Tag Archives: parking lot

Oct16

Boondoggle

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Some days I make hemp necklaces while sitting in the parking lot. On weekday afternoons, it’s usually slow enough to get some work done between collecting parking fees from the drivers of cars that pull in. By the number of comments I receive, my handicraft is at least as interesting as the trees.

One day, several people (including my boss) thought the bright blue and red hemp I was working with was wire, even though the hemp cord’s not nearly as stiff as wire.

One old woman must not have believed me when I said it wasn’t wire because she reached out to touch it. She didn’t ask permission, just reached out. I drew the cord closer and closer to my body, and she just kept reaching. I suspect if I had lain the cord across my bosom, she would have gone ahead and felt me up in the process of fingering my materials.

Oh! I exclaimed. You’re just going to touch it?!(My implication was not You only want to touch it? but You’re just going to touch it whether I want you to or not!)

Yes! she said, and she did!

I was in a state of disbelief, and my slow brain couldn’t even get it together to say, Back off! or Don’t touch me! or Excuse me? or simply No! This stranger thought it was ok to touch my things, things sitting in my lap. Not ok, lady! Not ok!

But she did it. She reached out and touched my hemp cord. I don’t think she even know her behavior was offensive.

The big question when people see me working on a craft project is, What are you making?

A flat answer of a necklace is meant to discourage conversation. I can’t sell the necklaces in the parking lot, so I don’t much want to talk about them.

Another old lady saw me working and said, Boondoggle!

What? I asked. I was really confused. I thought boondoggle was related to snafu. My hemp wasn’t in a knotted mess. Everything seemed ok.

That’s what it’s called, the old lady said to me.

It’s macramé, I told her.

Same thing, she said and wandered off. (At least she didn’t touch me.)

I looked up the definition of boondoggle. This is what I found, according to http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/boondoggle:

Simple Definition of boondoggle

  • : an expensive and wasteful project usually paid for with public money

    Full Definition of boondoggle

    1. 1 :  a braided cord worn by Boy Scouts as a neckerchief slide, hatband, or ornament

    2. 2 :  a wasteful or impractical project or activity often involving graft

      Did You Know?

      When “boondoggle” popped up in the pages of the New York Times in 1935, lots of people tried to explain where the word came from. One theory traced it to an Ozarkian word for “gadget,” while another related it to the Tagalog word that gave us “boondocks.” Another hypothesis suggested that “boondoggle” came from the name of leather toys Daniel Boone supposedly made for his dog. But the only theory that is supported by evidence is much simpler. In the 1920s, Robert Link, a scoutmaster for the Boy Scouts of America, apparently coined the word to name the braided leather cords made and worn by scouts. The word came to prominence when such a scout boondoggle was presented to the Prince of Wales at the 1929 World Jamboree, and it’s been with us ever since.

The woman was a bit confused. I wasn’t braiding. I wasn’t working with leather. I wasn’t a Boy Scout. But I don’t think she was implying my project was wasteful or impractical, so I’ve decided not to be mad at her.

  • The 16 inch necklace on the left is made from black and green hemp and has a simple pendent I made. The stone is serpentine, which is believed to help one feel more in control of one's spiritual life and the aid meditation. It costs $16, including postage. The necklace in the middle is 20 inches long and made from black and purple hemp. The stone is amethyst, which is believed to support sobriety; guard against panic attacks; and dispels anger, rage, fear, and anxiety. It costs $18, including postage. The necklace on the right is 20 inches long and made from brown and black hemp. The pendant and the accent stones are carnelian which is believed to stimulate creativity, calm anger, promote positive life choices and remove fear of death. This necklace costs $16, including postage costs.

    I took this photo showing some of the “boondoggles” I’ve made. All are for sale. The 16 inch necklace on the left is made from black and green hemp and has a simple pendent I made. The stone is serpentine, which is believed to help one feel more in control of one’s spiritual life and to aid meditation. It costs $16, including postage. The necklace in the middle is 20 inches long and made from black and purple hemp. The stone is amethyst, which is believed to support sobriety; guard against panic attacks; and dispel anger, rage, fear, and anxiety. It costs $18, including postage. The necklace on the right is 20 inches long and made from brown and black hemp. The pendant and the accent stones are carnelian which is believed to stimulate creativity, calm anger, promote positive life choices, and remove fear of death. This necklace costs $16, including postage costs.

