I arrived at the pub in Carlton at five minutes before twelve. Inside it was already teeming with students talking excitedly. I slung my backpack down from my shoulder into my right hand as I twisted sideways to fit through the door of the establishment.
I recognised quite a few people from the line for tickets the other morning. I had arrived at 6am for a ticket sales event that started at 9am because I had been told that if I got there on time I would miss out because the line would already be too long. The camp had a limit - only fifty guys and fifty girls could go so I'd been eager to secure a spot. Unfortunately for me it turned out that I could've gotten there at 8:30 and still gotten a ticket. The early wake up being all for nothing still bloody irritated me.
I found George, the only guy I knew going. I'd gone to high school with him but didn't know very well. He was talking to some other guys I'd met in the line for tickets, a doughy guy with curly black hair and a couple of guys who were international students. We ordered parmas and chips and pints and played pool.
When the food arrived, the leaders of the camp, various second and third year students spoke. They all wore light pink shirts indicating they were on the Business Students Society's (BSS) Committee, who were organising the camp for us.
They outlined some vague expectations and some rules for us, and told us two buses would be taking us to the mystery destination where the camp would be held. People in the ticket line I'd talked to had speculated we were going to a beach, another girl said she heard it would be on a mountain range. I doubted it would be the latter, because one hundred students drinking on a mountain sounded like a good recipe for a hundred broken arms and legs.
After they finished talking we were off putting our bags on the buses that pulled up outside the pub. We got on board and I sat next to one of the international students. His name was Chai and he was from Burma. We chatted for a little while as we stopped passing skyscrapers and started passing the little brick houses of the inner suburbs. He was doing actuarial studies, which made him useful. If I made friends with him he would help me with the maths in some of my more mathematical subjects in the semester. Plus I could already tell he was a nice guy in for a rude awakening when we got to camp and he was exposed to the wonders of Australian drinking culture.
When we were driving past fields of wheat and cows and sheep, the leader of the organisers, a guy named Kuruc, who everyone called Kush, announced we were doing speed-dating. Everyone who was sitting in the aisle seat of the bus got up and began exchanging places. I was sitting in the window seat, so Myo had to go.
In his place arrived a girl with chestnut hair and pale skin wearing a Taylor Swift t-shirt. She introduced herself as Katie. She seemed nice and had already decided she would major in economics and finance despite not having to choose until after first year. I told her I didn't know what I would do, probably economics, I offered. Then Kush shouted over his loudspeaker that five minutes was up and it was time to switch.
Next came a blonde who I vaguely recognised. Then I realised that I'd gone to high school with her, too. Except I hadn't spoken a word to her in the whole six years she had been at my school, making our conversation fairly awkward. She was studying Arts and had come on Business Camp because she hadn't been able to get a ticket to Arts Camp.
For the next thirty minutes six more girls came, replacing each other every five minutes upon the announcement on the speaker. It was pretty difficult to get past superficial conversation in such a short timeframe. I must've said my degree and major and what subjects I'd picked in the first semester at least ten times. The only time I was saved was when one girl went on about her precious doggo for the whole five minutes. I hated dogs, so I kept quiet.
The last girl was a blonde and she was absurdly good-looking. Her name was Chloe and I was smitten immediate. She made me genuinely laugh several times, and I tried to avoid blatantly checking her out. I remembered being in a big group conversation with her in it in the line. I hadn't said anything, and didn't mention it because I thought she probably wouldn't remember me. We even got an extra few minutes to chat as the bus pulled into the place we would be staying and Kush announced speed-dating was over.
I looked out the window and saw we had arrived at a collection of drab buildings on a campground. There was a big main hall behind the clearing which our buses had stopped. All around it were little cabins numbered one to twelve. It was Campaspe Downs. Fucking Campaspe Downs, where I went on a school camp in primary school. So much for the beach.
As we got out of the bus, however, she bumped into her friends and I had to leave to find my bag, which was in the other bus. Now was a crucial time, where we would pick our cabin, which I knew was a a social sorting event. I looked around and everything was chaos. People seemed to be grabbing their bags and claiming cabins with warp speed. Not wanting to be faced with the ignominy of being forced into my cabin selection, I hurried over to a cabin with a big number two on the door. Inside I found myself with George and the international students I'd befriended in the line. Maxwell, the friendly guy with the American accent who I also met in the ticket line, suddenly walked in. He noticed the make-up of the room. Me, George and the quiet Asians.
"Thanks guys, but I gotta go," he said, before picking up his bag. He left the cabin with a flourish, presumably to find another cabin with cooler occupants.
Once everyone had put their bags down and claimed a bed - I took a top bunk - we went back out to the clearing in front of the main hall, where there were two wooden tables in front of the lake. A leader girl saw me walking down the gravel path and threw me a little square packet containing a round latex item, which I tucked into my back pocket, trying to hide my surprise. This wasn't a bush league operation.
It was hot and the lake looked appetisingly cool. Everyone gathered in a group and sat down on the tables and the grass in front of the leaders. They explained some more things to us, including that we didn't have to do anything we didn't feel comfortable doing. They gave us all dark blue singlets with the word FILTHY FRESHER emblazoned on the front in white. We swapped our tops for our new uniform.
After we got changed, I saw there was a fresher girl called Harriet who all the leaders seemed to knew and she clearly was playing the class clown role.
"Harriet you wanna kick us off?" A second year called Harry queried, pulling out a beer bong.
Harriet laughed and remained sitting down.
"Do it," Kush said.
"Do it - do it - do it," Harry began to chant.
"Do it - do it - do it- do it - do it - do it," the whole crowd joined in. After thirty seconds of this, Harriet smiled and calmly got up and walked to the leaders. She got down on one knee and accepted the funnel into her mouth. Harry began to pour a beer down the tube. Harriet drained the whole thing like a pro. Everyone cheered.
"Nudie run!" Yelled Kush.
"Only if you want to!" Added Gemma, another second year camp leader.
A buzz went through the crowd. People looked a bit taken aback. But the leaders stripped off and so did another ten or so ballsy freshers. It was a sea of body hair and chests and fleshy bellies and limp cocks and tits and arses. Well, my cousin did say this was an experience, I thought. The naked exhibitioners took off, screaming and laughing and disappeared down the gap between the main hall and our cabins.
Meanwhile, somebody had found the alcohol. Several dozen garbage bins filled with cold beer and cider on slabs of ice. There was only one kind of beer, Victorian Bitter (VB) and one kind of cider, apple Somersby's. We immediately crowded around and cracked them open. It was hot and we had developed a thirst. The girls mostly went for the ciders and the guys mostly went for the beers.
A guy called Marcus found a bunch of BSS stamped shotgun tools in a packet beside the bins. A few people grabbed them and cut a hole in the bottom of the VB cans with then. Then they shotgunned the beers instead of just drinking them like normal people, for some reason. There was a container full of red plastic cups and some people set up a beer pong game on one of the tables, which attracted a crowd. I watched the game, inching closer until i got as close as I could. The closer you were in the crowd signalled the more socially desirable you were, I thought. I was still two layers of people back and got chatting to a cheerful guy named Rory.
Rory was boring and I couldn't help but notice there was a guy running around like he'd just gotten out of a mental asylum, arms spread out like wings.
"Eddie!" A bloke called Seb called out. "You're flying mate!"
"YEAAAHHH-HAWWW" He tried to caw like an actual eagle and zoomed just past two girls who slapped him on the butt as he went by.
"It's Eddie the Eagle!" Shouted the lanky stoned-looking bloke.
