Category Archives: Work Camping

Aug15

Meteors

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astronomy, comet, constellationI’d managed to forget about the Perseid meteor shower.

Last year people came to my campground particularly to see the meteors.

Three women were sharing a campsite. They’d come from MegaBabylon with fancy cameras and tripods. Their plan was to set up the cameras on the tripods in the meadow and set the timers to shoot photos every twenty seconds. I spent quite a bit of time talking to the two women who’d arrived first. I felt like we’d had a nice connection. I told them about my blog and gave them my card. They promised to send me some of the photos they’d shot of the night sky, but I never heard from them.

The other reserved campsite was taken by two young Asian American brothers. One did all the talking and was very polite. They were from MegaBabylon too.

It was the middle of the week, and no one else was in the campground–just me and the five stargazers. They were all really excited about the meteor shower, which wasn’t surprising, considering they’d driven for hours to come to a really dark area to get a good view of the night sky.

The group enthusiasm got me thinking maybe I needed to see the meteor shower too. I like nature. I like stars. I really like shooting stars. Here I was in a prime location for seeing this meteor show. Maybe I should get out of the van and have a look.

The photographer women said the shower would start after midnight and peak around 2am. They encouraged me to see the shower, but they didn’t invite me to join their party.

Midnight? 2am? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen those hours, unless I was up briefly to pee. I didn’t think I’d be able to stay up so late, but maybe I could set my alarm and get out of bed at the appropriate time.

The middle of the night came and my alarm sounded. I did not want to leave my warm, comfortable bed. I was soooo sleepy, but I knew the starts were out there, and now was the time to see them. I dressed and grabbed my old sleeping bag that doesn’t zip. As I trudged out to the meadow, I heard the campers already out there.

By chance, I ended up between the two groups. The camera ladies were in front of me; the brothers were behind me. I curled up in my sleeping bag and looked up at the brilliant night sky.

There were so many stars! It was all so beautiful!

In my head, I kept hearing Boots Riley sing

And though the stars are magnificent
whiskey and the midnight sky can make ya feel insignificant

I was cold. The ground was hard and uncomfortable. I felt less and less significant.

The talking and laughing of the others made me feel more and more isolated. I wish I had friends, I thought. I wish I weren’t out here alone, I thought. I wish I had someone to look at the sky with, I thought.

Lying there by myself, waiting to see chunks of the heavens come crashing from the sky made me feel increasingly sad. The sky is falling, and I’ve got no one, I thought.

I don’t remember seeing a single shooting star before I gathered up my sleeping bag and trudged back to the van. I didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Throughout my insomnia, I could hear the brothers’ oooohs and aaaahs of appreciation as stars streaked across the sky. Knowing others were happy did not cheer me up.

I was depressed for weeks. Sure, I’m typically low-grade depressed all the time, but this was forefront depression, crying at night, struggling to drag myself out of bed in the morning.

This year, I hadn’t even thought about meteor showers until I checked-in a young stoner couple on the afternoon of August 12th.

They had a lot of questions about my personal life. How long did I stay in the campground? Was I there every day? Did I hike a lot on my days off? (When I said no, the man asked me what I did on my days off.)

When I confirmed the couple was only staying one night, the woman said, There’s a meteor shower tonight! I guess they’d come from Babylon to see it.

Oh Perseid meteor shower! Metaphor for my loneliness!

I didn’t even consider setting my alarm. Best just to sleep through it, which I did. I didn’t hear the couple (who were camped in the site next to mine) scamper to the meadow or exclaim in delight.

Best just to ignore the stars falling from the sky while I am alone.

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/astronomy-comet-constellation-cosmos-631477/.

Aug13

Grumpy Lady Returns

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The lady who was mad because a) her Golden Age pass didn’t waive the parking fee and b) the $5 she paid for parking didn’t get her a trail guide returned to the parking lot a week and a day later. I recognized the expression of displeasure and the 80s-era glasses on her face immediately, but even though she snapped, I’m back! when I approached her car, I acted as if I’d never seen her before. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being memorable.

The comment card I’d giver her the week before was lying on her dashboard, so I guess she hadn’t been upset enough to dash off her thoughts and drop it in a mailbox right away. She’d acted as if not getting a trail guide was the most important event of her day, so I was surprised to see the comment card casually lying upon her otherwise pristine dash.

