Читать книгу GRILL!: The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook - Diane Stegman - Страница 12

Chapter Two

The town of Brandon is more substantial in size than anything I have seen since leaving Ashland. I drive the entire length of it just to see what would be available to me thirty miles away from my new job. The mile-long strip of commercial buildings seems to have all the regular places to fulfill my needs—Safeway, Rite Aid, hardware store, motels, restaurants, thrift store, and drive-through coffee. I run into Safeway to get the few things I need at the moment, then head back to the motel called White Fences that I had spotted at the beginning of town, with a sign below that said, “Small pets welcome”.

It took me awhile to get to, and unload the few things I would want for the night. I find my tea tree oil and dab it on my neck, which really hurts. I feed the dogs and take them for a long walk through town. The sun is setting as I put the dogs back into the room and walk across the street to a restaurant for a nice dinner.

Upon returning to my room, I sit and count the money I have left from my original $400, which is $180. This is only my second night on the road! I’d never last! Let me think: gas—$80, campsite—$20, breakfast—$10, this room—$65, dinner—$20, Safeway—$25.

I pick up the phone to call Billy.

“Hi Billy, this is Denise. I’ve decided to take you up on the job offer.”

“Of course you have! I never thought that ya wouldn’t.” Billy replied matter-of-factly.

“Listen, Billy, I’m really just on a working vacation, so to speak. I can only promise you that I’ll stay for the summer. I’m headed south after that to be near my parents and family.”

“I understand and that’s fine. You just stay long enough so that Ray and I can take a vacation for the first time in seven years and we’ll all be happy.”

“Billy? There are only two things that could make me leave, because I am a woman of my word and a darn good hard worker. First, if my parents, who are in their eighties, get ill and need my help; and secondly, if I am no longer happy there. You see Billy; I really need to be happy right now.” I’m surprised at how easy the truth comes out of me when speaking to Billy.

“Oh you’ll be happy, I’ll see to it! You just come on by in the morning. I’ll give ya the keys—one to the fifth wheel, and one to the restroom. Even though the fifth wheel has a bathroom, we need to straighten out a few things in there first; it’s been sittin’ empty for a spell, so ya might need to use the facilities in the park for a day or so. You just get yourself settled in for the day and we’ll start to work day after tomorrow.” We each hang up the phone relieved.

By this time, Bonita and Bandito are both cozy under the covers. I think I’ve stressed them out a bit. I climb into bed myself and fall sound asleep.

After a nice long hot shower in the morning I pack up, walk the dogs, and head straight to the drive-thru coffee place to prepare for my drive back to Hacienda. With the pressure of being homeless lifted and the caffeine pumping through my veins, my eyes are opened and I am able to take in the beauty of the national park. “We’re going to have lots and lots of fun walks, you guys.” Bonita and Bandito are listening to every word. Bonita lets loose with a series of her loud piercing yelps that say, “We better, or I’ll make your life miserable!” She can be such a pushy little bitch at times. Bandito is ducking his head as if to say, “Please shut her up!”

Along the way to Hacienda we stop at yet another day use area and breathe in the wonders of nature. I feel so in my element. How often I have wanted to live in a serene and peaceful environment, letting my dogs run free without something around their neck to hold them back, working in my garden, collecting wood for my fire, and living where I could catch glimpses of wildlife. I realize that at fifty-one years of age, it is rather late in my life, and I can’t regret the choices or mistakes that have made me a hostage to myself. For now, here I am, and I’m going to make the most of the moment. Whatever happens after this day, this place in time, is not a concern. I can always worry later. For today, maybe just for this hour, I have no past. I have no future. I am ageless and free.

I carry this tranquil state of being as I get back on the highway towards Hacienda. The parking lot has several cars in front and three RVs have engines rumbling. Two are pulling out. I notice for the first time the billboard below the Hacienda sign, ‘Annual TRI-TIP dinner Friday 4PM.’ That’s tomorrow! Well, that blows my theory about an easy-going casual job. Am I cooking? Billy couldn’t really expect me to do that! There’s no way. I take a deep breath to stop my anxiety from ruining my morning of joy.

