Kicked Out

Now, here's a first. We were kicked out of our RV park today.

Were we loud and obnoxious? No.

Drunk and disorderly? No.

What then? What was it that we did that warranted getting kicked out of the place we've paid $50 a night to call home for two weeks?

Paul asked a question.

You see, when we checked into the place that shall remain nameless (for now, anyway) in the town that shall also remain nameless until we've left the area, the first thing the young woman at the office did was run down the rules. In fact, she quite purposefully highlighted each with a dayglo pink highlighter.

They were pretty standard: Obey the 5 mph speed limit; Observe quiet hours late night to early morning; No street parking and No rig washing. There were a couple of additional rules that are somewhat unique to this ATV-infested town we are staying in. One rule was "No more than 3 vehicles to a site, trailers included." We signed a document that said we understood and agreed to follow said rules. Then, we moved our two (count 'em, TWO) vehicles to our site.

Actually, we moved toward our site. But, we couldn't get there. Two vehicles pulling trailers loaded with ATVs were parked in our way. We waited patiently for them to move and they eventually did. Before we arrived at our site we sized up the neighborhood. Our immediate neighbor's lot looked like an ATV dealership! We started counting. There was a huge RV, an enormous cargo trailer, a Jeep, two flatbed trailers and two ATVs. Any way you look at it, that's more than three! And, our neighbor isn't alone. There are more vehicles and trailers in this park than we've seen anywhere. Of course, like I said, we are in an ATV-infested part of the country. But, these things are scattered everywhere!

We hadn't been parked in our site long when we noticed the average speed is actually more like 30 mph in the park. And, who's among the worst offender? You guessed it. The park manager! We've seen folks hosing down Jeeps and parking all over the street. It's quite obvious that the rules here are meaningless.

This afternoon a cadre of vehicles wedged into the site on our other side. Another huge RV, a horse-trailer looking cargo trailer, three Jeeps, two flatbed trailers and two pickups. The website for this "luxury resort" boasts gigantic sites and shows pictures of happy couples enjoying a barbeque on their jumbo site. Now we know all that room ain't for grilling. It's for parking all your crap!

When the park manager strolled by after this big move in, Paul caught up with him. He just had to ask. "Who are the rules for, anyway?" he inquired. He pointed to the fleet of vehicles on either side of us and the manager had a short reply.

"Come to the office," he said.

Paul did as we was asked and the private meeting was short. After proclaiming that this is the best RV park in the country, he told Paul he didn't want anybody staying here that wasn't happy. He told Paul he'd refund our money and we could leave immediately.

Paul didn't say anything about being unhappy! He simply asked a question. He tried to explain, but the manager would hear nothing of it. Bottom line: We were out.

Paul returned from the office and explained the situation. Of course, this far from outstanding example of customer service had us miffed. (That's putting it mildly.) But, it also put us in a bind. It was Saturday afternoon of the weekend before Memorial Day. (And just a few short hours before the predicted end of the world!) Every park that we can fit into for miles is booked solid. We made these reservations nearly six months ago. We have three sets of friends here with us. Heck, we had a happy hour scheduled for this evening!

We considered our options and decided to try to talk some sense into the guy, or at least have him let us stay. Sandy came with us as our witness and we went to the office for a chat. Our refund had been processed. They were waiting for us to leave. The conversation was relatively short and pretty darn silly. But, apologies were exchanged and we were given permission to stay.

Turns out, the rules don't apply to everybody. The guy next door is a "good customer" and quiet, too. So, the manager lets him do what he wants. That's fine, of course. But, now it's good to know.

We quietly went about our business and readied our jumbo patio for a happy hour for eight. The good customer next door fired up his Peterbilt and let it run for nearly an hour. While it idled he proceeded to wash his rig, trailer and Jeep. The new guy on the other side decided to do some work under his giant Freightliner that required him to fire up his rig, too. There we sat, with our six guests being exposed to more diesel fumes than any person should.

To top things off, the good, quiet customer, backed some kind of rusty ol' hot rod out of his big cargo trailer and decided to fire it up and let it run.

No, the world didn't come to an end today, but at our place it sounded like it came close!!!

Things did quiet down and we enjoyed a delightful early evening with friends. Between laughter and conversation we counted the speeding cargo trailers as they passed. Not one of us will be coming back.

And, I'm just guessing, dear reader, neither will you!