Apart from figuring out who’s really in charge (and it might be a fluid deal, depending on who is in the truck), there are some basics of camp behavior that almost always apply no matter where I’ve been.
Listen more than you talk—at least at first.
Take your muddy boots off at the door, just outside or inside, depending. Some camps are actually houses, with lace-fringed decor, even bed-and-breakfast establishments in the off-season. Treat these places like your own.
Trust your guide—discuss any conflicts with an open mind.
Avoid the camp snorer(s) if you can (it’s tough to hunt or fish well without rest). Simply volunteer you’re that person (guilty), and that sleeping alone would save everyone some grief. Whether we like to admit it or not, we all like to sleep in a room by ourselves for two reasons: (1) The camp snorer, and all of us possibly qualify, can be avoided, and (2) We can spare anyone else from our own contributions to that dilemma.
Pick your spots. You may want to settle as far away from the bathroom as possible. Like the kitchen, it’s the hub of activity too. Sometimes you and your hunting buddies will all sleep in one big room, like a military barracks. Make the best of it, earplugs in tow. You also need to identify who is in charge of making the morning coffee (serious business!), and whether you’d be a help or hindrance to do that yourself.
In the end, you should try to have some nice things to say about the food (or coffee) even if it isn’t the best you’ve had. Always repeat yourself if it is the best food (or coffee) you’ve ever had. Often enough it is.
I’ve slept in New England staked tents, converted Texas railroad cars, plus well-groomed hunting lodges from New York to California, with properly arranged dining utensils and celebrated kitchen chefs (if only self-declared), among many other outposts along the way; all of those places were referred to as camp. I’ve returned there too after following the rules.