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Published: August 1st 2006
There are moments when I am sure that Jason and I have been sucked into some parallel universe, where an evil empire is operating under the direction of about 280 shifty-eyed students from foreign countries. We, THE STAFF, are here only to act as their slaves, and to amuse them as they toy with us like a cat bats around a half-dead mouse before eating it.
Each nationality represents some facet of the operation, carefully performing their assigned duties with a passion instilled most vehemently in the Italians.
The Russians head the empire as well as supply a stealthy team of spies commissioned to uncover the weaknesses of each member of STAFF. The Taiwanese act as Historians/Photographers, faithfully documenting every moment and every occurrence at Kingswood Hall. The Italians not only rev up the engines and keep the passion alive, but also act as the Complainers, whose goal is to wear down the staff with nerve-frying questions like “Why do we have to go to our rooms?” “Why does my packed lunch have an egg salad sandwich instead of tuna?” and “Why do we have to be accompanied by a member of staff to walk to town?” Of course, they know all the answers to these questions because they are responsible for the very existence of this place, but they ask anyways simply to sap the energy from our hearts and to weaken us for a final defeat.
The Polish are in charge of supplying alcohol for all the nationalities during late-night meetings and planning sessions, and the Portuguese are responsible for causing raucousness, especially at night, so as to keep THE STAFF from sleeping, thus further draining us of any brain power or remaining energy.
Each nationality chooses one or two ambassadors to act as The Sweet Ones, and their jobs are to attack THE STAFF with all of their cuteness and charm, which keeps us believing that somehow we actually are here for a legitimate reason, and not just to act as servants within the evil empire. A sweet smile and a giggle (maybe even some tears) from A Sweet One, and it is ensured that THE STAFF is never turned on to the underlying evil scheme. In general, the cuteness weakens any chance THE STAFF has of becoming a united force, and it is historically proven that THE STAFF are suckers for The Sweet Ones.
Also within the Distracter category are The Skanks, largely supplied by the Bulgarians. Their duty within The Empire is to wear very small clothes showing off their overly ripe bodies in order to distract the male members of THE STAFF. The female members of THE STAFF shake their heads at the males who are enjoying the attention of minors just a little too much, thus becoming distracted themselves. The Skanks are a force to be reckoned with, and take their positions very seriously.
To further diminish any remnants of self-awareness or independence, and to remind THE STAFF of their inferiority at all times, we are required to wear neon orange polo shirts with the words STAFF printed on them in huge block letters. We are branded as outcasts wherever we go. Members of The Force refer to us as “Staff” instead of using our Christian names, and we are also forced to sleep in cells with sheets that smell like mildew and showers that we can’t move in. It is to remind us of their domination over us, and our lack of freedom.
Slowly but surely, they are taking away our tools of verbal communication. By speaking to THE STAFF only in broken English and half-sentences, The Empire is beginning to diminish our ability to speak our mother tongue. It is speculated that we lose 14 words a day, and that we will be left to communicate with only exaggerated arm movements in just a few decades. STAFF NO TALK ENGLISH SOON.
The anguish goes beyond the psychological. They feed us like animals, starving us by running us ragged, and then offering only grade D meat and second class fruits and vegetables. The food never stays in our bodies long enough to nourish them.
Occasionally we are free to take the footpath into Egham, where we are given several hours to explore the four shops and the Subway. This taste of freedom, like The Sweet Ones and The Skanks, is a clever ploy to distract us from catching on to their wicked ways.
……..
Moments when I’m sure this is the way are lives are being operated sweep past like all the other moments at Kingswood Hall; quickly and intensely, scattering like leaves in the wind, leaving behind only a vague trace of having existed at all while still managing to shift my heart so that it is staring into a reflection it never knew was there.
……...
