I’m giving you fair warning. This post is a smidge snarky.
Maybe it’s because I was stung by a bee or a wasp or an unmanned drone last Sunday. Yup.
In an uncharacteristic moment of outdoorsyness, I decided to
whack the dickens out of trim an annoying shrub.
Why was it annoying? It was getting too lush and beautiful. I’m the anti-gardener and I can’t have nice looking shrubbery. That thing was totally ruining my reputation. Plus it was choking out some ornamental grass I planted (and by “I,” I mean “Phillip”). We all know grass is more important than Bushes. Oh, did I use a capital “B” on Bush? Total typo.
Anyway, the predator poison injector with wings got me in the upper right inside thigh, which immediately swelled to the size of an impressive goiter. Plus it itched. Since Sunday, the swelling has gone down, but the redness and itching has traveled to my knee and surrounding areas. Let’s just say shorts and short skirts are not in my future. Neither is sleeping through the night.
So, if this post sounds a bit
off the wall edgy, the person writing it is dizzy, sleep-deprived, itchy, has a deformed and discolored upper right leg, and is generally mad at nature. Forgive me. I’ll get over it. I’m Buddhist. I’m working on it.
Okay, back to the point of this post.
Last weekend, (before the Attack of the Killer Bee) Philip and I were walking to our local grocery story, located in a strip mall. As with all strip malls, it has a huge parking area.
I don’t know if this phenomenon occurs around you, but it’s common in my neck of the suburbs: people with motor homes use the nether regions of large parking lots (like Walmart/Sams lots) to park and set up “shop” for their camping experience.
I don’t mean they just pull in for the night and vamoose at day break. They roll out their awnings and set up their circle of chairs. They CAMP in the parking lot. On the pavement. Is this what camping is really all about to some people? What happened to trees and water and roasting marshmallows on an open fire rather than over a propane tank?
Philip and I saw campers in the parking lot we were crossing. Nothing unusual there.
The unusual thing was how they were situated. We saw a grouping of about 4 small, modest rigs. A bunch of people were circled in their camping chairs laughing and talking. Coolers in the middle had beer cans on top of them. These people were having a pavement party.
Way off on the other side of the parking lot was a lone and very high-end RV. This motor coach cost big bucks. Two people, ostensibly Husband and Wife, were seated outside on cushy high-end folding chairs. No cooler. A little table with a tablecloth. They were drinking wine. No laughter. Very refined.
Then it struck both Philip and me: this is a demonstration of the American social class system. The 1% (well, in this case 20%, because there were 5 campers in all) were isolated, in fancy and expensive accommodations, and obviously not interested in being anywhere near those “other people.” The majority were grouped together in adequate accommodations and making the best of their situation. They couldn’t afford wine, so beer would do.
Of course, I’m making all kinds of assumptions here. But, hey, this is my post. I’m cranky and I’m allowed. Just look at this picture and tell me if this doesn’t smack of some elitism going on…even if they are all camping in a freaking parking lot!