The first time I encountered the grumpy lady, a young woman had been with her. The young woman had spoken nary a word while the older woman complained. This time the grumpy lady had two passengers, both of whom remained silent.

After snapping I’m back, the grumpy woman thrust a $20 bill at me. I accepted it. I handed her the day pass, then proceeded to get her change.

A lot of people pay their parking fee with $1 bills. If I don’t give those $1 bills people who pay with $20 bills, my little plastic accordion file ends up bulging, and at the end of the day, I might have 50 or 100 dollar bills to count. If I’ve accumulated a lot of ones, I’ll sometimes give one person $15 change in ones, especially if that person’s pissed me off. Sometimes people make snide remarks when I hand over a bunch of singles, but I figure money’s money and if they don’t want a bunch of ones, why do they expect me to want them? I wouldn’t say it aloud, but my attitude about change is you get what I give you and quit complaining.

So when it came time to give the grumpy woman her change, I decided to get rid of some ones. I gave her ten singles (because I didn’t have fifteen) and a $5 bill, but she wasn’t happy about all the ones.

Don’t you have many $5 bills, she demanded.

Not too many, I said. People have been giving me twenties today. I’ve been having to make a lot of change.

It was the truth. The trend on Fridays is $20 bills. I guess people hit the ATM at the beginning of the weekend and the machine spits out twenties. It was early in the day, and I had ten singles and maybe $25 in fives. Someone was going to end up with the ones anyway. Why not this nag?

What do you do when you run out of change? she wanted to know.

First of all, it’s none of her business what I do when I run out of change. But saying none of your business would have seemed rude and sketchy.

Secondly, what I do when I run out of change depends on the situation. If my co-worker is in the parking lot when I run out, I can ask him to change a twenty, or I can ask him to handle things while I go to the van and get change from my money bag. However, on Fridays, once I’ve done my cash out, I don’t have any smaller bills in the van. Sometimes if I can’t make change, I’ll tell people to see me after they walk the trail, by which time I may have smaller bills. Sometimes if people have a couple of ones and a twenty and I can’t change the twenty, I’ll just take the ones. And on rare occasions when I’ve had no change, I’ve let drivers park for free. (What else can I do? I can’t shoot $5 bills out of my ass, but OH! how glorious life would be if I could.)

But all of that is a lot to explain to a grumpy woman who seemingly wanted to find fault with everything I did, so I just said, People have to dig a little deeper.

By then she had her day pass and her $15, and she drove off to park.

I ran right over to my co-worker and said, That was the woman… and filled him in. He’d overheard some of our conversation and said about the woman, What a sour person.

Five or ten minutes later, the grumpy woman marched up to where my co-worker and I were sitting while we waited for incoming cars. The woman was carrying a disposable plastic water bottle, and she demanded, Where’s the water spigot? (Not excuse me or could you tell me or please, but with the attitude and tone of voice of You will fulfill my need for water RIGHT NOW!)

My co-worker calmly explained there is no water in the parking lot because the drought has caused the well to run dry. He had to explain the situation to the woman at least twice before she stopped demanding he tell her where the water spigot was. Then she said she guessed she’d have to go to the campground next door to get water. So my co-worker explained there is no water at the campground next door or at my campground down the road. She kept insisting she’d gotten water from the campground next door. My co-worker said it must have been more than three years ago because the campground hadn’t had water for at least that long.

Finally, she marched off and my co-worker made the victory gesture of arm bent at the elbow, hand balled into a fist, arm dropping while whispering, Yes! Usually denying people water is not a cause for celebration, but this woman’s unpleasantness made us want to thwart her.

Quite some time later, my co-worker and I realized we hadn’t seen the woman or her passengers cross the street to the trail, nor had we seen them drive away.

Maybe she’s out divining water, my co-worker said. I got a good laugh from the picture that produced in my head.

Maybe her passengers beat her with sticks and now they’re burying her in the meadow, I offered.

In any case, I was glad she didn’t feel the need to talk to me again.