Oct5

Actual Conversations

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The following are actual conversations I engaged in with visitors to the trail:

 

Driver of a car that’s just arrived: Where’s the parking lot?

Me: You’re in the parking lot.

 

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Visitor: How far is [my destination] from here?

Me: One hundred miles and about three hours.

Visitor: Oh! So about three miles?

 

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Visitor: Will we see a bear here?

Me: Probably not. You’re more likely to see a rattlesnake than a bear on the trail.

 

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Young visitor exiting the trail: Do you remember where we parked?

Me: No. I don’t remember where you parked.

[I had never before seen these people; they’d parked in the overflow lot.]

 

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Visitor standing in front of me: Do you have one of those self-guided things [meaning a trail guide]?

Me: No. I’m sorry. We ran out last Sunday.

Visitor: Really? [He acted as if I were lying to him.]

Me: Really. If I had any, I’d be happy to give you one.

 

 

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Me to 20ish male visitor with longish hair, tattoos, and dark sunglasses: There’s a $5 parking fee.

Male visitor to me: What if we don’t have $5 cash?

Me: I hope you have tradeables.

Male visitor: [Silence]

Nervous female companion of male visitor: We have water…and…

Me: Go ahead and park, but next time you come to the mountains, bring some cash. What are you going to do if you have to bribe a cop?

Male visitor: We’re going to hope it doesn’t come to that.

Me: Have fun!

Male Visitor: How long will it take to walk the trail?

Me: That depends on how many trees you want to hug.

[The male visitor never showed a hint of a smile. Maybe he’s too cool to smile. Maybe I’m not as funny as I like to think I am.]

 

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Me, as I hand a trail guide and a day pass to a visitor who’s just handed me a $20 bill: Here’s your day pass and a trail guide. You don’t need to take the day pass back to your car…

Visitor: So I need to put this [indicating the day pass] in the car?

Me: No. As I just said, you don’t need to take the pass back to your car. You will want to take the trail guide with you.

Visitor: And where do I get the trail guide?

Me: It’s in your hand.

 

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Visitor: Those marks on the trees that look like they’re from fire? What are they from?

Me: Fire.

 

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Passenger in a car that’s just entered the parking lot: What’s all the smoke from?

Me: Fire.

 

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Me to a person on a bicycle stopped at the entrance to the trail: Excuse me. The trail is for walking only.

Person on bicycle [said roughly]: I’m just looking at the sign!

Me: I was just letting you know.

Person on bicycle [said roughly and dismissively]: You let me know! Thank you!

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Visitor: Those are some pretty amazing trees.

Me: They sure are.

Visitor: God was on his toes when he made those.

Me: [Silence]

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I took all of the photos in this post.
Oct2

Giving Directions

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It was a Friday morning at the parking lot, and we weren’t too busy. I was working on a scarf when I wasn’t helping my coworker any time two or more cars formed a line at the entrance. A woman, middle-age and wearing her ponytail on the top of her head, asked me how to get to MegaBabylon.

This is a question I get asked a lot. I know the answer. I know the answer so well I can rattle it off rapidly, but I try to speak slowly, give step-by-step directions so people can actually understand what I’m telling them. I spoke slowly for this woman, told her exactly what to do, but I failed to see even a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.

What about Highway X? she asked me.

Highway X does not figure into getting to Mega Babylon from where we were standing. I told her she didn’t need to worry about Highway X.

Someone had told her she’d need to take Highway X, she insisted.

Now she was irritating me. She’d asked me for directions. I’d given them to her. She’d asked about Highway X, and I’d told her it wasn’t involved. Why was she insisting? If she didn’t trust me to give her directions, why’d she asked me in the first place?