I park and walk up the stone steps. It’s a warm cloudless morning and feels as if it could even turn hot. The RV spaces look half full of guests. I hear the golf cart off in the distance somewhere. The trashcan is worse than yesterday, and now has a bad odor. If that doesn’t get emptied soon, I will do it myself. It makes the place look so trashy. I can smell the pancakes and bacon from out here. There are five people in line at the cash register, which is also the RV registration counter. Someone other than Billy is working behind the register. She is showing someone a map of the premises and handing them a key. That same roaring male voice I heard yesterday is now laughing loudly at something. The restaurant is full, and a few people are shopping in the aisles for supplies. A small lady about my age scurries from the restaurant to the register with a worried look on her face. I have never seen anyone walk that fast. She rings up a breakfast customer while the other lady checks-in a guest and then scurries back to the restaurant. It’s almost as if she has roller skates on, but she doesn’t. She better slow down.

I look over toward the kitchen and read Bubba’s special for the day: ‘DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS. BUT IT’S ALL GRILLED UP WITH MUSKRAT GRAVY.’ As I gag in disgust, I hear that booming male voice yelling, “BETTY! ORDER UP!” I see the very top of the head of the lady with roller skate feet, zoom behind the glass-fronted meat counter that separates the kitchen from the restaurant, and pick up the order.

“Can I help you?” says the lady who was checking in the guest.

“Oh yes, hello. My name is Denise. I spoke with Billy about a job, and she had told me to come and pick up the key to the fifth wheel and a key to the restroom today. Is she here?” I gaze toward the doorway where Ray was standing yesterday, but no one appears.

“Yes, hello Denise. My name is Vi, and Billy told me all about you. Welcome! I’m kind of busy, but the keys are right here.”

Vi hands me the keys and at that moment I hear and feel the heavy steps of someone on the wood plank floor approaching the counter. I assume its Bubba. I turn around and see a large man in his late thirties with short dark cropped hair. He looks really strong and has a large beer belly that looks as tight as his muscles seem to be. His navy blue shirt is splattered with grease. He also looks mean and intimidating. He pretends to ignore me, but I can tell he’s checking me out. He must have heard the conversation with Vi and myself, since the building is so large and every noise seems to echo.

Vi does not introduce me and he fiddles with something behind the counter before he stomps back to the kitchen, stopping along the way to bang the back of an old rancher eating breakfast. “DID YA GET THAT CRAPPY OLD TRACTOR RUNNIN’ YET HENRY?” he bellows out as he puts one of his heavy logging boots up on the redwood bench. Henry must be a regular customer since I had heard his name yesterday. Betty scurries past them on her way to the register and almost slips on a wet spot rounding the corner of the table where Bubba is talking. “BETTY! DAMN IT! SLOW THE HELL DOWN! HOW MANY TIMES I GOTTA TELL YA THAT!” She ignores Bubba’s comment but I notice her cowering body language as she passes him, like a frightened puppy. She quickly continues her fast pace to the register. Bubba sounds like a big bully to me. Hopefully I don’t have to deal much with him. I’m not sure if we’d get along very well.

From what I can see, Bubba is everything I am running from. If he were my boss, I’d never have considered this job in a million years. He reminds me a lot of my father, my ex-husband, my boss in Ashland, and a few of my last and final relationships. Bubba is the type of man who is self-focused, inconsiderate, loud, and completely unaware of how his actions distress those around him.

I leave the chaos and drive over to the restroom to relieve myself before I get to work on the fifth wheel and unpack my car. My toilet stall has no toilet paper. Maybe Ruby is around and I can tell her about that. Someone is taking a shower and I can smell fruity shampoo.

As I slowly approach the fifth wheel my stomach tingles with anticipation. I’m not sure if it is excitement or fear. Bonita and Bandito have been observing all that is going on from their vantage point on the pile of blankets, and recognize that we are at some final destination. I need to set up the fences before I can do anything else. A redwood picnic table is about fifteen yards away. I go over and grab one heavy edge and walk it, one side at a time, closer to the trailer. I need to lay out the damp tent and blankets that are on top of the fencing. Bonita’s demanding bark is driving me nuts; so making the dogs comfortable is my number one priority at the moment.

