Читать книгу GRILL!: The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook - Diane Stegman - Страница 11

Chapter One

Question: How do you make God laugh? Answer: Make a plan.

That is exactly why I have given up on life plans.

Not that I have lived by this joke question for the entire length of my fifty-one years. It’s just that I heard this joke the other day and it seemed to justify my current vagabond lifestyle. Someday, perhaps, I will attempt to figure out yet one more plan, but for now I am behind the wheel of my car loaded with everything I own including my two Chihuahua mix friends. They are staring at me with big ears silhouetted by sunlight as they sit atop a pile of blankets in the passenger seat. “Are we home yet?” seems to be pleading from Bonita’s anxious and concerned little barks. She wants to get the hell out of this car! Her partner in crime, Bandito, tends to keep his concerns internal, yet I know they are there.

“No, my little darlings. We are homeless for the moment.” I mutter, unsure of how long this “moment” will last.

We had a very difficult night last night. It was our first night on the road leaving Ashland, Oregon, my sister, my rented mobile home, and my second shitty underpaid job in a two-year span. I had no plan; but I did have a tent and my first day and night went something like this:

I had driven most of the day heading south in search of a working summer vacation. By late afternoon, I was ready for a break so I found an RV park in Jamesburg. The space cost me $20. I felt pretty proud of myself. I had never camped alone before. The first thing I had to do was retrieve the portable dog fences from the bottom of the trunk. I had brought three of them. They extend to sixteen feet each, giving my dogs forty-eight feet of freedom. My plan was to surround the tent so I could have my own space and my dogs could be relatively free. The fences were more of a problem than I had wanted. They consumed too much trunk space and were very heavy, but folded up quite nicely.

It was a beautiful June day and I had picked a spot near a thick wall of blackberry brush. It wasn’t until I had completely set up my tent, fences, and Coleman stove, that I had the thought that bears like blackberries! Suddenly, my protective fencing seemed like it was made of toothpicks. I pushed the horrible thoughts out of my mind and continued setting up camp. I had to remind myself that this was going to be a great adventure and fears were not welcome.

I fed the dogs and made myself something to eat from my provisions. The coffee was out and ready for morning. My padding and blankets were ready for a warm comfortable night’s sleep. I had decided that I would leave the tent’s skylight open for the night to watch the stars. After a nice evening walk with my dogs, I settled in for the night with my fluorescent lantern and a book.

Off in the far distance I could hear the low drum of thunder. It was a very dark moonless night when I turned off the lantern for lack of interest in my book. Reading felt a bit too casual under the circumstances, since my concentration was bouncing all over the place. Bonita and Bandito were nervous and I could feel them staring at me like I was crazy even in the pitch black of the tent. They were waiting to go to bed someplace other than right here.

It was hard to get comfortable. My down comforter, folded in half, was not as soft as I had hoped. I could still feel the chilly, hard ground beneath me. Wait just a minute! I began to recall the last time I had slept in a tent. That was about ten years ago on a stupid cut-short trip to Alaska with my once dear friend Jodi. We were going to hike and camp. She started her period on the plane, which made me nervous, since we had just read a notice about bears in Alaska. We read together that it was not a good idea to hike when a woman is menstruating due to the fact that the bear would follow the scent. On our first night of sleepless, bearless camping, I woke with my neck bound as tight as cement and as painful as if it were broken. I also caught pneumonia. Both events caused by, what I later learned, perma-frost. This happens when you sleep on the ground in a tent, the ground being frozen twelve inches below the surface. Needless to say, we caught the first flight home and never spoke to each other again. It took me two months to regain my strength.

The sky suddenly burst with light followed by thunder that was slightly louder than before. I crawled out of the tent to search for an approaching storm. Weird, I saw no clouds. As I crawled back into my tent I had to remind myself that this was not Alaska. I was in the sunny state of California.