I’ve noticed that when some people ask me a question, they seem to only want me to confirm what they already believe. If my answer doesn’t confirm what the questioner already believes, s/he will ask the question again, maybe reframing it, in hopes of getting the answer s/he thinks is correct. Such a line of questioning really annoys me because I feel as if the person asking the questions thinks I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not infallible, but by now I usually know the answers to most of the questions I’m asked in the parking lot. If I don’t know an answer, I admit it.

The woman in front of me was convinced she needed to take Highway X and wanted me to confirm what she thought. I knew Highway X was not involved with her trip. We were at a standoff.

The woman looked over at my coworker and asked him for directions to MegaBabylon, as if he hadn’t just heard her entire exchange with me.

I get really pissed off when a person asks me a question, I give an accurate and complete answer, then the person turns to my coworker and asks him the same question. If the little lady can’t be trusted to give the correct answer, don’t ask the little lady the question in the first place!

Bless his heart, my coworker said to the woman, I think she [meaning me] just told you how to get there. But he also offered to show her on a map, which I realized I should have done instead of getting annoyed. I guess I just wanted her to trust me because I knew I was right.

During my entire interaction with the woman, a young Asian man had been standing nearby. He was waiting for his friends to arrive. (We found out later his friends were at the overflow parking area at the campground next door, waiting for him to arrive.) He’d latched on to my coworker and had been standing around for at least 15 minutes. When my coworker mentioned a map, the young Asian man pulled out his phone.

I don’t know if he already had a map pulled up or if he had some kind of map app that didn’t use the internet, but the whole time my coworker was unfolding his map, the young Asian man was trying to get the woman to look at his phone.

When the woman saw my coworker’s paper map (as opposed to the phone’s small screen, I suppose), she said, Oh! You have a big one!

Without missing a beat, my coworker said, Thank you. That’s what I’ve been told.

Maybe I was the only one who got the joke because I was the only one snickering. But then it got better.

I guess the young Asian man was still shoving his phone with the small map on it in the woman’s face, because I heard my coworker tell the man, Cut it out! I’ve got this! Let me do my job!

The young Asian man didn’t seem to take offense because he continued to hang around after my coworker finished giving the woman directions and assuring her Highway X wasn’t involved. (See! I told you! my inner brat wanted to exclaim while sticking out its tongue at her. Fortunately, my inner adult stayed in control of the situation.)

The woman wandered off, presumably to her vehicle, and the sitcom that is my life went to commercial break.

I swear, every word of this story is true.

 

Oct1

Will We Be Safe?

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Many people ask me and my coworker if they will be safe on the trail. Mostly, people are afraid of bears. For some reason, my reassurance that they’re more likely to see a rattlesnake than a bear on the trail doesn’t seem to comfort most people.

animals, bears, coldMy kinder answer to worried visitors preparing to walk the trail is that 100 screaming children and 35 barking dogs have already been on the trail to scare the bears away. To visitors who arrive earlier in the day, before the multitudes of screaming children and barking dogs have scared the bears, I tell them the bears in the National Forest are hunted, which makes them timid and wary of people. While some visitors are disappointed by the slim chance of seeing a bear, most are relieved.

Some people seem to want to feel as if they are in danger. Maybe they are otherwise lacking excitement in their lives. When the mountain was nearly deserted due to the nearby fire, a group of Germans arrived at the trail. In addition to demanding the hosts at the campground across from the trail tell them when the electricity where they were staying would be back on (never mind that the campground where they were standing never has electricity), they also wanted to know if the animals were angry. Despite the camp hosts’ assurance that the visitors would more than likely be fine, one of the Germans clutched a medium size Maglite to use as a weapon in defense against a potentially angry animal.

The weirdest safety conversation all season was one I overheard my coworker have with the driver of a truck. Neither the driver nor any of his passengers walked the trail. The driver didn’t even park the truck; he just looped through the parking lot to turn around. Before he exited, he stopped to talk to my coworker.

He only had daughters, he said. These boys in the truck were his nephews, he said. He wanted to bring his daughters to see the trees, but would they be safe from mountain lions and bears?