With everything drying in the warm sunshine, I get the fencing set up around the table, and give the dogs food and water. Next, I dab some tea tree oil on my itching neck and get the keys out of the car. As I walk toward the steps of the trailer, I can hear the golf cart whizzing by on the dirt drive that is on the highway-side of the trailer. The entry faces the lake so I do not get a good look at Terry, but I am aware of how fast she is going, and get a good taste of the dust she’s stirring up.

The trailer steps go straight out from the doorway. One side has a railing, and the other side is open and dangerous. It would be easy to fall off if one weren’t careful and it seems to me that the fifth wheel could have been parked two or three feet up from this point to avoid the utility post that is located dead center at the bottom of the stairway. It will be awkward avoiding that post while hauling my belongings to the inside, and hopefully, not breaking my neck by falling off the unprotected side. I suppose at some point I could turn the steps so that the open side is against the wall of the trailer and away from the utility post, but not right now, and not alone because they are made of heavy steel.

At the top of the steps, I turn to look at my view of the park. Hacienda is shaped like a football arena. The lake, or pond, depending on how you see it, is not quite as big as a football field, but close to it in size. The surrounding parking spaces, laundry, showers, main building, would be the stadium area around the field. At about two o’clock and thirty yards from the fifth wheel is a giant propane tank where the guests probably buy their propane. Across from the dirt drive behind the restaurant, and sitting next to the lake, is a big oil drum looking thing, cut in half, hinged open, and set on steel legs. Perhaps it is a homemade barbeque of some sort. The rest of the view is of the lake, which is only a stones throw away, and the beautiful mountain range behind. The lake has lots of cattail grass and small brush growing around the perimeter. Billy calls it a lake, but it is just a large pond. I see a group of mature ducks, possibly twenty of them, quacking toward the rear of the kitchen, so do the dogs. They love to hunt and would love to be let loose right now. “Hush! I said hush!”

Terry has driven to the rear entry of the restaurant, which is at about one o’clock and fifty yards away from the fifth wheel. She is drinking a beer in the idling golf cart. Bubba comes out, gets himself a beer from the ice chest in the back of the cart, and they drive off turning their heads to look back at me. Breakfast must be over.

I turn around and notice that the door to my new residence seems pretty abused. The plastic window has slipped halfway down inside the core of the door. Most of the aluminum sheeting is loose and not connected to anything. I put the key in the door and feel it unlock. As soon as I open the door it falls on my foot, and pain shoots up my leg. I see that the top hinge is broken off and the bent hinge on the bottom holds the door from coming completely off. It’s as if the door has been slammed a million times and finally broke apart. Aggression on a door could only mean one thing; unhappy aggressive tenants. This is not good, and makes me feel uneasy about the bad vibes that float out like vapor as I lean the broken door against the outer wall.

The inside is a completely different story. It stinks! I mean it really stinks! I step over several objects on the floor to get to the windows. I pull back the curtains to reveal a thick film of dirt and fly specks. Dead flies are collected between the screen and the windows. I open every available window and also the two sky lights, which crank open for air. The horrid aroma overpowers my mind and I don’t know where to begin so I go to the car to find my snacks and pull myself together. I eat a banana and drink some juice at the picnic table to refuel for the long day ahead of me. As I sit at the table, Bubba and Terry drive by with a load of full trash bags in the back of the cart. They skid to a stop at the back entry of the restaurant, dump the trash next to a huge pile of empty cardboard boxes, pop open another beer, and take off again. I guess it’s not their job to be the welcoming committee.

I head back into the fifth wheel and plan my attack. Dishes are piled all over the sink area; most of them are still coated with old dried food. The small refrigerator is full of moldy food and the inside walls are coated with specks of mold. There are blankets, clothes, papers, and empty bags of fast food scattered everywhere. On top of all the debris there is a thick layer of road dust. I begin to open the cabinets and find more leftover food. An open bottle of ketchup has completely turned dark and hard inside. I look in all the cabinets now to confirm my belief that they are all packed with crap! I venture into the tiny cramped space of the toilet and unexpectedly feel the burn of tears brimming over my eyelids as I realize the source of the pungent odor. I feel distressed and disgusted all at once. Is it possible that the holding tank has not been emptied since whomever the hell, crazy-ass, slime bag, grub lived here? I wipe away the tears and try the water pump to the toilet and realize that I need to plug in the electricity, hook up the water, and light the water heater. The contents in the holding tank are probably as dried up as the bottle of ketchup. Okay, I need some trash bags, duct tape, bleach, rubber gloves, sponges, paper towels, and that blue holding tank chemical. It’s time for battle.