 

Aug8

Trail Guides

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Last season, my co-worker and I handed out a trail guide to the driver of every car that parked in the parking lot. These were nice trail guides: trifold, printed on both sides in color on heavy, glossy paper. We had trail guides early this season too, until right after Memorial Day.

The company I work for doesn’t provide the trail guides; they’re provided by an association promoting giant sequoias. The association recently did some work on the trial, and my boss told me the plan is to mount informational plaques on wood in front of the featured trees. He doesn’t know if this plan will do away with the trail guides or when the informational plaques will appear. In the meantime, as I told my boss, visitors are sad every day when I tell them I have no trail guide to give them.

My co-worker and I were discussing the possible demise of the paper trail guide. I noted they must cost a pretty penny, so doing away with them would save someone money. Also, I speculated 95% of them (a number I pulled right out of my ass) end up in the landfill, so doing away with them would be an environmentally sound step.

However, my co-worker countered, people like getting the trail guide. Being handed the trail guide makes them feel as if they’re getting something for the $5 they pay to park. I couldn’t argue with him there because I knew he was right.

My co-worker left for the day, and I was in the parking lot alone.

A car pulled in, and I approached the driver’s side. Through the window, I saw a driver who looked like a retired junior high school teacher–very uptight. When I told her about the $5 parking fee, she wanted to use her Golden Age pass. I explained we accept no passes and offer no discounts in the parking lot. She was surly, so I explained further that the private company I work for has a concession with the Forest Service and is allowed to charge the $5 fee to maintain the restrooms and the parking lot.

She snapped, The Forest Service maintains all the restrooms!

(I love setting people straight when they speak with authority but obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.)

I stayed very calm and said in a friendly voice, No ma’am. The Forest Service does not maintain these restrooms. The private company I work for maintains the restrooms and buys the toilet paper.

She had no retort on the topic of restrooms, so she asked about the campground next door. I gave her the information, even told her she could use her Golden Age pass there to get 50% off the camping fee. She said she was going to look at the campground.

I said something like Ok, Great! but in the privacy of my brain, I was thinking, Good riddance.

It wasn’t good riddance for long; she was back in the parking lot a few minutes later. I guess she hadn’t like what she saw in the campground.

I took the woman’s $5 and handed her a day pass.

Don’t I get a trail guide? she demanded.

We’ve been out of trail guides for about six weeks, I told her calmly. I don’t have any to give.

Can’t you make photocopies? she demanded.

This question made me chuckle aloud. I don’t even have electricity at the campground where I’m the camp host. I don’t have any way to make photocopies, I told her.

She was quite exasperated now. Surely the company you work for has an office, she said. They could make photocopies there.

The company I work for doesn’t provide the trail guides, I told her. They’re provided by an association…

I realized the conversation was unworkable. She would have a counterargument or another question in response to anything I said. I decided to try a new tactic.

Would you like a comment card? I offered.

My new tactic for complainers I can’t seem to placate is to offer a comment card. If the complainer accepts the card, the heat’s off me. Not only does the card distract them, but they quit complaining to me because their complaint is now moving on to a higher power. If the complainer does not accept a comment card, we both knows/he is not adequately invested in the complaint. The complainer usually quits talking at that point, and I certainly quit listening.

Oh yes, the uptight woman said. She certainly did want a comment card. If I’m paying $5, I want a trail guide, she told me.

Just like my co-worker had said.

I got the comment card for her. She didn’t hand it back to me, so she must have mailed it in to the president of the company for which I work. She wasn’t the type to decide it was no big deal after all.

 

Aug7

Big Hands

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It was almost the end of my shift when the car pulled in. A Latino man was driving. A man of undetermined heritage wearing a big straw hat was in the passenger’s seat.

When I asked, Are y’all here for the trail? the man wearing the big hat said, I’m from [nearby town].

I’m not sure if he thought he’d get special treatment because he was a local, but I immediately replied, There’s a $5 parking fee.

As he began fumbling for his money, he told me his friend (the driver) was visiting from Mexico City, and he (the passenger) wanted to show him (the driver) the big trees.

There was something a little odd going on with the passenger, although I couldn’t quite put my finger on what. He was oversharing a bit (I didn’t really care where he lived or why he’d decided to visit the trail on that particular day), and while he was moving a little slowly, he also seemed somewhat frantic.

