guy over there teaches ecology. The blond guy with a moustache is Jack. He runs the archery range. The guy with the beard next to him teaches woodworking," Eric said, nodding to people.
I noticed a group of older teens at a table wearing white t-shirts with red Camp Baker logos. "Who are those guys?" I asked.
"Waterfront staff. They've got the coolest jobs. They hang out in the sun, swim, and paddle boats all day."
"I'd like to do that."
"Forget about it. You're too small. Those guys would drown you."
As Eric and I walked with our trays, I introduced myself to each table. "Hi, I'm Danny," I said to the first table. "Howdy, I'm Danny Novak," I said to the second table. "Hey, I'm Dan --."
"Are you a ditz?" Eric said, interrupting me.
"I'm being friendly."
"Well, stop it. People will think you're a retard."
Eric saw someone he knew and quickly sat at that table. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry last seat, nimrod."
I walked to the next table. It was the table of waterfront guys. I stood at the end of the table. "Hey guys, I'm Danny. You have room for one more?" A chubby guy scooted to fill a gap on the bench. "I thought the kids weren't coming till next week," one boy said. "This table is for big boys," said another.
Adult staff sat at the last table. I didn't want to be the pitiful, dorky kid who sits with the adults. That would be worse than sitting alone.
I turned, walked back across the tiled floor holding my tray, and kicked the swinging door open. I stood at the heated steel serving table and ate alone, watching the others through the rectangle in the wall as they ate, talked, and laughed.
While I was looking through the window, Mom walked up behind me and rubbed her hand on my back. "You're Danny, right?"
I said nothing. I nodded. Her hand felt warm on my back, soft and comforting.
"Don't you worry, hon. Boys are mean to each other. It's part of growing up. In a few days, you'll be running with the pack."
"You think so?"
"I know so. You'll see."

After dinner was over and the kitchen cleaned, Eric and I walked back to our cabin.
Eric looked at me quizzically. "Why did you introduce yourself to everybody?
"I was being friendly. If you want to make friends, it pays to be friendly."
"No, it doesn't. It makes you look desperate. Nobody should try that hard to make friends."
"Were you and Jerry friends? Is that why you asked about him?"
"We shared a cabin. Last year I got a fag. This year I get a putz. Cabin mates suck."