Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
C minus. That's what I'd rate the weekend camping trip, a big fat C
minus. Toney wasn't so forgiving and said F minus, which I don't believe
is even a legitimate grade. Then she added, paraphrasing a character on Boston
Public, "and if they'd let me, I'd give it a G." She also
suggested we shove the rolling box of beds off a bridge, into the
Susquehanna River. Scary, because Toney is usually the family's camping
cheerleader....
Here's what happened:
Friday I wasn't able to leave work as early as I'd hoped, and we
didn't get on the road until about 3:45. But it was only a ninety mile
trek, so no big deal. We had our traditional travel CD, Tom Petty's Greatest
Hits, and an outsize sack of Sam's Club Jelly Belly knock-offs, and
were in a great mood, anticipating a little time away from reality.
Soon after leaving interstate 81, and entering interstate 80, we hit
traffic. For a long time we crept forward at a speed so low it didn't
register on the dashboard gauges. Several times we were completely
stopped, and people were out of their cars talking to each other. It was
hotter than the proverbial owl piss and I had the A/C in my Blazer
cranked, just knowing that the engine would soon explode.
We made it through that particular mess, caused by a crew of
"workers" leaning on shovels behind road cones, rocketed down
the road for a few miles at normal speed (free at last!), before it all
happened again. Same reason, same results.
It took us three hours and ten minutes to travel less than a hundred
miles. Grrrr.... But there was plenty of daylight left, and we gritted
our teeth and attempted to will away the white-hot all-consuming
irritation that had overtaken us.
The woman at the front counter in the campground wasn't very friendly,
and immediately she and I were having "words." She was acting
like each person there was just another drudgery she was forced to
endure, literally rolling her eyes in exasperation at every question
posed to her. I've worked retail and am familiar with that feeling, but
I also know that you're not supposed to be so obvious about it.
With all the traffic issues, I was in no
mood. So the two of us sparred, trading smart-ass jabs. And after the
transaction was complete, I'm almost certain she gave me a little
conspiratorial nod of the head, which seemed to say: it's been nice
doing battle with you, you're a formidable opponent. I returned the
unspoken compliment, and we were off.
I'd been assured that we were assigned a prized pull-through site, which
save me the humiliation of displaying my lack of backing skills. There's
nothing worse than rolling into a campground late in the evening, when
all the other campers are already set-up and guzzling Busch Light, and
having a snickering audience as I struggle to get our camper in place.
But we wouldn't have that problem here, we'd made arrangements on the
front end.
The place looked great. We had to drive a long way to reach our site,
and I was almost shocked at how pretty and well-maintained it was. Up in
this part of the country, I've found, campgrounds are an iffy
proposition. I guess it's because the season is so short, and it's hard
to make any money at it. I don't know. But camping in the northeast can
be pretty scary, if you don't play your cards right.
No issues here, though. It seemed to be packed-out with All-American
families. Kids were everywhere, folks were playing horseshoes in the big
grassy commons, and everyone seemed happy. It looked like some sort of
Norman Rockwell paradise to me. I couldn't believe it. And so close to
our house, too.
As we made our way to the site I passed a guy standing in front of his
camper, drinking a beer. He had buck teeth protruding through a Fu
Manchu moustache, and a filthy baseball cap advertising some sort of
heavy machinery brand. I waved at him as we passed, as required by the
Kamping Kulture handbook, but he didn't return the gesture. He just
looked at me with the smile of the semi-retarded. The hell, man? Is the
dude drunk already??
We found our spot, but there was a problem. While that entire row of
sites was designed to be pull-throughs, some were built-up in the
back with railroad ties, to make them level. So there was no
pulling-through happening here, none whatsoever.
Was it really our site?
Perhaps there'd been some sort of mix-up? We were in deep denial, and
decided to go around the big one-way loop again.
As we passed BuckyChu this time, I was almost certain he was chuckling. Heeeere
we go.
A man and woman had been preparing to set up a large tent near a
tree the first time around, and they had a full-on infrastructure built
the second time we passed. Humiliating.
And, of course, it was true. I'd have to back the camper into our space,
in front of a large captive audience. I began running my hands through
my hair, and spewing obscenities, just a-stressin'. The office lady had
landed a knockout punch. Oh, she was good....
Toney told me to calm down, and jumped out of the truck to act as my
guide. I started to back up and the camper went off on its own, not
obeying my demands. I felt like every male eye was upon me, and fluids
were exiting my body at an alarming rate. Then a car came, and stopped a
few feet away, intending to wait until I was finished. I flew into a
rage, threw the Blazer into drive, and took off. The box o' beds bounced
wildly on the uneven road, and I saw Toney throw up her hands in
frustration in the rearview mirror.
I had to go all the way around the loop again, and the bucktoothed
hillbilly was still standing guard, with his Natural Light or whatever,
and was now openly laughing at me. I thought about throwing open my door
as I passed, and knocking him on his ass, but he looked like he'd been
in a few bar fights in his time. And a few post office fights. And a few
church fights. And a few JC Penney bedding department fights. I opted to
stare straight ahead instead, acting as if I didn't see him.
The tent folks were now sitting in lawn chairs in front of their
fully-constructed canvas mansion, sipping mixed drinks and talking.
They'd arrived at the same time we did, and were already vacationing! They didn't seem to notice me driving past again, but my face
became hot with embarrassment anyway.
I backed the stupid thing in as best as I could, and decided we'd just
shove it the rest of the way. The trailer is so light, you can just roll
it into place, a fact that's saved me several times. But the guy
camping next to us came running over and offered to "straighten it
up" for me. Instinctively I told him no, but Toney was urging me to
let him do it. So I did.
And at that moment my testicles were officially snipped off, and placed
inside a figurative lockbox. Another man had backed my camper, and
there's simply no returning from such shame. May as well start the
hormone injections today.
But we were finally landed, fully-ballless but landed, and it didn't
take long to have our little nest built. Across the street was a
pavilion or clubhouse, or some such thing. They were playing bingo
inside, and it was packed with people. As we set up the camper, put out
our awning, and all that jazz, it sounded like Ben Stein was over there
talking his monotone into an amplification device: B-11, that's
B-11.... Continuously, until about ten o'clock.
Despite the high heat, we built a fire (the kids always insist), and
cooked some kick-ass chicken on the charcoal grill. And, of course,
plenty of Yuengling was consumed. Plenty of Yuengling.
And as I walked to the (incredibly clean and air-conditioned) bathhouse
to get rid of said liquids, guess who I saw? That's right, Fu Man
Wood-Hick, out walking with his chinless wife. He still had his
surgically-attached beer and the same amused expression on his face. He
looked right at me and his big teeth appeared to jump up and down inside their
frame of redneck facial hair, as he apparently mocked me without
hesitation.
Would the humiliation never stop??
But there was more beer, lots more beer, back at the camp. And we thought the worst was behind us, that it would be smooth sailing from
there. Oh, how inexperienced and naive we were back then....
--
C minus. That's what I'd rate the weekend camping trip, a big fat C
minus. Toney wasn't so forgiving and said F minus, which I don't believe
is even a legitimate grade. Then she added, paraphrasing a character on Boston
Public, "and if they'd let me, I'd give it a G." She also
suggested we shove the rolling box of beds off a bridge, into the
Susquehanna River. Scary, because Toney is usually the family's camping
cheerleader....