On The Road Again
Can anyone explain to me why old people, creaky old people, feel the need to go out and buy an RV? I think you know the vehicle I mean, it's those honking huge camping monstrosities, big shouldering their way down roads large and small, and generally making themselves a menace to everything, and everybody. Why, right here in my very own town, there's a successful business established for the sole purpose of selling Recreational Vehicles (and their accessories) to old white men from New Jersey. I see them all the time, driving down the road, tiny bald heads peeking over those big ol' steering wheels.
My question, where are they going, that they gotta have a house with them all the time? Wherever it is, there must be a shortage of Howard Johnson's there. If you take a minute to look inside one of these rolling palaces, you'll see what I mean. They have more square footage than my house, and a bigger bathroom to boot. I think the huge bathroom may be the whole reason for RV's anyway, you know full well that some old fart with prostate trouble needs a handy crapper in a major way.
But really, where are these guys going? It can't be camping. Camping is a tent, a sleeping bag, a tin of Beenie-Weenies. Not a Hilton on steel belted radials. If your camper has a refrigerator, it ain't camping, and if you need a refrigerator, you have no business camping in the first place.
The poor 'ol cavemen spent tens of thousands of years trying to get us out of the woods, and these idiots spend a half million dollars trying to get back in. I myself never go to the woods, I've lost notta damn thing in the Pisgah National Forest. I don't need to hunt, cause my town has a Bi-Lo now, and I don't hike cause when you get where you're walking to, where are you? There ain't nothing up there but trees, and I got trees out the back window, same damn trees, same damn view.
The scary thing in all this is watching these old guys in their personal Greyhound buses tooling down the road, and taking out all the Hondas and Toyotas as they go. I've seen them leaving the local RV store, weaving those behemoths across the two lane road towards the interstate, with a look of fear on their faces that's a pretty good imitation of the one on my own. I am sincerely afraid of these idiots... Somehow the mental picture of old guys traveling down the road, moments away from their fifth major heart attack is not encouraging. Why would a quintuple bypass patient, six months out of the hospital, feel a need to climb into a rolling shopping mall, just to drive out to the Grand Canyon, and ride a donkey? Even if they do, I'm pretty sure they got airports out there too.
I don't know, maybe I'm being unfair, and maybe there really is a sensible reason for owning an RV. Maybe when all my teeth fall out and the grandkids have moved to distant states, I myself will hear the siren call of the recreation vehicle. Or maybe it'll just be a need for a handy crapper that leads me to the dealership. Whatever the reason, I just hope that when it happens I'll still be tall enough to see over the steering wheel.
Fotno