My coworker assured the driver the girls would be safe. My coworker gave him the rap about the bears being timid and rarely spotted near the trail. (Occasionally my coworker sees a bear crossing the road in the early morning or sees the garbage from the parking lot’s trash cans strewn about bear style.) As for mountain lions, my coworker told the man, there’s never been a report of evidence of a mountain lion on or near the trail or parking lot.

After my coworker told the man the trail is safe even for females, the truck full of men drove away.

What was he talking about?  I asked my coworker. Does he really think bears and mountain lions will attack women but not men?

My coworker just shook his head. He didn’t understand the man any better than I had.

Maybe the driver thought the nephews could defend themselves against mountain lions and bears but the daughters could not. I don’t know. I was very confused, and I suspect this mystery will never be solved for me.

Photo courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/animals-bears-cold-grass-214057/.
Sep30

Happy Campers

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My shift at the parking lot was almost over when the small and shiny Jeep SUV pulled in. I approached the vehicle and found white folks inside. There were only two of them, an older couple, both speaking with accents my lazy ear could only identify as “European.” They were asking about campgrounds, so I sent them next door to ask about availability there. They soon returned to the parking lot, asking if I were the camp host next door. I told them I wasn’t, explained I was the host at the campground two miles down the road. They said it looked as if all the sites next door were reserved but said they hadn’t seen the camp hosts to speak to them. I thought they wanted to camp next door so they could walk to the trail from their campsite, so I sent them back to talk to the camp hosts. I also told them to come to my campground if things didn’t work out for them next door. Every site in my campground was open.

I packed my chair, water bottle, and backpack, then walked down to the restrooms to restock toilet paper. It didn’t take me long, and I was soon on my way back to my campground.

When I pulled in, I saw the same small Jeep SUV already parked on site #6. After getting the van backed into my spot, I walked over to site #6 where the woman exclaimed, Now this is a campground!

The other campground was just too busy, she said. Too many people. She wasn’t happy with the yurts, either. Talking about them made her shudder, although she called them by some cute name I wish I could remember.

When I checked them in, I found out they were from Austria. They had so recently arrived in the U.S., they were still suffering from jet lag.

They asked me if the my campground was likely to stay quiet all night. They said they’d had experienced campgrounds where people were partying and loud. I told them I couldn’t guarantee people wouldn’t show up and be loud, but I said they could let me know if anyone bothered them, and I would put a stop to the disturbance.

Only one other vehicle pulled into the campground that evening. A young couple and a wolfy dog were in the white SUV. They were looking for a camping spot, they said, but is there anywhere that doesn’t cost $21? the young woman asked me after I’d run through the campground info. I told them about the nearest free campground and dispersed camping. They said they’d go check out the free campground and maybe come back, but they never did.

The campground was empty all night, save for me and the Austrians. I got into my van around 7pm and didn’t hear a noise outside until morning.

The next morning, the Austrian man approached the restrooms moments after I’d finished cleaning the first one.

How was your night? I asked. Did you enjoy the quiet?

The man stretched out his arms and declared, This is better than a five-star hotel!

He asked if he could use one of the restrooms. I pointed to the one I’d just finished, and said, That one’s clean.

He gestured to the one I hadn’t started on yet and said, That one’s spotless too.

A little before 9:30, as I’d suggested to them in order to beat the crowd at the trail, the Austrian couple left the campground. When I arrived at the parking lot at 10am, I saw their rental car parked near the front. It was after one o’clock when the couple emerged from the trail. They told me they’d enjoyed seeing the trees and thanked me for my advice to arrive early. They said they’d decided to stay another night at my campground.

When I got back to the campground, I found the Austrian couple eating a late lunch. I collected that night’s camping fee from them and got the man’s signature on the camping permit. When I returned to my van, I saw the free travel booklets my boss had dumped on me that day. The booklets contain information about the National Forest and a couple of National Parks. I knew the Austrians were headed to a National Park, so I thought the booklet might be useful to them.

I brought one over, saying I’m sorry to bother you again, then explaining I thought the information in the booklet might help them. They were quite grateful and the woman said, You are the best camp host we have ever had!