The driver never said a word, barely looked at me.

I collected the $5, handed over the day pass, and sent them on their way. I sat in my chair and continued working on the letter I was writing. I almost forgot I’d ever seen the guy wearing the big straw hat.

I became aware of someone standing in front of me, silently watching me. I looked up. There was the guy wearing the big straw hat.

He told me he was sad about all the dead trees.

I told him the drought had killed them.

He told me the trees at his place were dying too, trees he’d planted with his own two hands.

(I really don’t think I get paid near enough to be a grief counselor helping people work through their sadness at the death of trees, but I was trying to be polite.)

Then he asked why so many trees had been cut down in the parking lot.

I explained those trees had been dead or dying and had been deemed hazardous.

He pointed to a nearby tree that had been felled. He said the tree looked healthy to him. He wanted to know why a tree that seemed healthy to him had been cut.

I’m not tree expert. (That’s probably why I wasn’t hired to determine what trees in the parking lot needed to be taken down before they fell on a car or a person.) I don’t know specifically why the tree the man wearing the big straw hat thought was healthy had been cut down. I don’t even know why the man wearing the big straw hat thought the tree in question had been healthy. Presumably, the man in front of me wasn’t a tree expert either, since he hadn’t presented his credentials, verbally or otherwise. I can only guess that even if the tree on the ground looked fine, some sickness had been detected, and it was in danger of falling.

I’m fairly distrustful of the government, but I hardly think there’s a conspiracy in my parking lot to cut down healthy trees. What would be the point?

You’d have to talk to someone from the Forest Service about that, I told him in reply to his question about why the particular tree of interest had been felled.

The man wearing the big straw hat became more animated.

I work for the LA Times! he exclaimed.

(Oh yeah? In what capacity? I should have asked. But really, I didn’t want to engage him. I really just wanted to get back to writing my letter.)

He insinuated he could get to the bottom of this.

He said, I’m a writer. I have big hands! He held up his hands for me to see. They didn’t look particularly big to me. And what if they were? What’s hand size got to do with being a writer? Nothing, as far as I can tell.

And you know what else? he asked.

(If this man says something about the size of his dick, I’m going to lose my shit, I thought. That’s how weird he was getting–weird enough that I thought he might start talking about his penis.)

I love this place! He was really excited now. You let anyone around here doing anything wrong know that I will find out! he told me. Because I am a writer! And I love this place!

Ok, I said, and pointed out to him his friend from Mexico City leaving him behind, rapidly crossing the street and heading for the trail.

You better catch up, I told the man in the big straw hat.

He just stood there and looked at me, clearly wanting to rant some more.

I looked down at the letter in my lap, trying to signal the end of our interaction.

Finally (finally!) he walked away, but as he crossed the street, he continued to shout about being a writer and loving this place and having big hands.

Thankfully, my shift ended and I was gone before he returned to the parking lot.

IMG_6350

I took this photo of felled hazard trees.

Aug6

No Smoking

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addict, addiction, ashtrayShe was suspiciously happy when she drove her car into the parking lot. She was practically bouncing up and down in her seat when I asked her if she were there to see the trees. I was glad to see someone so excited to walk the trail.

She was polite to me, answering my questions with yes, ma’am and no, ma’am.

She was concerned with the people in the car behind her, which included her passenger’s mother. She wondered if the mother had money to pay the parking fee, seemed ready to pony up if the folks in the other car had no cash.

She was acting like a really nice person.

She parked her vehicle near the front of the lot. All I had to do was turn my head, and I could see it. She and her passenger got out of her car and gave parking advice to the driver of the second vehicle.

I glanced over and saw a plume of smoke. My eyes followed the smoke to the cigarette, followed the cigarette to the mouth of the suspiciously happy woman.

I took a few steps closer to the smoking woman.

Excuse me, ma’am, I said. I have to tell you that smoking is only allowed in your car with the windows rolled up. The fire ban is very strict right now.

The woman wasn’t happy anymore.

She said something along the lines of Are you shitting me? She sounded angry.

Then she spat out, I have a five month old baby! I can’t smoke in the car!

Since 2008, it’s been illegal in California for adults to smoke in a car when people under 18 are present.