I lay in the dark with the dogs. It wasn’t too long after that when a burst of light lit up the entire tent. I could see the dogs in that split second. They were on both sides of my head staring down at me, eyes wide, and ears high like stone statues. I had to laugh. I was laughing quite loud when the bolt of lightening hit very near to us like a bomb, followed by the heavy slow plops of rain hitting the tent, the plops increasing like microwave popcorn. I had to hurry and put the skylight cover back on the tent. By this time the wind had kicked up and it was dark, so I turned on my car lights facing the tent so I could see. It was now pouring, and I was wet and the dogs were panicked. I put them in the car, grabbed all my wet blankets, wet clothes, wet stove, wet tent, and stuffed everything into any and all extra space in the trunk and back seat. Once in the car, I turned on the heater, saw the time (1:30AM), and we watched and ducked the passing thunder and lightening storm until dawn, which was quite beautiful in spite of the circumstances.

I had not counted on storms. The inside of my car smelled like wet dog and down feathers. All that the storm left in its wake were wonderful puffy pink clouds. I had not removed the fencing, so I put the dogs in their yard and made coffee on my Coleman stove. It was around 5:00AM at this point. I was still wet. I told myself that I could not do this again, that today—no, this morning, I would find a job and a house!

I began to unload the wet tent and blankets from the trunk to make room for the wet heavy fencing, put the dogs in the car atop the pile of wet blankets in the passenger seat, drove to the restroom and shower area, dried my hair and changed my clothes. By 6:30AM I was back on the road headed south through the national park. After an hour on the road I saw a small café. The day was warming up quite nicely. I parked, got the dogs out for a short walk, and then went in to see if they were looking for any help. I also needed a good breakfast.

There was no newspaper, so after my wonderful breakfast I approached my waitress with my inquiry. “No honey, this here is a family run place,” the plain looking, middle-aged waitress said as she looked me over suspiciously as if I was being evaluated. I had noticed that the other lady working there was probably her daughter and was about eight months pregnant. “But I do believe that Billy at Hacienda RV Park down the road apiece needs some help,” she continued. As she spoke, I detected a hint of mischievousness that quickly replaced any suspicion that she had about me.

I bid my thanks and as soon as I was outside I looked down to see if I had egg on my shirt or something that might have looked out of place when the woman gave me the once-over. I wonder what someone must think of me.

There was not much tourist traffic, but I found myself caught in a line of many heavy-loaded logging trucks driving way too fast. I began to be concerned about the insurance on my car that my son was supposed to get for me.

At about 8:15 I cruised by the Hacienda, but did not pull in. What in heaven’s name would I do at an RV park? I could see that they had a restaurant, store, and a pond. If I worked there where would I live? This is not a town; this is in the middle of nowhere. I had driven about 20 miles on a deathtrap highway to get here, but decided it was worth the risk to drive on and look for greener pastures. Half hour later, I approached a small town, perhaps not a town, but a motel, café, Post Office, and some scattering of homes. I went into the motel and spoke to the owner. He could see my loaded up car out in the parking lot with what looked like from this vantage point, two rat-like oversized cats sitting in the front seat. “Damn, I just hired someone, but I do believe Billy, down at Hacienda RV Park needs some help. Let me give them a call for you.” I could not hear the conversation that took place in his office, but he returned to confirm that this was so. I began to understand that everyone knew everyone within fifty miles of each other.

A little while later, I found myself back at Hacienda, dragging my feet up the stone steps to the restaurant. At the entry I noticed a large ashtray overloaded with butts and many had tumbled to the ground below. A large trashcan overflowing with foul trash complimented the scene. A fat trail of ants was thriving to and from the can. Once inside, I realized the spacious log building was actually quite impressive with a bustling crowd of hungry vacationers. I could see that they needed help.

Inside I could smell bacon and pancakes. The counter for registration was immediately to my left. I saw a person at the counter that could possibly be Billy finishing up with a traveler about his RV space. Suddenly I heard a bellowing male voice coming from somewhere in the kitchen beyond the restaurant seating area. “HEY HENRY, YOU OLD GOAT! YOU EAT ALL THEM PANCAKES AND I’LL LET YA HAVE YUR BREAKFAST FREE!”

Looking in the direction of the roaring voice, I saw the chalkboard menu with the day’s special. ‘BUBBA’S SPECIAL: BISCUITS AND ROADKILL SKUNK. MADE WITH RATTLESNAKE GRAVY.’ I was pretty sure this was just a local joke of some sort.

“Kun I help ya?” Said a warm voice from behind me.

“Yes, my name is Denise and the…..”

