The all-of-the-camp, all-of-the-time barfing started around four in the morning.
You know those machines in the hardware store that shake up paint cans? That’s about how my insides felt when I woke up. My head was spinning too, and I could tell that all those chips and the punch in my stomach were about ten seconds away from liftoff.
I got out of bed in the dark and bumped right into someone.
“Watch out!” It was Tunz. “I’m gonna—”
“Me too,” I said. We both hit the door at the same time and beat it down to the latrines.
It turned out we were wasting our time. I didn’t even know the cabin was half empty when I left it. And the latrines were full when we got there. In fact, they were more than full. There was a line of guys out the door.
Maybe you already know this, but when you’re feeling like you’re about to blow chunks, it doesn’t exactly help to hear someone else doing the deed ahead of you. It just kind of speeds things up.
Or like Tunz so eloquently put it—“barf makes barf.”
Now take that idea and multiply it by the whole camp. It wasn’t just the kids either. All of the counselors were sick too. Everybody was running around from the latrine to the cabins to the main building to the cabins and back to the latrine, like this totally nutball video game called Vomit!
By the time the sun came up, Camp Wannamorra was one giant disaster area.