Maybe the once happy, now angry, woman was referencing that law, or maybe she was concerned about the infant’s health. Or maybe she was just using the baby as an excuse because she didn’t want to smoke in the car with the windows rolled up. In any case, she seemed really mad.

Well, you could not smoke, I told her mildly. Or you could sit in the other vehicle (I gestured to the small pickup the passenger’s mother had arrived in) to smoke. Or you could take the baby out of your car before you get in to smoke. (The passenger could have supervised the baby while the driver sat in the car and smoked.)

She’d quit listening to me. She was pissed off because she couldn’t have her cigarette when and where she wanted it.

I went back to my chair. I wasn’t glad I’d ruined her day, but I was glad I’d stopped her from adding to the fire danger.

Image courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/dirty-addiction-cigarette-unhealthy-46183/.

Aug4

Second Most Popular Attraction

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It was Independence Day weekend and the parking lot was quite busy.

A car carrying three women pulled in. A brunette–probably in her 50s–was driving. The woman in the passenger seat seemed to be the driver’s mother. I didn’t get a good look at the woman in the back seat.

The mother-age woman tried to use her Golden Age card to avoid the parking fee. I explained we accept no passes and offer no discounts in the parking lot. The mother-age woman seemed mildly disgruntled, but the woman driving took it all in stride and stayed friendly.

I further explained the lot was quite crowded and they might not be able to find a parking spot. I sent them on their way to look for a place to park, telling them to pay the parking fee up front on their way to trail if they found a place to leave the car.

My co-worker was off cleaning restrooms when the women showed up at the front of the parking lot, three little dogs in tow. The third woman was blond, and I picked up the info she was the cousin of the brunette, who was the daughter of the woman with the Golden Age card.

The brunette cheerfully paid the parking fee and went off to use the restroom, leaving her dog with the other two women who hovered near me and vied for my attention. I was not standing around idly entertaining tourists, but collecting parking fees and explaining the lay of the land to new arrivals.

The blond cousin and the mother were not scintillating conversationalists. Every time I got to walk away from them felt like an escape. They both seemed rather out of it, slow even, but I don’t know if that was due to age, medication, or genetics. Honestly, they were making me nervous and uptight.

Finally, the brunette returned and collected her little dog. Something was said about the restrooms, maybe a comment was made about how long the brunette had stood in line.

I said, My co-worker says the restrooms are the second most popular attraction here.

What’s the most popular? the blond asked.

I was stunned, both by the question and my inability to think of a smart-ass response.

I just answered, The trees ma’am. The trees.

The most popular attraction.

I took this photo of the most popular attraction.

 

 

 

Aug2

Deadheads

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Say what you will, but I’m pretty sure I manifested those people.

Exhibit  A: I’d been reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test for about a week. I guess you could say I’d been savoring it. Oh man–Merry Pranksters and LSD! Just a day or so before, I’d gotten to the part where the Grateful Dead became the house band at the Acid Tests.

Exhibit B: Just the day before, I pulled out the hemp and began making necklaces between collecting parking fees.  [amazon template=image&asin=B001689Y8Y] I started with whimsical mushroom pendants sent to me by a friend. The necklace-making went so well (three necklaces made in a four hour shift), I figured I could do it the three slow days of my parking lot work week. I was working on a hemp necklace when the people pulled into the parking lot.

It makes perfect sensed to me: focus on Merry Pranksters + LSD + Grateful Dead, throw in the repetitive, meditative motion of making square knots from hemp, and Deadheads are bound to appear.

The people arrived in a puff of sage smoke, with maybe a bit of marijuana in the mix.

The car was banged up, a real beater, and was hauling a battered pop-up camper. I didn’t know who the people were at first. I thought maybe they’d mistaken the parking lot for a campground (as happens fairly often). I thought maybe they were just tourists in a scruffy car, regular people who wanted to see some trees.

When the car stopped next to me, the driver had to open his door to hear my rap. (My van’s driver-side window doesn’t go down, so I’m never surprised when I see other people in the same situation.)

Are y’all here for the trees? I asked, and the driver said yes.

There’s a $5 parking fee, I said.

At that point I looked into the car and began to see.

