Entry #27 / 19th to 22nd July 2022
The storm continued into Tuesday, and we newbie camp workers were prepared for it this time. So the day felt a little less hectic for everyone. For me? The peace of the storm continued to have its effect on me. So much so that I was disappointed when we had to close the door to my group’s bunk – to make sure no more rain could get in.
The only downside to all of this was how soaked my shoes were.
‘Eeewww…’ The bright voice exclaimed as feet swam in my wet shoes. ‘Add that to the list of things we completely dislike.’
‘And borderline hate.’
Once the storm had passed, the rest of the week went relatively smoothly. Work was good, I was good, and everything else was fine. There was a buzz of excitement going around, though, because we were all going to a baseball game this upcoming Saturday that the camp we worked at had paid for.
It would be interesting to experience an American baseball game – or, more specifically, a Mets baseball game.
A few people, including myself, were disappointed not to be going to a Yankees game, but this wasn’t vocalised too much, mainly because we were happy to experience any baseball game.
However, since the game would be later in the evening, I decided to plan out my Saturday and booked a ticket to the 9/11 Memorial Museum.
I had been there once before, the fifteen-year-old Rose exploring New York City with her drama classmates. It was different, though, back then. The memorial was still in the process of being built, and the museum was just a stand-in by that point. It took about half an hour to get through, but that didn’t make it any less powerful.
I was curious about what they’ve done with the museum now. Several people had told me it was beautiful and would take a few hours to get through, so naturally, I needed to see it for myself.
‘Naturally.’ In the back of my mind, I could feel the responsible voice smirking.
***
The week had been an exhaustingly good one. Though, it all came to a halt when I did my neck in.
“Fuck me,” I mumbled under my breath as I followed all the girls back to our destinated bunk.
“Are you okay?” one of the camp workers, Tish, asked me, seeing my struggle as I massaged the back of my shoulder/neck.
“If I ever decide to go down another inflatable slide to entertain a bunch of kids, you have my direct permission to shoot me.”
Tish snorted. “That bad?”
“It wouldn’t be without my previous neck injuries ten months ago.” Tish raised an eyebrow at me, and I went on to give a quick summary. “Whilst on shift at my previous job, my bike slipped on ice, and I sprained my neck. Then, just as I was recovering from that, on shift again two weeks later, my bike peddle snapped off, and I ended up straining my neck.”
“Crap.” Tish’s eyes flashed with concern then as I continued to rub my neck. “You gunna be okay?”
“Fingers crossed.” I presented the words physically, leading to Tish to give a small laugh at. “Though, I really do have the worst luck when it comes to neck injuries.”
‘You have the worst luck when it comes to any injuries.’