July 5, 2007

-- I woke up on Saturday morning to someone, somewhere hollering, followed by what sounded like a dog yelping in pain. What the? Where am I? What’s my name??

Myrtle Beach ! That’s where I am. And it’s Andy! Andy’s been seriously hurt!!

I sprang from the bed, eyes bugging-out like Benjamin Linus, and crashed through the camper door wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxer briefs, to find Toney sipping a cup of coffee with our dog sleeping contentedly at her feet.

“The shit’s going on out here?,” I asked through gasps and coughs. She looked up, confused, and said, “Why are you standing outside in your underwear?”

It was the yappin’ dog next door. I eventually figured it out. The thing sounded like its head had just been run over by a sausage truck every time it barked. Grrr… And God only knows who was yelling like that. We were in the South after all.

While getting dressed I realized my back wasn’t hurting. Huh. I almost always spend Day Two of a camping trip walking around like a man who’s just lost his balance and is trying not to fall down a flight of stairs. But everything was perfectly fine this go ‘round. Excellent.

I also realized I didn’t get up during the night to pee. Not once, even after all that designer beer. It’s the bathroom that makes the difference, you know. Just knowing it’s there removes all pee-pressure, and allows the subconscious to focus on other pressing matters. Like barbecued pork, and whatnot.

While camping in our rolling box o’ beds I always, without fail, would wake up at 3 am or whatever, feeling like my bladder was stretched to its maximum expanse. And I’d have to tromp down to the bathhouse in the dark, seeing throat-slashers lurking in the shadows, and relieve the terrific pressure.

Having a baffroom just a few feet away makes all the difference. And I recommend it highly.

I sat beside Toney with a giant mug of coffee, and began the process of eeeasing into the day. A man at an adjacent campsite, who’d made the unfortunate decision to go shirtless, asked another guy for his cell phone number. And the other guy answered, “It’s BR-549!” I pegged Mr. Cutting-Edge Comedy as the early-morning hollerer, but I have no proof of that. 

The man at the site directly in front of us, a person shaped like a human bowling pin, was breaking down camp and preparing to leave. He was running around unhooking hoses and cranking cranks… When he bent over to do something to one of his stabilizers, what looked like a full yard of ass crack rocketed from the top of his shorts. Toney and I both nearly choked on our hot beverages.

Later in the morning I asked ol’ Assy where he was from. 

Years ago, you see, we somehow pissed off some camping neighbors, and they refused to talk to us for the rest of the stay. I have no idea how we accomplished such a thing, but it made me feel terrible nonetheless. Since then I’ve always made a special effort to be hospitable in such situations.

Assy told me he was from “Up Florence,” whatever that means. And he didn’t seem to give a single seahorse-shaped shitlet where we were from. End of conversation. Have yourself a safe trip home there, Butt Crack Nine Pin.

When I stepped out of the shower in my parents’ camper for the first time, I misjudged the distance to the floor and nearly rammed my head straight through the goddamn medicine cabinet. It was like something off the cartoons, and it’s a wonder I didn’t knock the trailer off its jacks. …These kinds of things require some getting used to.

Following a late breakfast, we went for a walk on the beach. And it was soul-suckingly hot. The Secrets played in the poisonous ocean water, while Toney and I shared a five dollar Italian ice. It was super-crowded down there, and the noise level was amazing. But it’s almost impossible to be irritated on a beach. Ya know?

After lunch we walked to the store to get some ice, which didn’t seem very far away by car. But it was like Walking Across Egypt by foot. And like I said, it was hotter than the scrotum of a yak that day.  

They sell what’s known as “permanents” at this campground, which are basically travel trailers with screened porches attached. And they’re nicer than you might imagine. 

My parents used to own one, in fact. But the yearly land lease has now ballooned to almost $7000(!), so they dumped it. Every time we go to Myrtle Beach we dream about maybe buying one ourselves, and decided to take a look around one of the models they have there (again).

The woman inside immediately launched into a sales pitch, and shoved all manner of paperwork into our hands. I noticed that she went mmmmm… after every sentence. She’d say, “All units come with granite countertops, standard mmmmm…” 

I wasn’t able to retain a word she said, because I was completely mesmerized by all the mmmmm…

When we finished there, I saw the store across the road, and the golf cart rental shack in my peripheral vision. Hey, I wonder… Crazy thoughts began dancing in my head. I asked Toney, without the Secrets overhearing, if we should maybe go ahead and rent a cart after all. We’d said no freakin’ way the day before, but I could feel myself weakening on the subject.

And so we did. I got one of the very last ones available, and they have a bunch of ‘em there. The whole campground was lousy with golf carts, and we were right in the middle of it all. We’d have a few adult beverages and go out “exploring” at night, and it’s a whole lot of fun. I’m sure that sounds retarded, but it also happens to be true.

That night we’d planned to go to the beach and set off some of the bottle rockets we’d purchased. But the wind was blowing, and there was almost no fireworks activity. Usually there are dozens of people down there bombarding the sea with explosives, but shit was blowing back into the campground, so most folks were taking the night off.

The Secrets didn’t care for this turn of events, and went to bed mad. Apparently they’d been looking forward to it all day. I asked how they’d feel if one of their bottle rockets landed on the roof of somebody’s camper, and it burned to the ground, roasting a sleeping family alive? 

The oldest Secret rolled over defiantly and said, “Always with the dramatics.”

And maybe I’ll tell you about Sunday on Friday.

See ya then.

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