I find all the items inside the store area of the restaurant at inflated prices. The trash in front has been emptied. Vi told me that Billy had said not to turn on the water to the inside just yet, because there’s a broken pipe somewhere. She said to use the water straight from the outside. There was a hose somewhere under the trailer. If I needed a bucket she had one. She also told Vi to tell me that Ray would be by later to check out where the water leak is before he fills up the propane tanks, and to be ready to go to work at 7:00AM, because we all had to pitch in for the busy day ahead with the barbeque in the evening. Vi said that Billy and Ray had gone shopping for the barbeque in Redding and would not be back until pretty late. Isn’t Redding a hundred miles or so away? I thought to myself.

After plugging in the electricity, which seems to be in working order, I begin filling trash bags with everything inside the fifth wheel that is not bolted, glued, hammered down, or part of the trailer. There is not one single item in the stuffed drawers and cabinets that is worth a dime except a large kettle that I decide to keep for cleaning purposes. I don’t mess around taking my time on this current cleansing excavation. When I clean, I show no mercy. I pile the rancid trash bags by the bottom of the stairs. Mid-way through this task, I decide to look for the hose under the trailer. While under there I notice the thick, gray pleated plastic tubing coming out from the holding tank. I find the opening for sewage over by the electrical post and stuff the pleated hose into it. The hose makes a dry crackling noise. I probably need a new one of those too! I put the water hose into the toilet, turn on the water and begin to fill the tank. The water hose has several leaks along its length, so I quickly turn off the water, dry the hose off, and use the duct tape to seal up the many drips. After repairing the hose and filling the toilet tank with water, I add the thick blue chemical, probably more than recommended and continue filling up trash bags. I use the entire box of twenty heavy-duty trash bags; five of the trash bags contain ripped, dirty blankets and discolored pillows. The other fifteen contain clothes, towels, dishes, old food, and hard-core trash! Next, I retrieve my Coleman stove and fill the large kettle with water from the hose. I put the stove and kettle on the picnic table to heat for cleaning. I hear a lawn mower off in the distance and notice the park is getting full of RVs. People are wandering about the premises, fishing and walking their dogs. My dogs bark like crazy every time someone with a dog walks by. I need to get this done to the point that I can bring them inside the trailer.

My loaded car has most of the practical items needed for living fairly comfortably—a small vacuum, a small microwave, an ice chest, a boom box with my CD’s and cassettes, a few dishes, silverware, tea kettle, drip filter for coffee, a couple of small pots and pans, bedding, toilet paper, and a small assortment of packaged and canned food. I have a habit of keeping my chaos fairly organized.

By now my car has all four doors open and boxes and bags of my provisions are spread around. I get the toilet paper and vacuum and head back inside the trailer to take a quick, creepy, crawly-feeling pee in the toilet. I will drain the holding tank after it soaks for a few hours and hope that its contents have broken down enough to flush down into the sewer. While pulling up my pants, I hear an approaching diesel truck coming down the highway going extremely fast, shaking the trailer like an earthquake. At the same moment I hear pounding on the exterior wall of the trailer. In my panic to escape the confines of the tiny cubicle, I slip on a small area of water that had leaked from the duct taped hose and ram my hip on the door knob of the tiny bathroom. The pounding gets louder. I limp over to the door, which I have bungee-corded open and connected to the side of the trailer, rubbing my new bruise. It’s Ruby. She has a beer in her hand and has tears in her red eyes.