It’s nice to be appreciated, but it’s even nicer to know I’ve made my campers happy.

Sep29

Pack It In, Pack It Out

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It was the Friday after Labor Day, and business was slow in the parking lot. My coworker had gone, and I was sitting in my chair, working on a scarf. A Forest Service Crew was on the trail felling hazard trees, and only a few visitors were parked in the lot.

I heard a vehicle coming down the road, and when I looked up, I saw it was a Forest Service SUV marked “Law Enforcement” on the side. I thought the vehicle might hold the two L-E-Os who’d pulled me over to hassle me about the cracks in my windshield, so I was glad to see it pass the parking lot’s gate.

The driver must not have gone far before turning around, because I don’t think three minutes passed before the SUV was pulling into the parking lot. I decided I wasn’t getting out of my chair to chitchat with tree cops. The SUV came in the wrong way on the one-way loop and stopped near me. At that point I got up after all to find out why the L-E-O was there.

As I approached the SUV, I looked into the open passenger side window and saw an L-E-O I’d never seen before. This guy was young too, whiskerless, blond, slight, and almost too clean and pretty to be a cop, even in a forest.

He looked at me and said, I’m here for the urn.

Surely that’s not what he said, I thought as I looked at him blankly.

I’m here for the urn, he said again. The human remains? I got a call about an urn found on the trail.

I continued to look at him blankly, and he asked, You didn’t hear about it?

I told him I hadn’t heard about it, and the L-E-O said he was surprised. I told him the Forest Service crew working on the trail had probably found the urn and used a walkie-talkie to call in and hadn’t bothered to tell me. (The Forest Service is responsible for the trail and the company I work for is responsible for the parking lot, so I understand why someone from the work crew didn’t come over and tell me about the urn.)

The L-E-O said he had to go out on the trail to retrieve the urn.

By that time, I had the giggles and put my hand over my mouth in hopes of keeping my inappropriate laughter inside. How could someone forget an urn full of human remains on an interpretive trail in a National Forest? This situation sounded like the premise of a slapstick comedy.

What are you going to do with it?  I asked. I don’t normally converse freely with cops of any sort, but I was fascinated by the abandoned urn.

Keep it in the office until someone calls to say they forgot Grandpa, was his response.

I had to cover my mouth again in an attempt to keep in my giggles.

I guess the urn’s in a Crown Royal bag, the L-E-O told me. Grandma must have had a drink…

A Crown Royal bag? That was too much! A hand over my mouth was not hiding my laughter.

The L-E-O parked the SUV and headed out on the trail. He was gone a good 40 minutes before returning to the parking lot holding a purple bag. It wasn’t a Crown Royal bag after all; this bag was purple, but bigger and made from fake velvet. He didn’t show me the urn, but told me it was a case of dumping.

Dumping? I asked, confused again.

He’d opened the urn, he told me, and it was empty. Whoever had brought the urn on the trail must have scattered the ashes, then abandoned the urn and the bag that held it.

Pack it in, pack it out! I exclaimed.

Yes, the L-E-O agreed, even in the case of Grandpa’s ashes, people need to take their trash out with them.

Sep27

You Need a Booth

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Strangers in the parking lot often think they know exactly what I need, and they don’t stand behind the door to tell me.

One afternoon, the trail had hardly any visitors. Only one car was parked in the entire lot. I was getting ready to leave for the day when the family that belonged to the car exited the trail.

The family consisted of three people. I think it was a mom, a dad, and their grown (or nearly so) daughter.

Looking at me sitting in my folding chair in the shade, You need a booth! Dad declared in his East coast accent.

That would cost money, I countered.

Of all the things the National Forest needs, I’m sure a booth for a parking lot attendant is pretty far down on the list. The man probably didn’t consider the permits and permissions necessary to build something on federal land. And who would pay for it? The company I work for or the Forest Service? Obviously this man had given little thought to the implementation of his booth plan.

It could be ten by ten, Dad went on, as if a small booth wouldn’t cost money. Maybe he thought no one would mind something so little.

It would get hot in a booth, I continued my naysaying.

