The Adventure Continues…
Times Are Changing
Times are definitely changing. No doubt about it.
Sunday morning I glanced at the clock above the truck’s radio, the time read 11:11. The cell phone said it was 9:11. My laptop, safely packed away on the backseat, would read 10:11 if I opened it up.
Cruising from Michigan into Illinois last week set me back an hour; driving from eastern to central time zone. Add the hardest shift in time for me to adjust to – daylight savings – let’s just say this gal is in a constant state of what time it is.
To expand on this whole time change crap I seem to be dwelling on, let’s go back to last week. I departed northern Michigan Wednesday late afternoon with the intent to avoid the snow forecasted to drop that night and drive between the two weather systems moving across the country.
The majority of my traveling was on Halloween. I expected to see clowns, vampires and the occasional x-rated bunny on their way to some party somewhere at some bar or someone’s home. Nope. Not one. The map app I chose to use routed Willie James and I through a few small towns and one medium-size cities around the time that I anticipated seeing a variety of children clustered here and there strolling the sidewalks, knocking on doors and pressing the neighbor’s doorbell. I was shocked. I did not see any little zombies, firemen, superheroes or princesses… not even a dressed up poodle!
I cruised past only one house decorated for Halloween, or at least I’m hoping so because they had a graveside in the front yard. Times have definitely changed from when I was a kid. Halloween was a highly anticipated night of filling trick-or-treat bags, loading up on sugar between houses and trading those nasty candy corn things for Milky Ways. Our neighborhoods were full of ghosts, goblins and tinfoil robots zipping across streets and in a hurry to collect their loot of candy. Wow. Have times changed.
Here’s a rant about time not changing. On Saturday, after setting up the campsite and a long hot shower, I went to an RV dealership within a thirty minute drive of the state park I temporarily resided.
I opened one of the glass doors and kindly held it open for a gentleman in his mid-70’s three or four steps behind me. The gal at the counter asked how she could help me. I replied, “I’d like to look at some of the campers on the lot.” She did her thing to call someone from the sales arena.
A young man, approximately thirty-five years of age, stepped out from the rows of cubicles and walked in our direction. The female greeter behind the desk said, “She would like to look at campers.”
The salesman looked at me, said, “Hi, how are you doing?” He then turned to the gentleman that walked in behind me, extended his hand, and said, “Hi, I am Reese. How can I help you?”
I stated, “Excuse me. He’s not with me.” The older gentleman, still shaking Reese’s hand, looked at me and I returned his smile.
The gentleman looked at Reese, and said, “I’m here to ask the service department a question. You have the wrong person.”
Needless to say, I spend several hours with Reese learning what I could about the various campers they offered. Several times he expressed his concern of selling me a camper less than (box size) twenty-six feet long. “Knowing that you are a full-timer, I, in good conscious, could not sell you anything smaller.”
Wait. What? My current camper is seventeen feet long. Isn’t this MY decision? You’re not fucking listening to me. Dude… really?
I will not, under any circumstances, purchase anything from a salesman unwilling to shake my hand, approach me as a valuable customer, listen or talk pricing with me. He may have thought I was a waste of his time, but he didn’t waste mine. I learned a lot from him about the product lines.
Existing from the lot, I told Willie James, “That Dude is in the wrong time era! Too bad, though. I’m considering one of those twenty-two footers.”
I guess time will tell where I land my next home.
Captured moments along the way…
Explore the adventures that got me here…
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