I noticed the driver first. He had a black mark on his forehead, above his nose. He looked like a Catholic on Ash Wednesday, but having been raised Catholic, I know Ash Wednesday doesn’t come in late July.

Then I noticed the child in the backseat. She was probably three and tiny and dirty and her hair was in ratty dreads that meant her mamma had quit fighting her about brushing it. Only hardcore modern hippies have kids with hair like that.

Next I glanced at the dashboard where a lot of papers were piled up. Peeking out from the pile–upside down– I was pretty sure that was Jerry Garcia on that poster.

WAIT! These weren’t tourists. These were maybe–possibly–oh, I hope!

These were the kids!

Is that a Grateful Dead poster on the dash? I asked.

The driver said it was.

I said, There’s no parking fee!

Kids don’t charge kids, man, and these were the kids, and I’m a kid too, under this brown polyester uniform, in my heart.

The driver asked the adult in the backseat (a man younger than I am, but probably the oldest of the bunch), Do you have…something…mumble…mumble…something?

I thought they were fishing around for five bucks, but instead of money, they produced a cardboard sign featuring the words I need a miracle and an awesome drawing of a skeleton.

Hell yeah! I miracled those kids right into that parking lot!

They’d been at a Dead & Company show the night before (or maybe the night before that), and they were heading to a Dead & Company show that night (or maybe the next) but I just had to take a detour and see some trees, the driver told me.

While they parked, I got some granola bars together for them. (Being on tour is hungry work.) The granola bars were met with enthusiasm by the two men, the tiny child, and the fourth person in the party, a young woman resplendent in bold face paint and a fuzzy tail swinging from the seat of her shorts.

They weren’t gone as long as I thought they might be.

When they returned to the parking lot, I asked them how they’d liked the trees.

There were many expressions of approval and thanks.

We’d stay longer, the driver told me, but we have a date with Bobby. (That’s  Bob  Weir of the Grateful Dead, Furthur, and now Dead & Company for folks not in the know.)

I wish I could go with you! I said.

Come on, the woman said immediately. Quit your job! Come with us!

It was the perfect answer, just what I wanted and needed her to say. I’d been dreaming of running away with them from the moment I realized who they were. The last week had been hard with the heat and the bugs and the idiots, and I’d really been wanting to leave.

Turns out just being invited to go with them was enough.

I didn’t go with them, not because I didn’t want to, but because that’s not the path I’m on at the moment. Also, the last time I cast my lot with Deadheads I didn’t even know–well, let’s just say the trip was longer and stranger than I’d ever imagined it could be, from the snow of Colorado to my Southwest Louisiana homeland. Getting out of that one mostly unscathed has made me less likely to run off with strangers.

In any case, when I said I couldn’t (wouldn’t, shouldn’t) go, the older (but still much younger than I) guy stopped and looked at me, told me he appreciated what I was doing keeping it locked down for these trees. That made me feel good too, even though I’m mostly just a parking lot attendant. But yeah, I’m here for the trees, and I’m here to recognize the kids who need a miracle every damn day. (I need those miracles too, and that day, those kids were my miracle.)

The crew headed back to the car, but a few minutes later, I heard a voice say, This is for you.

The woman had returned, and while she didn’t hand me the party favor I’d been trying to manifest, (but I understand, it’s not safe to hand sacraments like that to strangers in polyester-blend pants), I was very pleased with the bundle of California white sage she presented to me.

The car left as it arrived, in a puff of sage smoke, camper trailer in tow. On the back of the trailer was a heart, inscribed inside with the words Not Fade Away, as in a love that’s real not fade away.

Don’t even try to tell me I didn’t draw those people right to me. [amazon template=image&asin=B000E1ZBFO]

Jul31

Giant RV

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It was a busy Sunday in the parking lot, but the fever pitch of the late morning was mellowing a bit in the early afternoon. My co-worker had gone for the day, and I was on my own.

Bus, 3D Modeling, Motor Home, Travel, Render, TouristI saw a giant motor home approach the parking lot. By giant, I mean as big as a bus. This RV was literally the size of a Greyhound and didn’t look shiny enough to be rented. While it looked neither old nor trashy, it had dings and scratches. The people in the front were relatively young, probably in their mid-30s. The man in the passenger seat was blond and wore glasses. The driver was a woman with long, dark hair.