Oh! You’d have an air conditioner, ever optimistic Dad came back with immediately.

Suddenly we’d gone from a cheap shack to one with amenities.

This was getting ridiculous!

There’s no electricity out here, I told them.

You could get a generator! Daughter said brightly.

I kept shaking my head, and I’m sure I was making a face of displeasure too.

I no longer wanted to participate in the conversation (which hadn’t been my idea in the first place). No matter what objections I raised, these people were going to have an answer. I suppose it’s nice to be optimistic, but they saw a need that wasn’t there and didn’t ask me what I could use to make my life better. Instead they told me what I needed, offered no suggestions on how to fund the project, and kept adding “comforts” to solve problems they were creating. Is this how civilization grew out of control?

I guess it might be nice to sit surrounded by these trees, the daughter conceded.

Yes, it is nice to sit in the shade among the trees. I don’t want to be cooped up in a booth. I don’t want to need an air conditioner because I’m stuck in a tiny room with no air flow. I don’t want to listen to a loud generator for hours at a time.

I also don’t want to converse with strangers who think they know what I need when actually they have no idea, but that’s one of the hazards of my job.

Sep25

Survey Says

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One Saturday morning, I arrived at the parking lot and saw a sign which read Traffic Survey Ahead. When I asked my coworker what was going on, he pointed to a man wearing a fluorescent orange vest and a large straw hat. The man had set up a car counter across the entrance to the parking lot. He was supposed to survey people after they walked the trail. My coworker was unclear on who this guy worked for, but the man had assured my coworker the results would go all the way to Congress.

Before the lot got busy Survey Guy tried to chat with me and my coworker. After all the hours he’d spent in the library working on his master’s degree in history, he was excited to have an outdoor job for the summer, he told us. I think he was trying to impress us, but he failed miserably. I just don’t think being in grad school necessarily means a person’s smart. This guy cam across as a big, bumbling loser. He was trying too hard, and he didn’t say anything witty or intelligent or thought-provoking.

Survey Guy thought he’d have an easy day surveying the few people who came through the parking lot, enjoy the cool mountain air. He seemed really surprised when we got slammed and the lot filled with cars and the cars kept coming. No way was this guy going to be able to interview all the trail visitors who parked in the lot.

I watched Survey Guy all day, even after my coworker went home. I only saw Survey Guy talk to white folks. Maybe he’s talking to other people when I can’t see him, I thought, but I doubted it when I saw him walk right past a young Latino family without even asking if they had time to answer some questions.

The next day when my coworker and I rehashed Survey Guy’s visit, I said, He only talked to white people! My coworker said he’d noticed the same thing. We agreed that only surveying white people would not give an accurate representation of the variety of tourists who actually visit the trail. We also agreed we were glad Survey Guy was gone.

Of course, he came back a few weeks later. We figured he’d gotten hot at home and wanted to spend the day in the (relatively) cool mountain air. Also, My wife’s been acting really weird! he announced, then told us he’d figured out the next day was her birthday, I gave my coworker a knowing look. In addition to the cool mountain air theory, I’d predicted his appearance at the parking lot was related to wanting to get away from his wife on a Saturday afternoon.

Survey Guy got his folding chair and put it between my coworker’s perch on the metal trash can and the iron ranger where my coworker sets his clipboard. Every time a car pulled into the parking lot, my coworker had to reach over Survey Guy to get the clipboard holding his day passes.

When my coworker left for the day, I moved my chair into the shade next to the iron ranger. I moved Survey Guy’s chair as far from mine as possible, which put him right next to the trash can. I didn’t even feel bad.

I told myself I wasn’t going to engage with Survey Guy. I wasn’t going to speak to him, I wasn’t going to acknowledge him. I was going to do my job and let him do his, and there would be no interaction.

However, after seeing him interview another white family, I could no longer hold my tongue. When he plopped down in his chair, I asked him, Is this just a white people survey? Because I’ve noticed you’re only talking to white people.

