Semi-Full
Hookups
or
DribbleMaster
“Come over baby whole lot of shaking going on…”
Dateline: Greyhawkin’ Between B.A.S.S and the PAA
Normally I
wouldn’t be telling you campground stories, until I got the expense account
check for that campground, cashed it, and replenished the Margarita bar.
But this one needs
to get out.
I’m going to
footnote this story, but since I hate those footnote things instead of hiding
them at the bottom of the page, or worse, back in the end of the book where you
never look, I’m going to put the footnote right up front here like.
No searching, in
and out quick learning. Here she comes:
*Moron.
Now I’ll explain
why I put the note before the foot. Here’s what would have been footed: What db is when it comes to mechanical stuff.
See, isn’t it
easier that way, if only the grammar cops would listen to me.
Basically, I was
going to call this story, “28 Feet of Double Sided Mystery,” but I’m
going hold that title until I’m really stuck for something to write on
deadline. PS: When you see that title you might want to
just run from the story, but click on it anyway so I get the click credit…then
hit delete.
Get yerself a
coffee, I’ve got some explaining to do.
Ya see, for the
past week, I’ve been a dribbling.
“Shake it baby shake…”
Not DEPENDS
dribbling. Spaghetti & baby shampoo
dribblin’. You crawl under my rig in
that last campground you might be want to find a half ate bagel with cream
cheese getting all fuzzy like.
Not to mention the
almost level rock pad I was parked on was probably about 110-PROOF when I
pulled away seeing that I was also a dribblin’ a bunch of USED crush ice, if
you get what I mean (UpFrontFootnote* Unfrozen Margarita going down the sink).
Now normally I’m
hell bent on not dribblin’ and drinkin’ but here’s the problem I ran into at
this past campground…it weren’t FULL hookups, only had them teasin’ hookups.
You see, they let
you run a garden hose to their spigot and you could get all the water ya
wanted, but then they kind of abandoned ya’ll by basically sayin’ “Here
we’ll give you all the drinkin’ and washin’ you want…but dude you gotta keep
it…don’t be givin’ it back ya hear.”
They have no
problem putting the stuff in your rig, but by golly, you try and get it back
out, you got no where to go because the tease-hookups means this exactly,
“What goes in, STAYS IN.”
Dudes, no sewers.
That’s like
building a 3 bedroom 2 bath house and having the builder explain to you the two
baths are those two saplings out back yonder.
Drink and be merry
up until, you know, you have to….
“Shake it baby, shake.”
So, with their no
return camping policy, I’m trying to wash a frying pan in a shot glass to save
on filling my Grey Tank with the water stuff they are shooting in through my
garden hose.
Dudes I went to
one of those SuperDooperWalmart things where I could almost buy the eggs AND
the chickens and for $4.95 Great Deal I bought this white plastic bin thing you
can stick in your sink to make your sink not a sink but more like a tub, so I
quickly wash the dishes in it and then I pick it up, spill about a quarter of
it on me (a totally up until that moment unknown way of conserving grey water)
then go over to the shower and dump it in.
*UpFrontFootNote:
MORON.
In my shock of
even doing dishes, I figure I’m going to be brilliant like and not let the
water run down the sink drain and into the Non-Campground-Return-Tank so I take
it way over across the db/bb/rv (two steps) and dump it down that drain.
‘Cept that drain,
and every drain in this thing that you don’t sit on, goes to the same
Non-Returnable place…that grey area underneath.
Now you need to
know this one other fact, before I took to Communal Showering I got in the rig
shower with TWO of those plastic bins, one on both feet, and showered thinking
that all of the clear water hitting me and coming off grey, would end up in
those two bins.
*See above
UpFrontFootNote.é
Each bin held four
drops of baby shampoo, five gallons of non-returnable campground went right
down the middle of my body and straight into that grey area, that was quickly
getting full.
Emergency measures
were called for.
