GRILL!: The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook. Diane Stegman
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.