“I’m sorry to bother you Denise, but I’m so upset! My dog, the one I told you about yesterday? Well, he got bit by a rattlesnake this morning and I just know he’s going to die! Billy’s gone and I need to take him to the vet, but I don’t have any money. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass or anything, but could you lend me a twenty? I promise I’ll pay you back!” I don’t see a car or a dog and wonder how she got here and where the dog is. She continues talking. “I’ll bet this place is a mess! Last guy to live here was the last cook Billy hired over a year ago. He was a druggy, and ripped Billy off for hundreds of dollars. He’s even suing Billy and Ray over something that never happened.” Ruby’s nose scrunches up in disgust. “What stinks?” Ruby is no longer crying and I’m appalled to think that I will be sleeping in the bed of a “druggy.”

“I think it’s the holding tank. I’m trying to clear that out. Listen Ruby, I’m pretty busy and don’t have much time. I’ll loan you the twenty, but I’ll need to get it back as soon as you can repay me. I’m kind of short on cash myself these days.”

“Cool! Thanks Denise! I promise.” After the supplies at the store and this twenty, which I might not ever see again, I am now down to $110. Ruby walks away and heads toward the restaurant, tossing her empty beer can on the ground.

Steam is rising from the pot on the Coleman stove. I get a couple of towels to carry the hot kettle with, go pick up the empty beer can, drop it into the trash bin ten feet away, and carry the heated water into the trailer. I put on the new rubber cleaning gloves and pour bleach into the hot water. I start a smaller pot of water to heat up in case I need more, and I can’t help but think that I will certainly need more. The water turns a mustard tan as soon as I dip my wet rag back into it. Nicotine! It’s coated everything! I wipe like a mad woman. No nook or cranny escapes my feverish cleaning— inside cabinets, outside cabinets, walls, counters, and bathroom. There are now several flies that have entered uninvited. I hear the dogs barking and need to stop cleaning to bring them in and feed them. First, I bring in the second pot of water, empty the first, and refill it to heat up again. I get the dogs and shut the screen door that is attached to the broken front door. To my amazement it works just fine. It even snaps shut. I hope this will keep those darn flies out now.

Bonita and Bandito are very happy to have joined me. They explore the small confined area they are in. Bandito runs and jumps up the two steps that go to the double bed in the far rear of the trailer and acts like he’s ready to play. Bonita looks concerned and apprehensive. I feed them, and then go to the car to find my Bug Zapper; a tennis racket-shaped tool that has a battery operated electrical current to zap flies and mosquitoes. I zap until I feel I have conquered the majority of them.

After another hour of cleaning with bleach, I feel satisfied that I will be living in a slightly more sterile environment. I know I have only touched the surface of all the details that need to be done to get the trailer up to my standards, but I have all summer, so I begin carting in all my belongings. I have no idea what time it is, so I check the clock in my car and see it is 4:00PM. I go back inside and set my travel alarm, so I can at least know the time.

The sun is approaching the edge of the mountain range. There is a slight breeze coming up, and the drying tent has blown onto the ground. I roll up the dry tent and put it in the trunk of the car and bring in the dry blankets and down comforter. I lay the comforter on the bed first to separate me from the old, well-used, discolored surface of the “druggy” mattress, and then place the fitted sheet over the comforter. I make a mental note to purchase some Lysol. After that, I make my way back outside to find the valve to empty the holding tank. It was easy to find over on the highway side of the trailer where a large red arrow was pointing down to it reading: ‘To empty holding tank turn valve to the left.’ As I do this, I hear and see the rumbling, heavy, discolored water gushing through the fragile pleated hose on its way to the sewer. When I no longer hear water in the hose, I shut the valve off. I go get the water hose and refill the tank through the toilet and add more blue chemical. Now that the trailer seems to smell better, I make a tuna sandwich and drink a small glass of wine. I finish eating and go outside to drag all the plastic trash bags over to the pile that Bubba and Terry have going.

“Okay kids! We’re going for a walk!” I announce to Bonita and Bandito upon my return. They are out of their minds with excitement.

I decide to walk the dirt drive outside the fifth wheel that leads away from the main building parallel to the highway and wind around the entire oval-shaped park. I had noticed earlier that the small row of trailers next to the highway, like mine, seem more permanent, while the temporary RVs are on the one end and the other side of the lake. The dogs are very happy with their sixteen feet of mobile freedom they are allowed with the leashes.

The sun has just dipped behind the mountains highest peak. There is still plenty of daylight left. It didn’t get too hot today. Thank heavens for that.