The real life setup (or so we presume) at Kingswood Hall goes like this: Emabassy, the company we’re working for, rents out this campus, which is part of Royal Holloway University, for the summer. Students from 60 different countries come to study English for any length of time varying from one week to six. Most of the time, groups come with an adult leader, who is either the English teacher at their school, or is a representative of some sort of tourist agency. These adults are known as Group Leaders and can be a constant pain in our sides or can be our new best friends. They are responsible for making sure the students are happy and taken care of, and also that they behave (haha). Other students come on their own, and are then clumped into the category of “Individual.”
The staff working here for Embassy is lead by Rag, our human pole of a Center Manager. Beneath him are the Activity Manager, Chris, and the Excursion Manager, Vicky. Those two are in charge of us…the ACTIVITY LEADERS!! We are responsible for making friends with the students, making sure they’re behaving, and for leading activities and excursions.
Students either attend classes in the morning with activities in the afternoon, or vise versa. All the students participate in the nightly activities, which are usually a disco (dance), karaoke, or some kind of games or quiz night. During the day, their activity choices include, without fail: tennis, squash (like racquet ball), football (soccer), arts and crafts (making “Scoubies,” which are the neon-colored, plastic tubes which are braided to make delightful key chains and bracelets, and for whatever reason has become a complete CRAZE), and walking into the ever exciting and historic Egham. I usually like walking to Egham, not only because it’s just so dang historical (if you don’t believe me about how historical it is you should go the Egham Museum because there’s an antique invalid carriage!), but because it makes me feel like I’m getting some exercise, and once we’re there I get to sit in a café and have a coffee. Jason usually sticks to the sports, because he is a boy after all.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we take the students somewhere for a half day excursion instead of their usual activities. Half day excursions are usually to Kew Gardens in London, Eton College/Windsor Castle, or Henley-on-Thames, where we take the groups on a river tour. On Saturdays we head to London, Brighton or Oxford for full day excursions.
It’s both terrifying and hilarious that Embassy sends two trembling, fearful Activity Leaders (ALs) into a town they nothing about to lead up to sixty kids who don’t speak English, and expects us to confidently and effectively show the students around the city, pumping them with facts and tidbits they care nothing about.
“When can we have MAC-DONE-ULDS?!!” they demand.
“As soon as I have any idea where the HELL I am, you psychotic spoiled brat!!” flash the words in our heads.
What we actually say is much nicer. Usually.
Soon enough, though, we either learn our way around, or we learn the next best thing: FAKING IT. They can’t understand anyway, and even if they do they’re not listening, so might as well make up a few facts as we come to a restaurant we’ve now passed three times. I think we’ve all learned the importance of psychology as a survival technique. If they think they’re having a good time and learning something, then they are having a good time and learning something too.
Truly, though, there are plenty of sweet kids and laughs to be had. There have been many tears shed at departure time, by students and the staff alike. I bonded particularly with a 12-year-old boy from Romania named Christian. It all started on the way back from an excursion to Kew Gardens. We were on the bus, and I was sitting up front where all the important people sit, and I snaked my head around to see what the kids were being so quiet for (they were sleeping), and straight down the isle all the way to the back I see Christian, slouched back on the bench that makes up a back row of seats. He gave me a big old grin and in response I pulled a classic Wilson-girl ugly face, and he cracked up. From then on, whether their were words exchanged or not, there was always a silly face.
The night before he left, his group leader kept telling me how sad he was to leave me, which surprised me because he was all laughs every time I saw him. But when it came time for him to leave, he came rushing towards me with his backpack that was at least half his size, and just buried his face in my shoulder and cried hot tears that soaked through my shirt. His head was steaming and I couldn’t pull him off of me and of course I started to cry and we really made quite a scene of ourselves. We went through the same bit several times, and finally Jason had to pull him off of me and literally put him on the bus, saying “She’s mine buddy, I’m sorry,” which made everybody laugh.
