It was Sunday, and I was on my mid-shift break from my duties at the Mercantile. I was hanging out in my van which was parked in the overflow parking lot at the front of the campground where the Mercantile was located. Javier the camp host was sitting in the shade right outside my van, jumping up to collect access fees whenever a new vehicle pulled into the lot. When people stood next to his chair to converse, I heard every word through my van’s open windows.
While Javier was sitting there, a young tourist couple approached him to ask how to get to a nearby waterfall.
We got asked about this waterfall a lot, and I hated giving directions to it. No sign marks the spot, and the directions involve noticing an unmarked road that should not be turned down but simply used as a landmark. At some distance past the road is an unmarked dirt turnout where waterfall seekers must park before going off into the forest on their quest. Usually the eyes of the person who’d asked for directions to this place glazed over before I finished giving all the necessary information, and I had a strong suspicion the person would never even find the right place to park, much less the actual natural attraction.
When I heard the young man ask about the waterfall, I groaned inwardly. I was glad it was Javier giving the directions and not me.
Javier started in. Take a left out of the campground, Javier told tourists.
This campground? the young man interrupted.
Yes, this campground, Javier said like the professional he is, then continued with the directions. I sat in the van shaking my head, thinking of all the things I would have liked to have said to the tourist in response of his question of This campground?
Oh no! Not this campground? Why would I refer to the campground we’re currently in? Just go into any campground, then make a left out of it.
Or course this campground! Why would I be talking about any other campground? Yes! This campground!
My patience grew thinner every day.
I took the photo in this post.