About six spaces from my trailer, I approach a trailer that has the golf cart parked in front. So this is where our charming couple live! The area has the look of a full-time tenant. I see the lawn mower, a few attempts with potted flowers, an older, red, beat up Jeep, a huge fire pit with a huge pile of logs next to it, and various bent up cardboard boxes filled with empty beer cans.

Bonita and Bandito see the tiny kittens darting from under the trailer at the same time that I do. They shoot out like bullets from the extending leashes, barking like idiots, springing to a halt and flipping their little bodies around when the line runs out. I have learned through time to keep a firm grip on the handles. They want, need, and desire to rip the heads off the cute little kitties. I hang on tight and slowly reel them in.

With my presence made known, I feel embarrassed. I get a chill down my spine when I realize that Bubba and Terry are probably observing me from somewhere inside their trailer. “Bad dogs! You stop that! Do you hear me? That’s not nice!” As we pass the golf cart parked on the side of the road, I see the ice chest tilted in a sea of empty beer cans in the cargo space of the cart.

We continue walking around the park. About five spaces down from Bubba’s, I see a large cement drainpipe extending into the lake. Water is flowing at a steady stream from its opening. I presume that the flowing water is the continuous source and supply of the lake. A group of mud hens honk and float near the rippling water. Bits of trash float near the waters’ edge.

As I round the farthest curve at the far end of the park, I see the forest of pine trees that borders the park. There is a dirt road that curves off the main circular drive and disappears into the forest. Good road for a private walk, I think to myself. On closer inspection of the pine trees, I can see fragments of color beyond the tree line, like large tractors, or equipment of some sort. They are barely noticeable, but it’s evident that there’s a back area in there for storage of some kind.

I hear the golf cart start up and come my way around the park. Are Bubba and Terry after me for scaring the kittens? Instead, they zoom past me laughing loudly about something, each holding a beer, leaving in their wake, thick, floating dust. How could anyone drink that much beer all day long and still function? I don’t get it! I see them disappear down yet another side dirt road further down, possibly another entry into the forest storage area.

At about mid-way on my walk, I hear the grinding of a truck trying to get started. The sound is coming from deep within the cover of the pine trees; back there, in the forest. What in the hell is back there? I will explore this soon.

Guests are enjoying their spaces, grilling up hot dogs and hamburgers, swatting flies, and most of them have satellite dishes set up or in the process of getting set up. So I guess the deal is to eat and watch TV in the presence of nature. I do not see many of them walking around. “Ouch!” I feel the sting of a mosquito bite on my ankle. “Gosh darn it anyway!” I hurry up our walk so I can go cover my legs and feet. Mosquitoes love this time of the evening. I am only wearing my flip-flops, a short-sleeved t-shirt, and capri pants. I look at the lake and see the thin layer of mosquitoes floating above and around the water’s surface. We pass the group of ducks resting beneath the cattail grass. I am very happy that the dogs did not notice them.

As I round the front of the main building, bypassing the straight path to my trailer which is behind the main building, I hear the rumbling engine of a large and really old looking dump truck. It looks beat to shit! It shakes and rattles its way to the rear of the restaurant. There is a pile of trash bags about halfway up the teetering side wood panels. Oh, I get it. That’s where they put all the trash. Then what? Whatever, I’m sure I will find out later. Bubba is behind the wheel and Terry is following him in the golf cart. They disappear out of view behind the restaurant.

The front parking lot is full of restaurant customers. The majority of the cars being Jeeps, well-used trucks, a couple of all-terrain scooters, and cars with license plates from many different states. Two logging trucks, empty of driver and logs, are parked with engines running on the other side of the highway. Three RVs are in line by the edge of the lot and some kids are climbing the small fence that borders the park. Someone is obviously registering for a space inside while the family waits. Billy must have quite a crew working for her! I suddenly feel very insecure and apprehensive about my new job as cook. This must be the only place to eat for miles!

