Camp site

It's the end of a really hot Memorial Day weekend at Tuttle Creek Campground (located in the Eastern Sierra Madre Mountains, CA). It's only noon and most of the weekend campers have already packed up and gone home. The resulting quiet is welcome.

I was reading in my car with the doors open. It's in the mid nineties and the little bit of shade and small breeze are barely keeping me sane.

Emma starts to bark. I glance in that direction and see an upper middle aged man messing with the yellow receipt on my campsite post. He was large and disheveled.

"Hey" I yelled.

"You staying til tomorrow?" He shouted back.

"Yes, I am." loud and firm.

"I am gonna take this." taking my yellow camping receipt off the post. "I will bring it back."

"Put it back!" I ordered.

He put the piece of paper back on the pole. Shaking his head, he forced his seemingly broken body back up the dirt road.

There are at least 10 empty campsites around me and he decides to screw with me? Here we go, another creeper or maybe a looney toon. Well, not today, Bubba. It's too hot and I am in no mood to be messed with.

Ten minutes later Emma started barking again. The man is back. He took my yellow receipt off the post again and started writing on it. I jumped out of my car and marched up to him in my socks.

"What do you think you are doing?" I demanded while trying to look threatening.

"I am using my sharpie to write the date larger. It's too hard to see."

"Why?" I drew the word out as long and hard as I could, staring him right in the eye.

He froze. He took a step back and studdered "I'm the camp host."

My face hardened "There is no Camp Host. I saw the sign saying they were looking to hire at the entrance and the Camp Host campsite is empty."

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew. I should have said that up front. It's only been a couple of days and my official shirt is not in yet."

"Mame, I really thought you knew. I was right over there cleaning the restrooms and have been up and down this road a bunch."

"I had a bit of a bike accident two days ago and was too sore to pack up and move to the Host campsite til today."

"I'm writing the date on all the campsite receipts with my Sharpie so I can read it without getting out of my truck."

Poor guy just doing his job and he ends up with an old crazy lady ready to read him the riot act. I mean, just call me "Campin' Karen". Jumping to conclusion without knowing the facts.



I apologized to him several times. He apologized more too. We ended up chatting for a bit ... and yes, I still feel a little bad.

End of confession.