My wife and I decided that we were going to use the recent three-day weekend as an opportunity to take a vacation and escape the kids for a bit. Since any real travel is still a questionable proposition, we went to our old standby: camping. After loading the truck with every manner of unhealthy snacks and junk food, we hooked up to the trailer and headed out to a nearby RV park to pass a few days by ourselves and enjoy the peace and quiet.
Or so we thought.
We arrived after dark on the first night. After unpacking, settling in, and eating a dinner of cold pizza and Doritos, we crawled into bed anticipating a leisurely morning the next day of lounging in bed and listening to the birds calling out to each other in the surrounding trees.
Instead of birds, we got disco music.
At about seven o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by the not-so-gentle refrains of “Play that Funky Music, White Boy,” by Wild Cherry. This was followed by “Rock the Boat,” “That’s the Way,” and an assortment of other overly loud classics that went on all morning.
After several unsuccessful attempts to go back to sleep, I finally got up and turned on the television set in our trailer in an attempt to drown out the cacophony pretending to be music outside.
I have been to several RV parks in my days, and I have experienced many varieties of inconsiderate, loud neighbors while camping, but this was one of the worst I have encountered. Disco? Really? The song selection told me that not only was this group rude and uncaring about the people around them, but that they also had terrible taste in music, and they were all old enough that they should have known better. More than old enough, actually.
I don’t believe it was twenty somethings blaring “Boogie Oogie Oogie,” throughout the campgrounds.
Anyway, the geriatric dance party finally shut down about three o’clock in the afternoon, but it was soon replaced by a gathering of ten or so people in a campsite three trailers away from our own. This group did not play loud music, but instead elected to annoy everyone around them by shouting at the top their voices in order to be heard over their compatriots who were also shouting at the top of their voices to be heard over the two small dogs yapping their fuzzy heads off. And all the barking and shouting was periodically drowned out by one woman who kept laughing at a decibel level capable of knocking an F-14 fighter jet out of the air.
I think anyone who goes camping has experienced that gathering of people who don’t understand that being outside does not mean nobody is close enough to hear you. I’m sure we have all been sitting around a campfire, anticipating a night of quietly roasting marshmallows, when suddenly we are listening to a group of voices blaring through the trees and discussing how funny it was when Bill got so drunk he lost one of his shoes in the outhouse.
If you frequently go camping but have never been annoyed by a group like this, it is very possible that you are actually a member of that very group. If so, please do us all a favor and take up a different hobby.
The drunken discussions, barking dogs, and seemingly impossibly pitched laughter continued long into the night. It was extremely difficult to sleep, especially since every time I started to drift off, the group would initiate a new F-bomb laden argument about whose turn it was to get more beer out of the truck.
It was not a pleasant evening for either me or my wife. Although, I will admit that things did get rather interesting at about 3:30 in the morning. By this time, most of the group had finally turned in, but a few diehard drinkers were still at it. I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling of my trailer when I heard the death throws of a struggling relationship.
I think a marriage died that night.
While listening to a male voice rambling on about how difficult things were at work and at home for him at that moment, a trailer door creaked open and slammed shut. A woman’s voice then filled the air. She spoke in a whisper that most career stage actors work for years trying to perfect. It was the kind of voice that will carry for miles and startle crows out of a tree.
“What the f**k is wrong with you?” she asked, in a kind and deeply caring manner. “You’re embarrassing yourself out here. You need to get the f**k back inside and go the f**k to sleep right f**king now!”
This was followed by the trailer door slamming again and a silence that made me believe the ordeal had finally come to an end.
Almost, but not quite.
A few minutes later, a truck door slammed. The engine of said truck roared to life and revved up several times before the vehicle headlights lit up every window in my trailer. The sound of tires chirping on pavement filled the air, and the truck sped out of the RV park at speeds that I would argue were unsuitable for the current surroundings.
This time it really was over. Both the noise, and whatever had been left of that relationship.
Still wondering what the hell had just happened, I was finally able to close my eyes and drift off to a well-deserved rest.
Until seven o’clock, which was when the disco D.J. started his next shift.
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