Jason has been quite a hit with the ladies, especially the Russians. I don’t mind how much they chase after them, as long as they don’t fit into The Skank category. One group of Russian girls, who were all about 12 or 13, and were at Kingswood for three weeks, had a special group crush on Jason. One of our activities in the night is a staff auction. The students earn Embassy Pounds throughout the week by being extra good or doing the stupid things we bribe them to do, and then they can purchase a member of staff at the auction. Jason got snatched up fast by the Russian gang, who had him swarmed in seconds and were expertly applying makeup and two shades of nail polish, as well as suiting him up with bunny ears, a fluffy tail, a bow tie, and cuffs. They made him a sign that said “PlayBoy,” and made him bounce around, dance and kiss another male member of staff (it was a quick one on the cheek, but the boys obliged). At the same time, another male member of staff appeared wearing only a bikini top and a towel around his waist, and there was a female member being tied up, dragged around in the dirt and covered with toothpaste by a bunch of 10-year-old German boys. This is why I haven’t participated in either of the Staff Auctions. I don’t want to be tortured and embarrassed. And I have to admit, I hear that little voice in the back of my head saying, “What if you only go for 2,000 Embassy Pounds?” I would be so embarrassed.
This brings me neatly to my next topic, which is the role insecurity has played here at Kingswood. I’m sure it differs amongst all of us, but insecurity has bubbled up within me while I’ve been working with the students. With group leaders, the rest of the staff, my boss…no problem. But with the students I was nervous and uncomfortable. Luckily, I got used to the job within a few weeks, but at first I was miserable. I realized that I was very intimidated to approach these groups of people who didn’t speak my language. What are they saying? Are they talking badly about me?
Now I laugh at the idea of even caring what they might have thought of me, and I just pretend that maybe I understand what they’re saying and maybe I don’t. And I realize that they’re kids and teenagers and they’re going to have bad attitudes sometimes and they’re going to be difficult, but in this situation, I am the adult and I’m only making them feel uncomfortable and insecure in feeling insecure myself. And the Lord knows there’s enough insecurity and discomfort growing up as it is. Jason and I can both vouch for that.
Despite my growing confidence dealing with this age group, I know I’m still more comfortable serving adults a seafood dinner or working with only the company of a computer and music. But there’s this nagging feeling that maybe this isn’t the end of this kind of work for me. Jason is a natural with the students, and his organizational skills are put to very good use here. I’m proud of him. I may be in the staff room getting drunk while he’s working and I’m supposed to be working too, but still, I’m proud of him (It’s a joke, people, really).
We’ve had only one really bad incident here at Kingswood Hall so far. All the ALs were hanging out on the steps outside leading to the big field in the center of campus that used to have grass, when a Sicilian group leader came rushing out to call our Italian Activity Leader, Claudia.
The next thing we know, Chris, the Activity Manager, is carrying a red-headed, shirtless and sweaty Sicilian boy over his shoulder, screaming at us to call an ambulance because he needed to go to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. He’d broken up with the Russian love of his life (who he’d known for a week…I’m telling you, things are intense here), and gone to hang out with, who else, the POLISH BOYS!!! And guess what he had too much of?!?!?!?! You’re right…WODKA!!!!
He wound up puking into a trash can in the main hallway, sweating, cursing, and flicking off the staff who were helping him. With the surprising coloring of an Englishman, this 14-year-old Sicilian was red all over and had his pants unbuttoned enough to show off his black underpants. Just then, the fire alarm went off, and hundreds of Portuguese students came wildly out of their halls, in their pajamas and boxers, to stand in a perfectly timed English mist.
At this point then, we had both a fire truck and an ambulance coming to our campus to deal with all our midnight chaos, it was starting to rain, and most of the staff was on their way to being as drunk as the Sicilian! What a night!
In hindsight, the night seems pretty funny. But actually, the night of, we were all pretty scared. None of us had ever seen anybody drunk like this little redhead trembling in the hallway.
Three of the guy staff members carried him back to his room (Jason had to pull up his pants three times) after the paramedics decided he’d be fine, and then our very own Staff Hero, Terry, stayed up all night with him to make sure he was okay.
