This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me, there’s no money for you to take.
Oh, my. Where to start?
This isn’t about ONE man going overboard, it’s about several individual men going overboard at different times. Only one instance includes a capsized boat. We’ll start with that one.
Man Overboard #1
To set the scene: I’m back volunteering at the park office after working at the newspaper for several months. I loved the newspaper job, but I have this thing about paychecks being good at the bank on which they’re drawn.
Call me crazy.
After having to cash out the last paycheck at a check cashing store (You know the kind of store: an excess of neon flashing lights, a slew of advertising banners covering the windows, an endless supply of interesting characters passing through the doors), I decided not to believe the ‘this check will be good at the bank this time’ line again and left.
Oddly, the boss seemed upset. I can not fathom why. I gave plenty of notice of my departure should the check not be good at the bank. The check wasn’t good at the bank – even the following Monday. But he’s upset with me? Whatever.
And that’s why I’m back volunteering at the park as a Park Host today when a little girl runs in to the office and yells, “Someone in the lake is yelling ‘HELP! HELP!’.”
Ranger Roscoe runs to the waters edge, while I stay in the “bird house” with the binoculars. I spot a boat in the water. The man inside it is hauling a very wet man into his boat. Next to this scene is a capsized boat, stuff floating behind it.
No, I don’t know what kind of boat it was. You all know you can’t ask me that; I’m the gal who lives on the best fishing hole in the park but does all her fishing at the grocery store, remember? Ok, ok. It was a small, metal thing that floats on the water, and it didn’t have sails = a boat. Now that you’re caught up…
By now other (upright) boaters have arrived to assist, lakeside neighbors who heard the shouting have arrived at the office to inform us, and the lady who sent the little girl to the office has just realized it is her husband who attempted to use his body as fish bait.
He is fine, and his boat was towed to shore by the guy who hauled him in. The other boaters also came to shore to help get the capsized boat out of the water. It was heartwarming to see so many folks come to his aid, and so quickly. It’s enough to make even this snarky gal get all choked up.
But then there’s this snark-provoking turd…
Man Overboard #2
It’s Saturday night just after 9:30 p.m. I was supposed to go to dinner with a friend, but wasn’t feeling well so I stayed home, went to bed around 9:00 p.m. (Not much different from most nights, I admit.) The lights are out on my RV because I’m sleeping when I’m startled awake by…
BAM BAM BAM on the door.
??? This never happens to me, it must be important for someone to be banging on the door of a dark RV at this hour.
I start to get up and get dressed to answer the door when…
BAM BAM BAM again.
I’m going to pause here just long enough to tell you all had I known who was there, or what he wanted, I would not have bothered to get out of bed. I would’ve loaded a shotgun.
I turn on the porch light, open the blinds and see…
Southern Fried Hatin’ standing there, swaying slightly.
(Remember Southern Fried Hatin’? The one with the girlfriend/fiancee I (we all) call Trailer Park Tush? If you recall, they lived at this park for years, but then moved to a remote property about 15 minutes away. Same town, just all by themselves.)
*exasperated sigh* It’s too late, I’ve turned on the light and he’s seen me. I have to answer the door.
(insert your favorite cuss words)
“Hi, (Hatin’). What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to invite you to my place. I’ve got a big bonfire going, and a lake and an ATV and you should come out!” He reeks of booze.
It’s been close to a year since Hatin’ and Tush moved away. A quiet, peaceful year in which I’ve seen them at the park, maybe twice.
“Oh, gee. Thanks for the invitation, but I’m not feeling well. I was sleeping when you knocked.”
Hatin’ ignores this and proceeds to beg me to come up to his place. “Tonight is your only chance! I’ll even drive you.”
Ahahahaa! Gee, how could I possibly pass up such a great offer from such a gentleman?
I inquire about the extremely jealous Tush. Hatin’ tells me she’s gone for a week or two.
Ah, I see. He’s looking for a hookup. With me.
He whispers conspiratorially, “I was here earlier today to visit the rangers, but didn’t want to come by because, well, you know how people around here talk.”
All I can think of is how I’m one of those people and I can’t wait to tell everyone about this tomorrow.
It ends with me practically shutting the door in his face because he won’t take “Not interested” for an answer.
I later find out he’d gone to Ranger Roscoe’s house begging for my number before coming out to my place. Ranger Roscoe told Hatin’ he did not have it. A huge lie!
He’d even gone so far as to ask Ranger Roscoe to go fetch me and bring me over to his (Hatin’s) place.
Regardless of how many times he’s been told otherwise, Hatin’ is convinced Ranger Roscoe and I had, or are having, a fling. (Ranger Rosoce isn’t my type: he’s married.) Hatin’ translates this false belief to mean that I would sleep with just anybody at all – which would include his rude, drunken self.
Nope. Not gonna happen. Ever.
This is what sucks about being single in small-town Texas: I can’t say “Hi” to a guy without him thinking I want to sleep with him. It’s not that bad in California, but it wasn’t too much different, either.
Men Overboard #3
I’ve come to find out a couple other men – married men – living in the park think I want to get horizontal with them or the neighbor to whom they heard or saw me say “Hi”.
I’m the Park Host, fercryingoutloud. I’m supposed to say “Hi” to the campers. The women don’t seem to think I’m making advances when I chat with them. Why do men think a chat about the weather or work or other campers is an open invitation to get horizontal?
That’s like going from zero to 60 without even backing the boat down the dock and off the trailer.
In case you’re wondering, I dress nice in either business conservative, office casual, or jogging clothes. I don’t ever flirt with these guys. They’re married. Married = huge turnoff.
What is a gal to do when she sees a guy she’d like to get to know better? And by get to know better I mean have coffee or lunch or go sightseeing.
There is one who comes to buy bait here sometimes, and he’s not wearing a ring. And another who works in town, also ringless. What does a nice gal do to indicate she is interested in (a vertical) lunch or coffee date?
Really, I want to know. Remember, I’ve got no game.