“Oh, you must be the lady looking fur work! I’m Billy.” Now at this point I was not sure of the sex of Billy. It appeared to be in its early seventies with very short salt and pepper hair, wearing a western shirt, and a cigarette hanging out of its mouth. Its kind eyes settled me down, but I remained puzzled. I also noticed at this point the tall gentleman dressed in pajamas who was peeking from behind a doorway. He, too, was in his seventies and looked like an old handsome rancher who had seen better days. Oxygen hoses clung to his nose as he puffed on his cigarette. I think he winked at me.

Billy saw the direction of my eyes. “That’s Ray, my husband.” Mystery solved. What an odd-looking couple.

“Yur gonna be my cook.” Billy announced with pride.

“Pardon me?” I felt my eyebrows rise in shock.

“I said yur gonna be my cook!” Billy really meant this. The cigarette bounced as she spoke.

I fumbled for a way out. “But I’m not really a cook per se. I was hoping you might need a waitress or counter help.” I added in a fragile smile for first impression’s sake.

“Nope, I need a cook.” Billy was staring into my eyes as if I had no choice.

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I have to think about it. I guess I need to know if there are any places to rent near here.”

“No need fur that. Gotta home fur you right here.”

“Pardon?” Did I really hear that?

“Right out back. There’s a fifth wheel sittin’ empty. You can live right there.” She is now pointing towards the kitchen area and, I presume, beyond the interior walls to the outside.

“I have two little dogs.” I warned her.

“All right with me. We love animals. Have a dog myself.” Sounded too good to be true.

I got right to the point. “How much?” It better be really cheap for me not to turn around and get back on the highway.

“How much fur what?” She took a deep drag from her cigarette.

“I’m sorry. How much to rent the trailer?”

“Nuthin’! It comes with the job, which, by the way, we pay $6.75 an hour. You split the tips with the waitress.” Billy snubbed out her cigarette in the over-loaded ashtray.

I told Billy I needed to check out the fifth wheel first and then sleep on it. We walked outside and she pointed out the fifth wheel to me. It looked quite roomy and fairly new. It was parked behind the restaurant and next to the pond on the edge of the park twenty yards from the highway. I inquired about a motel for the night. She suggested a small town off another highway about thirty miles in another direction. I said I’d call her later tonight with my answer about the job, even though I had already made up my mind.

So that puts me in the current moment at Hacienda RV Park in Bud’s Creek, California. Before I head off to the motel, I need to call my sister and family to tell them about my new job and place to live. I need to put their worries to rest, but right now I’m a little fearful of my quick decision to leave my life in Ashland and settle into an RV park as a cook. When I left yesterday I was full of confidence and exploding with a sense of adventure. Now I am beginning to wonder if I am just plain nuts. If I were a normal, stable, well-grounded, middle-aged woman, a crazy scheme like this would never enter my mind. I suppose I’ve chosen the unknown obstacles that life will throw at me in exchange for the predictable, daily nuances of routine and servitude.

I can still see and hear my sister when I was preparing to leave for this road trip. My mobile home was empty except for the large pile of items in the center of the living room ready to go into the car. I drove to her mobile home, four spaces down, with some yard tools and assorted house wares that I no longer needed in the large trunk of my new Suzuki Aerio, a gift from my two well-grounded real estate broker sons. “Denise, you can’t do this! What are you thinking? Do you really think someone’s going to just hire you on the spot? Where are you going? How will we reach you? You’re fifty-one years old for God’s sake!” Lori was crying hysterically at this point and threw the rake back into the trunk scratching the paint on my new car. Perhaps I was being a bit too casual about my decision to travel the national parks of northern California with a tent, $400, and two Chihuahuas in search of a fun summer job.

“I promise I’ll call you every day.” I lied in all sincerity. My hope was to calm her down a notch. In truth I could never call every day. I have no cell phone and I might not be near a phone booth at all times. Maybe this is a major part of her concern, but Lori did not have to work for pompous pricks. Lori was a retired postal worker, who is now on disability for all the surgeries and damage done to her body from carrying around fifty pounds of junk mail for seventeen years. I guess I’m trying to avoid physical and mental damage to myself at this late stage of the game.