He told me I didn’t realize how hard he’d been working. Since he didn’t speak Hispanic, he could only survey people who spoke English. He tried to listen to Asians and Hispanics talking before he approached them. If he didn’t hear folks he perceived as non-English speakers actually speaking English, he didn’t even try to talk to them. Apparently Survey Guy did not understand that some people are bilingual.

About that time, my boss drove into the parking lot, and I had to remove my attention from Survey Guy. However, during my conversation with my boss, I looked over and saw Survey Guy interviewing a Latino family. About time! They seemed to be communicating just fine.

My shift ended, and I left the parking lot before Survey Guy.

When I arrived for my shift on Sunday, the car counter was still stretched across the parking lot’s entrance and chained to the gate. My coworker and I wondered if Survey Guy had forgotten to take the car counter with him when he’d gone home the day before or if he’d left it on purpose to pad his results since he’d arrived so late the day before.

We’re not going to see him today, I told my coworker. It’s his wife’s birthday.

I was wrong. He showed up later in the morning. He’d served his wife breakfast in bed, which seemed to have been enough of a birthday present for her. (She probably had really low expectations.)

Survey Guy packed up the car-counting equipment, but before he left, he approached my co-worker.

I cost you about $20 yesterday, he said.

Oh? my coworker said.

I took this photo of the iron ranger labeled "Pay Here."

I didn’t think that thing worked anymore, he said, pointing to the iron ranger, which is clearly labeled “Pay Here.”

Some people wanted to pay me, Survey Guy said. I told them I didn’t work here. Then I told them the iron ranger was broken. I didn’t realize it wasn’t broken until the other woman [the camp host at the campground next door] came over and opened it. So I probably cost you about $20.

(Why would a broken iron ranger be left in a fee area? Why would a broken iron ranger be labeled “Pay Here”? In what way could an iron ranger be broken?)

My coworker held out his hand. You can pay me now, he said.

Unfortunately, Survey Guy took it as a joke.

I can’t stand it when people get over-involved in something that isn’t their business. All Survey Guy had to say was, I don’t work here collecting money. From there, people would have either figured it our or not. He didn’t  have to tell people anything was broken.

Survey Guy left. We haven’t seen him again. I hope it stays that way.

I took the photo in this post.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sep24

Diesel: A Cautionary Tale

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The family of four (Mom, Dad, and two tween boys) approached me at the front of the parking lot.

Where’s the closest gas station? the man asked me.

We get this question a lot in the parking lot, so I knew the answer.

The closest gas station is twenty-five miles that way, I said, pointing. If you’re going that way, I said, pointing in the opposite direction, the closest gas station is about thirty-five miles.

I’m not going to make it thirty-five miles, the man said.

Well, you’ll have to go that way, I said, pointing again. I explained where he’d have to turn and told him about the one pump behind the community’s general store.

So they have diesel? the man asked me.

Diesel? Who’d said anything about diesel?

blur, dusk, eveningI suppose when the man said gas station, he’d been envisioning a full-service, multi-pump establishment with a convenience store and restrooms, where, of course, diesel would be available. I was telling him about what was actually there: one gas pump behind a little store selling ice and a few food items.

I don’t think they have diesel, I said. I think they only have regular unleaded.

Should we call Triple A? the woman asked the man. Will they even come out here?

I think Triple A will go anywhere on pavement, I told them. The nearest pay phone is about eight miles away.

The woman lifted her cell phone and showed it to me while slightly smirking, as if I were an idiot.

Most people don’t get cell service out here, I said.

Do you have a signal? the man asked her hopefully.

The woman deflated like a balloon the morning after a birthday party. I don’t know, she said.

She determined she had no signal.

What should we do? they asked each other.

I had no more information to offer. I’d told them where the nearest gas was. (Unfortunately, they didn’t need gas.)  I’d told them where to find the nearest pay phone. There was nothing more I could do.

You’re already here, I told them. It’s early in the day. You might as well walk the trail.

A truck was approaching the parking lot’s exit. The driver of the truck spoke to the main in need of diesel. The man in need explained his predicament. He asked the driver of the truck if he had a full fuel tank. He told the driver he had a siphon. The driver agreed to let the man in need siphon some diesel from his tank.