The little voice in my head was a bit late in whispering this is a bad idea, and I didn’t sprint over to send them down to the long, narrow overflow parking lot. The giant RV made the turn into my parking lot, and I waved them in.

My co-worker maintains we can get a bus through the parking lot, so my faith wasn’t entirely misplaced. He’s seen buses as big as Greyhounds enter, park, and later exit, so I was confident it could be done if the driver had adequate skill.

I told the driver of the giant RV I wasn’t sure if she’d find a place to park the behemoth. I told her if she did, she could pay me the $5 parking fee on the way to the trail. Then I sent her on her way, hoping she could get the huge vehicle through the lot and out again.

Some time passed, but I don’t know if it was five or ten or fifteen minutes. A man in his thirties approached me. He had blond hair and glasses. He told me he was with the RV. He said the RV could not get through because of car(s) parked in designated no parking areas. I asked him what he meant by designated no parking areas. He said a car (or maybe multiple cars) were parked on the pavement in areas not marked with lines as parking spaces. (None of the spaces in our parking lot are marked by signs saying no parking.) He said there wasn’t enough space for the motor home to get through, and they couldn’t back it up around the loop’s curves.

I told him all they could do was wait until the driver(s) of the car(s) blocking them returned. The blond man with glasses looked sad and walked back to his ride.

I wasn’t too concerned with the giant RV being temporarily stuck. I knew the people in the blocking cars would eventually return, at which time, according to the blond man, the driver of the giant RV would be able to swing it through the loop and out. My immediate concern was for the people trying to leave who were stuck behind the giant RV. My next concern was for people who arrived and wanted to park while the giant RV was stuck.

Cars parked on the exit side of the traffic jam were able to leave. Some of the drivers of those cars gave me reports on the RV as they left.

One young woman told me the RV was stuck because some asshole(s) had parked where they shouldn’t have. I told her we’d just have to wait until the asshole(s) returned to those vehicles.

Slowly, cars began to exit from the wrong way of the one-way loop. I guess the drivers stuck behind the giant RV realized breaking the rules was the only way they were going to get out. One by one, they were figuring out how to turn around so they could leave.

Thankfully, we’d hit a slow time in the flow of the parking lot. Only seven cars arrived during the time of the RV blockage. I was able to get them parked at the front of the lot, in spaces I could see from where I stood.

At some point, I received word that the driver of the giant motor home was trying to back it out.

How’s that going to work? I wondered.

I never went to the back of the lot to look at the stuck motor home. There was nothing I could do to help. I couldn’t move the offending cars. I didn’t want to give the driver of the RV bad advice that would make the situation worse. Also, I felt I was needed to keep things flowing smoothly in the front of the parking lot and get new arrivals safely parked while not adding to the logjam behind the giant RV.

Several groups of people exited the trail, and vehicles began leaving the lot. Then I saw the giant motor home approaching the exit. Success!

The driver of the giant RV stopped next to me and opened her window. We saw a spot where we’ll fit, she said to me. We’re going to make the loop again.

This time, the little voice in my head shouted Are you kidding me? NO!!! This time, the rest of me listened.

I shook my head and told her they’d be much better off in the overflow lot down the road. I was awfully glad to see them go.

Image courtesy of https://pixabay.com/en/bus-3d-modeling-motor-home-travel-1959433/.

 

Jul29

Sadness and Bribery

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It was the first weekend of the fire ban, and already people were unhappy about not being able to have campfires.

One guy pulled his saddest face before he even got out of his truck. He was full of questions, delivered in a sad little tone of voice, as if maybe I’d feel sorry for him and tell him he could go ahead and have a campfire anyway.

But why was there a fire ban? he wanted to know. The campfire was his favorite part of camping.

I tried to explain that California is five years into a drought. (How do people from California–as this man was–not know about California’s drought?) I tried to explain how it’s really dry in the forest and the fire danger is high.

He wanted to know how much rain we’d need before the fire ban is lifted.

I don’t know, I said. A lot.