Lori and I have always been very close. We have so much in common, our likes and dislikes in things to do, places to be or see, same tastes in food. I will miss our friendship, but I can’t expect her to take me on as a dependent.

I want to call Lori and tell her that I have a job and a place to live. I also need to call mom and dad and my two sons. I now understand their fear for me. I want to gleefully brag that I knew all would be well and put their doubts to rest. I look back at my car that seems too low to the ground. I hope all the weight inside is not going to hurt the suspension. Bonita and Bandito are watching my every move. It’s already getting hot and I’m very tired from last night’s ordeal.

Since I was truly stuck between a rock and an RV park, I knew that I would take the job. I really had no choice. I picked up the phone before I could talk myself out of it.

“Hi Lori! This is Denise! I got a job and a place to live!”

“You’re lying! It’s only 9:30.” She still sounds pissed off at me.

“I swear! I’m at Bud’s Creek at an RV park and this wonderful lady named Billy was so excited to meet me. She couldn’t believe her good fortune that I came in when I did. She wants me to be her chef here at her restaurant. Well, maybe not a chef as we know it, but her cook. Then, you won’t believe this; she said I could live in this empty fifth wheel behind the restaurant!” I’ve always over-dramatized things in my favor.

“Oh my gawd!” Lori screamed.

“Lori, it’s so beautiful here! They have a lake with ducks and the fifth wheel is practically new!”

“I’m so relieved! How did all this happen? I’m sorry I didn’t have any faith in you.” She sounds genuinely sincere, so I open up as well.

“I know. I’m sorry that I made you so nervous. You know me after all these years. I guess I follow a different path that even I don’t understand.”

I call my sons and mom and dad, making it brief, and finish the chore of comforting the family fears.

As I hang up the phone, I feel a tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Reaching back to rub the spot, I feel moisture on my fingers. I turn my hand to look at my fingers and am startled to see a few drops of blood. What in the hell? At closer inspection of my fingers I notice the teeny tiny body parts of a mosquito. I do hope this is not an indication of a mosquito problem. Mosquitoes absolutely love me! I don’t just get an irritation from them, I get a violent reaction. I’m sure the pond has a lot to do with that.

My need to use a restroom at the moment leads me to explore my new surroundings for a few minutes before I leave to the motel. As I drive slowly toward the bathroom building, I notice a tan chunky gal with a bit of a biker look to her, moving sprinklers around the park. She sets one with a spray of at least fifty feet right in the direction of a family’s beautiful recreational vehicle parked and set up for their visit. I watch it blast the RV’s outer patio wall, spraying the table set-up, chairs, and ice chests. She hops in her golf cart and rides away, chugging the last few sips of a beer. The only remains of her is the thump, thump, thump of the sprinklers against the RV, breaking the silence of the morning.

I park next to the restroom and walk toward the door. There is a table next to the entry that has an ashtray with a cigarette burning, two open beers, and an empty one lying on its side about to roll off the table that is piled with various cleaning supplies. I hear two female voices from inside a doorway marked supplies. I proceed to enter the restroom door and find it locked. A sign on the door reads, “Please keep restroom door shut. For guests of Hacienda ONLY!” At this point, one of the voices startles me.

“You furget yur key?” She has the cigarette now and is holding the beer. She looks to be in her early thirties and has the worn out look of one who has been drunk all her life. “No. I actually don’t have a key just yet. I was just talking to Billy about a job for the summer.” I answer.

“Cool! Doin’ what?” She seems to be a harmless, happy drunk.

“She said she needs a cook.”

At this point the other gal comes out of the supply room. She seems more normal, but is not interested in who I might be.

“What’s yur name?” The gal with the beer asks.

“Denise.”

“I’m Ruby and this is Brenda. Sit down. Ya want a beer?” Ruby is so excited that she accidentally bangs her shin on the bench, but did not seem to notice or feel any pain.

“No thanks, it’s kind of early for me.”

“It’s twenty-four seven for me. Billy could really use a new cook. She’s getting pretty tired. Been doin’ this fur far too long. She’s got Bubba but he can’t keep doin’ all three shifts. He’s still got all the trash to haul and mowin’ the grass. Terry, his girlfriend, has been doin’ all the watering even though she doesn’t really work here. And Ray isn’t too well. Here, let me open the door fur ya. We have to keep it locked cause so many travelers and campers think they can just pull in here and use our restrooms then leave.”

