The thing about Kentucky weather, is that it will give you every variation of precipitation possible in one week.
Rain, to ice, to snow, to melt, to rain, back to ice, maybe a tiny window of sun. One of the campers told me that the only reason we ever have sun is because it gets stuck in the Appalachians, before it quickly extracts itself to go shine on the rest of the country. I’d agree that’s true.
This week turned out to be a particularly lovely week full of freezing rain, and the new campground I was occupying (since the last one proved to be a little too weird, even for me, more on that later), was under a flood warning. Not that the campground itself was going to flood, but the entrance/exit road. Living in a truck, I was already enjoying (sorry, not sorry) watching the other RVers eat their words about living in a truck, as they suffered from frozen water lines, electrical problems, etc. But now, if the campground flooded, I could no longer simply drive my home away. I listened as the other campers grimaced of the impending doom, but decided there was nothing I could do by worrying about it. I liked having heat at night, and I already had one noisy night at the gym parking lot, so flooded or not, the campground would have to do.
It was Tuesday night, I completed my art of entertaining my brain enough for 10 hours of scanning. It wasn’t raining like crazy yet, but the weather channel in the break room showed all those reds and greens of weather activity on the radar. But, it also showed a glimmer of hope, the cold spell was apparently going to be broken. 68 degree day predicted for tomorrow, which just happened to be my day off. Another camper I frequently spent time with had a really nice fire pit, and tons of wood, so I declared it was a perfect night to have a bonfire, in her pit with her wood (thanks Amy!) It also was perfect seeing I had a hiker friend in town, and we needed one last hangout before I tore out of Kentucky. (Miss you Dozer!)
One tough aspect of nightshift, is your morning is everyone else’s evening. That means if someone wants a beer with you, your day is pretty much shot from the get-go. All I could figure was I had enough St. Patrick’s Day celebrations under my belt be fine.
Furthermore, I thought I was being clever by having coffee with a little bourbon cream (yes, that’s a thing) splashed in. But that led to vodka I had in the truck, which led to “Hey, I can’t take this booze across state lines, drink it all!”, which led to me alone, swaying by the fire at midnight. Midnight, that is, being comparable to noon. Day drinkers rejoice, and I did.
No one can be sure of the next series of events, but here’s a possible timeline:
Camperforce compadre Korey and I are discussing really interesting things, which unfortunately, I cannot remember most of them. He leaves to go home to his fifth wheel. I stay by the fire and finish a beer.
I now have finished the honey whiskey and put the bottle in the fire, fire gets bigger, wind picks up, the tshirt Camperforce friend Amy gave me blows in fire, I pull it out, it’s still wearable. I make another vodka drink to cope with the harrowing ordeal.
I decided to dance, it is so nice outside!
I go on the banks of the river shore and cry, feeling so alone, and crying out to the sky that no one understands what it’s like. The river continues to gurgle, and I get over it.
I go back to the fire, its still burning like crazy. Putting that bottle in there was a terrible idea. I poke it with a stick, yeah, that’s not melting ever. Now, I’m hungry.
I find some French fries in the truck and go to the RV next door to use their microwave. For no reason at all I take the burned shirt with me and leave it in the RV.
I feel much better after eating my French fries in the bed of my truck. After making a gargled vlog which no one will see, ever, I pass out next to the bottle of ketchup.
I wake up still drunk , and see a text from Amazon asking if I want to voluntarily not go to work today. I immediately reply ‘yes’.
I crawl out the truck, surely looking like a crumpled gremlin (with similar vernacular as well). I start to notice carnage all around the truck, pieces of cotton shirt, beer cans, bottles, and French fries. I now see the burned shirt, soaked from the rain, hanging in front of the neighbors RV. I have no idea how it got there.
After a long shuffle to the restrooms, back to bed. I remind myself I am too old for this shit. I also remind myself I always say that.
So now you know why I own a half burned shirt, why Korey and Dozer think I’m fun, why Donna is mad at me, and how the river will listen to your cries. But I also like to share why getting drunk at campgrounds by yourself might be the best way to do it. (Compared to people being around to witness any of it).
I would just say next time, I’ll try to be smart enough not to bring a burned shirt into someone else’s RV, mainly so they don’t think their camper is on fire.
If you’re reading this Donna and Carl, I am very sorry.