I don’t know if he thought a small shower would make campfires ok again. He must have no idea how the fire ban works. He must not understand that the Forest Service (probably someone high up in the Forest Service) makes the fire ban decision, not me. Even if it had started raining bears and chipmunks, the Forest Service is not going to lift the fire ban on a weekend and send someone out to my campground to let me know so I can tell my campers it’s now fine to light up the fire wood.

The sad man’s friend assured me they weren’t going to break any laws. I told him I was mostly concerned with not burning down the forest.

On one side of the campground, two sites were taken by two middle age Latino bothers and their families. The first family was good-natured about the rule against campfires, although one ten-year old boy did ask, How will we make s’mores?

When I went to the other brother’s campsite, I immediately saw a jumbo bag of charcoal, a sure sign this family knew nothing about the fire ban (or was at least hoping they could claim to know nothing about it). These people obviously had plans for that big bag of charcoal, and it was my job to thwart those plans.

I told the man about the fire ban. He didn’t get rude; in fact, he stayed friendly, but I could tell he was quite disappointed.

He looked at me sadly and said, I was going to share our carne asada with you, but now we won’t have any.

Bribery! He was trying to bribe me with food. Here was a man who somehow knew how to get to me–food! Now maybe if he had said carnitas…

It was my turn to look sad, thinking of the carne asada I wouldn’t get to eat. I shook my head and said, We all have to sacrifice…

I choose the longevity of the forest over the fleeting pleasures of a meal.

Jul28

Road Builder

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The parking lot was intensely busy, and I was already quite grumpy. I was trying to hold it together and be polite, but it seemed like the best I could do was concentrate on not getting myself fired.

A pickup truck pulled into the the lot; several other vehicles were behind it. The pickup truck was going abnormally slow. Sure, I don’t want people driving like Dale Earnhardt Jr. in the parking lot, but folks need to keep up a brisk pace, or there’s going to be a logjam.

I could see the driver of the pickup ruck was a very old man. I thought maybe he didn’t know where to go (people are often confused by the parking lot’s one-way traffic), so I went from my regular hand motion signally this way and come on down into broad, sweeping arm gestures. The truck continued to put-put-putter in, and I was worried the old man might swerve any minute and start going the wrong way on the loop. I added to my sweeping arm gestures shouts of This way! This way! Neither the driver nor his passengers seemed to notice me until the driver’s side window was next to my head.

After determining the crew in the truck (the old man driver, a younger woman squashed in the middle, and a young man in the passenger seat) was in fact there for the trail, I gave my little speech: The trail begins across the street. You are on a one-way loop. Look for a place to park. Once you’re parked, pay the $5 parking fee on your way to the trail.

The very old man driving finally showed some animation. You’re going to charge me to park, he demanded, when I’m the one who built this road?

That’s one I’d never heard before!

I wonder if he tries that at the supermarket. You’re going to charge me for these groceries when I’m the one who built the road out there?

I wonder if he has a certificate listing all the road he’s built so he can prove himself to skeptics.

I wonder if he’s ever built a road in his life, or if this is just a ploy he uses to get into places for free.

In any case, I was surprised and stammered that my boss told me I had to charge everyone who parks in the parking lot.

Then he just sat there, his truck blocking the traffic flow. I tried to shoo him away, told him to go and park, and then just walked away from the truck to talk to the next driver in line.

I realized later I’d not seen the truck leave the parking lot, nor had I seen the old man or either of his passengers step up to pay me or my co-worker. But the parking lot was really busy, and it was conceivable the truck had left or the male passenger (of whom I hadn’t gotten a good look) had paid my co-worker while I was involved with another visitor.

Much later, I saw a truck approach the lot’s exit. I saw the old man driving that truck was the man who’d claimed to have built the road. He was dangling money out of his window. I guess he’d finally decided to pay his parking fee. I immediately became quite interested in looking in the direction opposite of the old man. He was closer to my co-worker anyway, and I figured it was my co-worker’s turn to deal with him.

My co-worker said the old guy told him, I built this road, and my co-worker thought I know who you are. As the guy paid his parking fee, he demanded to know where the money went. My co-worker said he handed over the money to his supervisor every week. From there, (shrug) he guessed the Forest Service got a cut…

The old guy must have been ready to go because he didn’t linger to share his road-building credentials. He just slowly pulled the pickup out of the lot.