I became a,
DribbleMaster.
“Shake it baby, shake”
Now all you EPA
guys, and all those Save The Environment types, best turn away about now, I’m
about to not make your day.
I dribbled coffee
on the EARTH. Some Coca Cola too. And soup. Toothpaste, and some ice cream I forgot I left on the dinette table. If America’s groundwater suddenly tastes like
Sensodyne and Scope…that was me.
Sorry.
But I was full…the
four red lights on the “Uh-Oh” board said time to go, so it went.
One drop at a
time.
I’m telling you
dudes, by day three of almost being full and then suddenly not so much, I could
dribble right in front of the Campground Boss, and unless he smelled the grey
and red ketchup, I was the DribbleMaster.
Smushed up Walmart
sweet blue icing cupcakes…GONE…pretty much right where the dude was standing (a
side note that blue icing is Saweet, but from my dribbling experience basically
indestructible, might be hanging in those almost level pebbles longer than the
dinosaurs were around…so if your well water suddenly be tasting like blue
Walmart icing, that would be me….sorry).
Now here’s a
secret that the people who only build ¾’s of an Non-Return campground must be
entirely unaware of…for about $5-bucks, you too can become a DribbleMaster.
“Shake it baby, shake.”
But I have to warn
you…the TSA guys at the airport aren’t the dribblin’ type.
Here’s the concept
of buying all the dribblin’ you need in a shrink wrap package. You take this black cap thing that you stick
on the end the stinky end of the rig, attach a garden hose that you will never
touch with bare hands again…ever…to it…and twist some stuff, and out comes the
soup, in drips all night when no ranger would dare crawl under your rig
sniffing.
*****Important tip
here*** Your rig is going to be waking up smelling like Chicken Soup or Buffalo
Wing sauce so I found the best way to not be looking entirely guilty while the
campground cop is standing in front of you sniffing is to go to the sale aisle
in Walmart and buy the WORST smelling candle you can find because when you
light it there is NO WAY even the best dribblin’ nose can sniff out yer hot dog
mustard on the ground when your whole site be smelling like “Sea
Breeze” from the Dead Sea.
Just saying.
But here’s the
problem with dribblin’ to go…when they xray your carry on your soup eliminator
one drip at a time cap looks like a bomb. A big bomb.
I wasn’t quite
aware of that exactly, until TSA “suggested” I do some explaining.
“Sir, what
exactly is this.” The dude said
while handling it with those blue TSA gloves (which BTW are good things to have
once you begin dribblin’).
“It’s my
dribbler,” I said as I saw him frown while looking at a frozed stiff piece
of Ramen Noodle that was stuck on the inside.
I figure at this
point, I’m probably done flying for at least 5-10, maybe sooner if I behave.
“Stand right
where you are and don’t touch anything,” he says as he goes to talk to
what only can be a supervisor since he is wearing one the same uniform as the
first guy, but it’s tailored so that I’m sure to notice his arms are bigger
than my thighs.
I’m thinking now,
will my Frequent Flyer status still be good in 10-15. Maybe sooner…
So Tarzan of the
metal detectors comes walking over to me, holding my dribbler like it is some
kind of trophy mount, walks right up to and into my personal Mitchum space, and
leans so close that I can see his future, and says to me….
“Sir…”
I’m trying to take
off my watch so the cuffs won’t scratch it…
“….Sir…love
these things…we dribble in the rain…sometimes even while we drive….”
Ah, what a great
idea, Interstate-Dribblin’, but what…what…what…
Turns out, there’s
more DribbleMasters out there than I thought.
Which explains why
I-95 North sometimes smells like Chef Boyardee.
After one of those
quick Florida rains.
Yep.
Those Spaghettios
coming out of yer tap.
That would be me.
Sorry.
“Well I said shake baby shake
I said shake baby
shake.”
Whole Lot Of Shaking Goin’ On.
Jerry Lee Lewis
db