I walk the final curve toward my trailer and climb the inconvenient, awkward stairs. Once inside I unleash the dogs and peek out the window next to the dining table. I see Bubba standing with his back to me, looking at the pile of trash bags. He is standing in front of my pile of additional trash bags. His heavy stumps of legs are spread apart and his fists are planted on his hips. He lifts his baseball cap with one hand and scratches his head violently, the hat flapping back and forth. Terry rattles on dramatically about something, pointing in my direction. He turns around, looks toward my trailer, and pulls on some thick work gloves with a scowl on his face. Wow! Those two make me very nervous!

Smoke is pouring out of a vent that is next to the back door of the kitchen. I smell the grilling hamburgers and steaks, my stomach growls. I open a can of organic vegetarian chili, not because I am a vegetarian, but because even though I enjoy meat, I try to not eat it from a processed source, such as a can. I heat it in my microwave and pour myself another glass of wine. I eat in the silence and watch the shadows fade while night approaches on my first night at Hacienda.

“Darn it! I forgot about the front door!” There is still enough twilight outside to duct tape the hanging pieces of aluminum back on. As I begin, I hear the hum of a machine over by where Bubba is loading trash. He is placing the full bags of trash in some sort of large trash compactor. You can hear the snap from the contents of the bags as they slowly get crushed. He then tosses the flattened oozing bags into the dump truck. Glass explodes within the one he is currently crushing. I think it is one of the bags that I put over there because I had filled a few with old dishes and pans. The trash compactor makes a high-pitched screeching sound, and is then silent.

“GOD DAMN IT TO HELL! WHO THE HELL PUT THAT SHIT IN THE TRASH? DAMN SON OF A BITCH, STUPID ASSHOLE! TERRY GET ME THE BIG WRENCH NOW! AND THE FLATHEAD SCREWDRIVER! HURRY UP DAMN IT I HAVEN’T GOT ALL NIGHT!”

If Bubba is aware that the bag was from me, I cannot tell because he does not look in my direction. It was his yelling that seemed directed at me. Geez! Couldn’t he tell that the bag had heavy glass and steel in it when he picked it up? If it were going to break the machine, wouldn’t he have known not to put it in there?

Terry hands Bubba a tool. “I SAID THE FLATHEAD SCREWDRIVER DAMN IT!” Terry’s panicky reaction, and Bubba’s loud demand reminds me of my childhood when I tried to help my father with his tools while he worked on his car. I could never pick out the right screwdriver. It’s interesting what makes the doors of memories open unannounced.

I hurry and finish duct-taping the door as best as possible without looking in Bubba’s direction. I’m aware that the sound of the tape ripping off the roll is echoing across the entire park because all the noisy machines are silent at the moment. Duct tape is loud that way. The door looks horrible, like a badly wrapped, silver-gray, square mummy, but the small Plexiglas window is now covered up and held in with the tape and most of the hanging parts are covered with tape. I have to lift the door that is only connected by the bent bottom hinge and set it gently on the threshold. As it balances there I take the bungee cord and loop it through the broken door handle. I pull the hooked ends of the stretchy cord and hook them on the handle of the stove that is right next to the door. I’m proud of my ingenuity! It also serves as a door lock, which at this point, I think I need.

I sit in the dark trailer with another glass of wine on the seating area by the table that faces out to the dump truck and Bubba. I have the curtain open just enough to watch what is going on out there. Who needs a TV when you have this!? The dogs are curled up on each side of me. “Darn it! I need a shower! I have to get up tomorrow and go to work!” The dogs jump to attention.

It is more comfortable at this point to drive my car around the front of the main building and go to the showers. I don’t want to walk by Bubba and Terry.

The showers are roomy and the water is hot. The warm water running down my legs makes my new mosquito bite burn. I lift my leg to see not one, but five new bites beginning to swell. There is a big bruise on the top of my foot from when the door fell on it and another tender purple area on my hip. I feel the bite on my neck and can’t believe that it’s more swollen than earlier today. Day one and I already have battle scars. I dry off and change into some sweats. As I walk out of the building I can hear the dogs barking through the screen door of the trailer, which I can see across the lake. A family is walking their dog by my trailer. I drive back to my trailer. I made the shower quick because I am exhausted and need to just sit down for a while.

The pile of trash is loaded by the time I get back. Bubba is trying to start the engine of the dump truck again. The air stinks like rotten food and I need to swat several flies out from my face as I enter the trailer.