Oh thank God! the woman exclaimed, but she sounded more like someone who wanted attention than like someone who was grateful for the blessing the Lord had sent.

The man in need walked back to his truck. The driver followed in the truck with the tank full of diesel.

The woman and the kids stayed up front near me.

He’s camped next to us, the woman told me. We don’t even know him.

The woman really wanted my attention.

It’s kind of him, I said flatly. I was tired and didn’t want to chitchat.

The woman and kids crossed the road to walk the trail.

The siphoning must have gone well, because later I saw the family drive away in their truck.

They must have been city people. City people are accustomed to finding a gas station every few blocks. It’s not like that in these mountains. People around here live in communities with no gas (and/or diesel) available for purchase. The nearest gas station may be twenty-five, thirty, forty miles away.

I once read a book aimed at solo women travelers. One suggestion the book gave was to never let the fuel in one’s vehicle to go below a quarter of a tank. It’s good advice that I take to heart. I also recommend folks not take off into remote areas without knowing how much fuel they have, how far that fuel can take them, and the distance to the next place where they can buy fuel. There’s not always going to be a Good Samaritan in the parking lot or a multi-pump gas station just down the road.

Photo courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/blur-dusk-evening-gas-station-399635/.

Sep22

Bribery and Garbage

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It was Sunday morning, and I guess the people in the two cars that pulled into the parking lot were on their way home.

Where can we dump this? the driver of the first car asked me.

Dump what? I asked, genuinely confused.

He gestured to his back seat. I peered in through the heavily tinted back windows and saw two large, black garbage bags taking up most of the small car’s back seat.

I told the man he should have left the garbage where he’d been camping. He shrugged. Either he’d been camping at the free campground where the Forest Service doesn’t provide trash cans because they don’t want to have to haul trash away, or he’d been staying at a cabin where the rental agreement stipulated all garbage had to be removed upon departure.

The three trash cans in the parking lot are metal and are stamped “32 gallon” on the lid. (Think about Oscar the Grouch, and that’s the size of our cans.) I told the man the cans in the parking lot aren’t intended as a depository for large bags containing a weekend’s worth of garbage.

Personally, I don’t mind if people fill the cans in the parking lot with all the trash from their weekend getaway. I’d rather people put their garbage in our cans than leave it on the side of the road. My boss, however, is adamant about not paying to have extra trash removed. He doesn’t want people who’ve camped elsewhere coming into to our campgrounds to dispose of their rubbish in our trash cans or dumpsters, and he doesn’t want people dumping a whole weekend’s worth of trash in the parking lot cans. I try to follow his orders—he is the boss, after all—even when I think he’s being silly.

So I told the driver of the car he’d have to take his two large bags of trash home with him.

What if I gave you and extra $10? he asked me.

My boss wouldn’t like that very much, I told him.

What if I did it when you weren’t looking? he asked me.

Well, then you probably should dump it right before you leave and be quick, I told him. I didn’t think I was giving him permission. I thought I was telling him how to avoid having me know what he was doing if he insisted upon doing what I had told him was not ok.

He handed me a $20 bill. He wanted to pay his own parking fee and for his buddy in the car behind him. I gave him his day pass and trail guide and said I was going to get his change. He said I should keep the change. At that point, I knew nothing I could do was going to stop him from leaving the garbage.

Sure enough, soon after he drove off into the parking lot, I heard the rattling of a trash can’s lid from near the restrooms. When I looked over, the man was shoving the big sacks of trash into a can.

The fellow who picks up our garbage came by not long after the man had deposited his trash. He emptied our cans and took it all away before my boss could see the overflowing receptacles. Good timing!

I kept the man’s money, but I didn’t put it in my pocket. Instead, I put the money in my accordion file where I keep the day’s receipts and wrote out two day passes. I told the drivers of the next two cars that pulled into the parking lot that an anonymous benefactor had paid their parking fees. The drivers were excited and grateful to park for free.

The man with the trash thought he’d bribed me, but instead I used his money to be kind to strangers.