July 11, 2007

-- When Toney got out of the shower on Monday, she said there was no hot water. Not even a drop. I’d gone through the ordeal of firing up the hot water tank in my parents’ camper when we first arrived in Myrtle Beach, and there’d been no problem before.

I didn’t like the sound of it. Something had changed, you see, which meant I’d probably be required to make some kind of correction. And I don’t much care for the corrections.

Mostly as a stalling technique, I turned on the hot water in the sink. It was completely cold, and remained cold. Then Toney noticed the coffee pot wasn’t on anymore. The shit was deader than Kelsey’s nuts.

What in the hand-tossed hell?? Do campers have fuse boxes, and that sort of thing? I had no idea. Where’s my freakin’ cell phone?

My Dad had me check the hot water tank first. He seemed concerned about something, and asked me to take a look around in there and tell him what I saw. 

That checked out, and when I was re-locking the cover something snapped off. It was a little plastic tab on a spring that held the door shut, and now there was nothing there. It was just hanging open with the innards all exposed and visible to the world. This day was already making my ass hurt...

I told my Dad what happened, and he said not to worry about it. Just rig something up so the door stays shut, and he’d take care of it the next time he was down there. But this is a man who, I suspect, waxes the spikes used to hold down the indoor/outdoor carpet in front of his camper. I had to fix it before we left, it wasn’t even an option.

Turns out there’s a fuse box way down near the floor in the bedroom of that camper, and one of the breakers was broken, or whatever you call it. I took care of it, and we had hot water again, and the coffee began re-heating.

But what about the little plastic tab?? Grrrr…

Since we’d had trouble getting Chick-fil-A the day before, we decided to give it another go. The Secrets spent an hour or so at the pool, then we took off. Once again it was hotter than owl piss outside, and almost as humid. It was the kind of weather that saps you to the point you don’t even want to turn your head to the left to look at the clock.

I ordered a big ol’ salad. I was craving something fresh, because we’d been existing almost exclusively on hotdogs and hamburgers for days on end. My body was crying out for lettuce and tomatoes, and I gave it to him. Along with copious amounts of deep-fried chicken, of course.

Then we went to Wal-Mart (again), and heard a woman ask another woman, “Do we need more onions, or no?" What the?? Scranton talk! In Myrtle Beach !! That or no at the end of the question is straight from the streets of the Electric City. And I experienced a full-body shiver.

On our way back to the campground I stopped at a camper supply place, and walked around like an idiot for about ten minutes. I didn’t find what I was looking for, and nobody offered to help, so I left in a huff. The pricks.

We had to turn in our golf cart by 3:30, so we took care of that problem. I hated to see ol’ 561 go. She’d served us well over the past two days, and it pained me to think of someone else behind her wheel. But life is full of emotional goodbyes; you’ve just got to suck it up.

When I got back to the camper our neighbor was returning from the pool. His skin was blood-red, and he was carrying some sort of insulated bag which was almost certainly full of mixed-drinks. I said a few words to him, and his voice was absolutely devoid of inflection; it was almost like a buzzing sound. The dude was drunk.

While I was gone Toney did some research, and found another camper supply store nearby. I decided to go over there and check ‘em out. I couldn’t just borrow somebody’s camper, break shit, and drive away. I was obsessed with fixing that hot water tank cover.

And they had the part! It cost about six dollars, which was a major rip-off, but I would’ve gladly paid twenty-six. Ahhh, sweet relief…

That night we had a few beers, and walked on the beach with Andy. A big wave came rushing toward him at one point, and I think he compressed his sacs again. It smelled like chum out there. 

Then we sat in front of the camper and watched for good ol’ 561 to go past. The oldest Secret claimed he saw it, but I never did. And I was glad about it. I’d hate to fly into a jealous rage over a golf cart; it might not send the proper signals.

After everyone went to bed that night, I loaded up my pockets with Yuenglings and returned to the beach. We’d be leaving the next morning, and I wanted to spend a little more time by the ocean. It’s best at night, I think.

So I stood and watched the waves, and drained off some of the golden elixir. I thought Big Thoughts, and contemplated our future. Then I had to shit again.

Just like two days earlier, I had to practically sprint to the bathhouse. I thought about wading out into the sea and just letting it go there, but was afraid it might attract man-eating sharks. So I went the more accepted route, and made a beeline for porcelain.

And it wasn’t nearly as painless as the previous go ‘round. The first two stalls were, shall we say, defiled. The third one looked OK, but time was wasting. Also there were people in there showering and shaving and who knows what. There wasn’t the type of comfort zone I prefer.

But what are you going to do? I took care of business, snapped these photos of the first two stalls for journalistic reasons, and called it a day.

And when I feel like it, I’ll finish this long-winded, dragged-out tale.

See ya tomorrow.



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