The following morning it was decided that the Sicilian was suffering enough, what with a broken heart, the embarrassment of the night before, and a killer hangover. He did have to write a few letters of apology, and listen to what he wrote to Terry…Oh it just kills me… “I hurt. Not in my head. Not in my stomach, but in my heart.” In a letter to Jason he wrote, “I did what I should never do. I went to a party sad.”
Those Italians…they do have a way.
But in fact, something I’ve learned here is that it’s impossible to group people together simply by the fact that they’re from the same country. At first, all of us made hasty generalizations about which groups were the most difficult, who were the best behaved etc. But every time someone said “I had to go out with the Russians today…you know how they are,” someone else would say, or just think, “The Russian kids I know are great.” It’s like a mini World here, and we were all trying to overcome our discomfort, whether we were aware of it or not, of meeting and getting to know so many cultures different from our own. It felt safer and more secure if we could categorize someone because they were from a certain country. But of course, that just doesn’t work. Almost every preconceived notion I had about any cultures has crumbled since I’ve been here (ok….the Taiwanese do take a lot of pictures, and the Polish do seem to drink a lot).
But you know what, they’re just kids. All of them, no matter what country they’re from, and I’ve come to realize quite a few universal truths:
Little boys like to spit, and James Bond will always be a hero
Girls are more likely to go after boys at this age
Teenagers are self conscious about smelling good and looking good
Music is an escape
Everybody has something that tugs at their heart when they’re not at home
Teenagers are the best at rolling their eyes
The human spirit is one of curiosity and often rebellion
Fruit Jello is exciting no matter what
Romance is a mystery to be solved
Being with so many people, in such a small place, will bring people closer, no matter how bad the conditions are thought to be.
Being at Kingswood Hall has been emotionally exhausting, and also rewarding. There are few self indulgences to be had and almost no time to turn off and be alone, but friends come fast and furious in many forms and no matter how different a personality, or how unlikely a match, there exists a fat strand woven around us all, pulling us tight, forcing us to look each other in the face; forcing us to kneel down over a rippled spirit pool of another, where we are often surprised to see our own reflection.
Jason and I are ready to be done here, to stretch out a bit and see some things. But we know we will be sad to say goodbye, sad that this chapter is closing. I’m going to miss hearing the laughter and applause that jingles on the breeze during evening activities. I’m going to miss always having a group of friends to hang out with. I’m going to miss the invisible permission slip we were handed when we arrived that stated “ACT LIKE A CHILD WHENEVER YOU WANT…YOU WILL BE LOVED FOR IT, NOT EMBARASSED.” I’m going to miss being surrounded by such a potluck dinner of cultures and nationalities. I’m going to miss the sounds of Rag’s rolling yet threatening voice too early in the morning. I’ll be sad to say goodbye to the bunny rabbits that inhabit the big, once grassy, field. Damnit I might just even miss the Scoubies!!
But the time has come for the next portion of our adventure, and we’re ready to see what comes next. But with us we will take the greatest souvenir; the souvenir of growth and learning. And now we’re off, searching for some more of that good stuff to snatch up and shove into our need-to-be-washed-more-often pockets!
A FEW GOOD PUB NAMES:
Monkey’s Forehead, Egham (it does have some redeeming factors, I guess)
Slug and Lettuce, London (a chain, I believe)
The Guinea Butt, Tunbridge Wells
A FEW GOOD BEERS:
Magner’s, a refreshing cider served extra large and over lots of ice
Tyskie, a Polish one that I liked…which I don’t know how to describe
Love from us both to you all, and a few PSs: Sorry for repetitive newspaper articles. I can only produce so much interesting information, believe it or not. And maybe once we get going these blogs will be shorter and more frequent, but who knows?
BYE!!
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Socks...
you guys knock mine right off! Thank you for taking us all with you on your most amazing adventure!!! Love, Mom/Becky