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Real-life camping horror stories
From the cast of Chelsea Lately Look for them on weeknights at 11pm on E!
A confession by Chelsea Handler
I’ve never been camping in my life. They told me early on in Hebrew school that Jews should never go camping or go on a Carnival Cruise. I didn’t listen to the latter and ended up jumping ship in Ensenada and hitchhiking back to Los Angeles. Needless to say, I won’t be going camping.
A true story by Chuy
I like to go camping, but it’s scary to stay in the woods.Even the smaller animals can make somebody my size feel afraid. So that I don’t have to give up my love of nature, I have my friends over and we make a tent inside with a blanket and we put on Animal Planet and make s’mores. When it gets late, I go sleep in my bed and let the losers sleep on the floor.
A true story by Guy Branum
When I was nine years old, my family went camping at a lake in northern California so my father, a gentile, could force us to go waterskiing, hiking and do various other activities Jews were never intended to perform. I found the wilderness far less adventure-filled than fantasy novels had suggested, and was resigned to a weekend of boredom. Then the first night, lying in my Montgomery Ward tent, I smelled something bloodcurdlingly disgusting and heard sounds I could only interpret as chanting. Witches, no doubt. I was terrified, but it was still better than suppressing nausea on a speedboat. I got out of my tent and attempted to sneak toward the sound of Satan’s minions, because if they were summoning a demon from Hell, I wanted to see it. Turns out it was just a bunch of drunk Greeks roasting a goat. My mother was pissed I left my tent, but the goat was delicious.
A true story by Chris Franjola
Picture a young Chris Franjola camping on a beach on Long Island: My father tried to buy ingredients for s’mores without fully understanding what a s’more was. He somehow got confused between Rice Krispies Treats and s’mores and returned from the A&P with breakfast cereal and candy bars. My brothers and I sat fireside toasting Hershey’s Kisses and were lulled to sleep by the sounds of snap, crackle and pop.
A true story by Sarah Colonna
My family used to camp in a pop-up trailer, because we’re classy. If you haven’t seen a pop-up trailer, they look like a short trailer used for hauling things with a tent that “pops up” (see the clever name?) to make it more like a half trailer, half tent. It’s camping’s answer to an El Camino. Anyway, my cousin was attempting to sleep in this nightmare when he rolled too far to the outside edge of the mattress. The tent portion gave way and he fell out onto the concrete. He lived, and with minimal bruising, so it’s funny. Shortly thereafter, we upgraded to a real camping trailer. I feel eternally grateful to him for putting an end to the humiliation I felt every time we pulled into a campground and had to crank our trailer up while everybody else sat in their big fancy normal-people campers and looked at us like we were morons.
A spooky nonsensical story by Brad Wollack
It was a dark and stormy night. The waves were crashing against the boat and the captain said, “John, tell me a story.” And the story went like this…It was a dark and stormy night. The waves were crashing against the boat and the captain said, “John, tell me a story.” And the story went like this…It was a dark and stormy night. The waves were crashing against the boat and the captain said, “John, tell me a story.” And the story went like this…
A true story by Heather McDonald
I have been camping only once in my life. I was six months old. My dad, an advertising executive, had always dreamed of taking his wife and five kids camping. We lived just outside of Los Angeles so my parents decided it would be adventurous to drive a couple hours south to San Diego and go camping for the weekend. They rented a camper, but when they went to pick it up, instead of it being the ten-foot long camper they ordered, it was only five feet long. While my brothers—who were eight and nine years old at the time—beat the crap out of each other in the tiny camper I, the infant, had a wicked case of projectile vomit. The second day my mother took me to the communal showers to shampoo the dried regurgitated food out of my curls when a little girl approached my mother and asked, “How long has your daddy been out of work?” My mother, horrified answered, “Our daddy is not out of work, we’re on vacation!” Apparently, in the ’70s many families came out to California looking for work but ended up at this campground, which had evolved into something out of the novel Grapes of Wrath.On my last and final day as a camper, my parents were driving the cramped un-air-conditioned camper with five screaming children out of San Diego when they passed Vacation Village, a four-star resort. My dad casually said to my mom, “I guess I should have taken those two free bungalows my boss offered me this weekend.” My mother never forgave my father for not taking those bungalows and has since told this story at numerous cocktails parties throughout the ’70s, ’80s and early ’90s.
Andy Kindler | Natasha Leggero | Matt Weinhold
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Time Out New York / Issue 717 : Jun 25–Jul 1, 2009No comments yet
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