Brenda doesn’t say anything, and seems like she just wants to finish up her job and get going.

Ruby opens the door and follows me in. The restroom has five large shower stalls and four toilet areas. They must have just finished cleaning because it smells like Pine-Sol. I decide on the first stall.

“So ya gonna take the job?” Ruby’s voice echoes loudly against the walls.

“I think so. I’m going to stay in Brandon tonight to think about it.”

“God, I hope ya take the job. You seem like a really cool person. Ya gonna stay in the fifth wheel?”

“Billy offered it to me.”

“Cool! Billy is really a neat lady. She offered this job to me. I’ve been here on and off for a couple of years. Billy has really saved my butt many times.”

“Well, I better get on the road. Hopefully I’ll see you later.” I say as I exit the stall.

Ruby follows me to my car. Bonita and Bandito start barking at the approaching stranger.

“Cool! You got puppies!” Ruby is at the car window rubbing Bonita’s head. Bandito has jumped into the back and is barking angrily, as if he was insulted.

“They’re not really puppies. They’re actually about ten years old, just Chihuahua mixes.”

“I love dogs! Have a new one-year old Shepherd mix. Maybe after you start working here you can come out to my place and we’ll let the dogs play together. I’m just down the road ‘bout ten miles. My cabin sits right next to Bud’s Creek.”

“That sounds fun. We’ll see how it goes. By the way, where is Bud’s Creek?” I ask.

“What do ya mean? This is Bud’s creek. Oh, I get it. Ya mean where is the creek itself.”

“Yeh, the creek itself. How do I get to it?”

“Any side dirt road ya see off the highway. It runs ‘long side it for miles.”

“Great! I’ll have to stop and check it out on my way to Brandon. Thanks and nice meeting you. Bye Ruby. Bye Brenda!” I had to shout to Brenda. She was standing by the restroom wall watching us. She waves back lazily. As I get in the car the musty odor makes me aware of all the damp camping items that need to be air-dried. Perhaps I can do this on the picnic tables when I return tomorrow.

It’s about 10:30 and the dogs need to get out for a while, so I decide to find a dirt road off the highway on my way to a motel in Brandon and check out Bud’s Creek. I hadn’t really noticed all the campsite turnoffs before on my way to and from Hacienda. I guess I had a lot on my mind. I pick a turn off after about five miles and pull into the dirt entry. I see one car in the dirt lot, but no one is around. The dogs are excited and know they are about to get out of the car. I leash them up with their extending leashes that give them sixteen feet to explore and feel like wild animals. I can hear the creek roaring beyond the tree line and we walk towards it.

The water is running strong and clear from the winter snow melt off. As I stare at it, it washes away my stress and worries. It is quite beautiful and peaceful. I see a man some hundred yards down the creek fishing. Two empty ‘Bud’ cans float near the shore. An empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a worm container sit near a rock a few feet away. I laugh to myself thinking about the true meaning of Bud’s Creek. I pick up the trash and put it in the plastic poop bags I always carry on walks. We wander the creek’s edge for about half an hour. I fill up a second poop bag.

“You must be fishing for mountain lion,” a deep voice says. The man I had seen fishing was now approaching us. The sudden sound of his voice startles me.

“Oh, fishing for mountain lion?” I question.

“That’s a good idea using Chihuahuas as bait. I really like your fishing reels.” Bonita and Bandito were currently deep under a bush looking for a lizard. All that was visible were the two thin black lines from their retractable leashes. We both start laughing and end up chatting for a few minutes until he wanders up the creek in search of a better fishing spot.

Suddenly I become aware of a burning pain on the back of my neck. I reach back to feel the tender hard lump of the mosquito bite. I remember I have some tea tree oil somewhere in the car and am happy to know my favorite ‘cure-all’ will come in handy.

We hop in the car to head for Brandon to find a place to stay and replenish the supplies—ice, juice, fruit, and a can of chicken for the dogs. I just ran out of the boiled chicken and brown rice mixture I have prepared for them for ten years.

All routines that I have created for at least the past ten years have been broken the moment I got in the car and left Ashland.