Campron

Dinner and a Show

Dave grilled burgers for dinner, and then we got a show. A man was helping his mother (named Teresa, haha, as he told bystanders many times) back her 5th wheel into a space three sites down from us. He’s giving directions in a voice loud enough for the entire campground to hear. His dialogue (and my thoughts): 

“Back it up.” (Tell her something she doesn’t know.) 

“Trust me, Mom.” (She’s heard that before - an hour before he needed bail money or the ER.) 

“I know what’s on the other side of you.” (Yes, the picnic table. But WHERE on the other side is another story.) 

“Now turn into it.” (This made sense to him, but not to her, nor to me.) 

Also known as "Turn into it" or "Follow it in."
Who knew? Not me. Not Mother Teresa.

 

“Wait a minute, Mom. Hey sir, would you mind moving your truck so my mom can turn into her site?” (Someone else also moved their truck, too. Coincidence?) 

“Ma, you’re going to need to pull forward and try it again.” (Yep.) 

“OK, Mom, back it up.” (Here we go again.) 

“You have to turn the wheel to the right. No, no. I mean to the LEFT.” (Maybe just tell her to turn into it.) 

Mom finally gets the rig into the campsite. “Good job, Mom.” (No thanks to you, Sonny boy.) 

Mom is trying to hook up the water hose with a filter to the rig. It’s not screwing in properly. Sonny says, “You have to push it in hard.” (The filter is missing the male connector. It will never go in no matter how hard you push.) 

“Bro. Can you give me a hand?” (The neighbor he’s asking tries his hand. Still not working.) 

“I’ve been camping for years and never had this problem.” (Yeah, right. Dave observed that both connectors for the filter were on one end; there should have been one on each end.) 

“Yo, Mom, we don’t need a filter on this.” (Hope they have bottled water.) 

“Ma, how level is the inside, when you’re walking around? We can fix that later if you want.” (Um, not that easy once everything is hooked up, the steps are down, and the slide is out. But hey, you’ve been camping for years, right?) 

Later that evening the dude is building a campfire. He piles on enough sticks and logs to fill the entire fire ring to the brim, and then some. Dave looks at me. “Wanna bet he uses some type of fuel to get that thing going?” (No, I don’t want to lose $20.) 

Sonny boy looks our way, where we’re enjoying our lovely campfire. “Great time for a fire, huh?” (Dave says he’s looking at me. Creeped me out.)  

Our campfire at Yosemite Lake Campground

We see him bringing a red container - can you say gasoline? - down to the fire ring. (You’ve got to be kidding me.) “This will get it started.” WWWWOOOOOOSSSSSSHHHHH! (I’m glad I didn’t take that bet.) 

 Sonny goes back into the camper, leaving his roaring bonfire unattended. 

Dave: I’m afraid to take the dog for a walk. Someone needs to watch that fire. 

Me: What would you do if a spark goes astray? 

Dave: I’ll grab my bucket. 

Me: I’ll yank that hose out of their camper and turn the water on as hard as it will go. I’m coining a new word: Campon. Like a Touron. But a camper-moron. 

Dave: Sounds too much like crampon, those things rock climbers use. 

Me: Sounds too much like tampon. 

Dave: How about Camp-ron? 

Me: That works. Let’s walk the dog and hope for more excitement. 

Dog did not disappoint. We return to the campsite. Sonny is helping Mother Teresa with food prep on the picnic table. The bonfire, which they never enjoyed, burned itself out.