It’s another new hilarious blog post:
It’s another new hilarious blog post:
Finally!! The big day. We are going to pick up the caravan, fill it full of all the treasures we had bought, and start the long drive towards home. Every detail had been taken care of. We had a whole week to make sure we had insurance and all the necessary bits and pieces that add several thousands of dollars to your already hefty purchase. We now knew that we had to buy a even more stuff, and we had voted on which children we could sell for the best price.
We got lost on the way to the dealer. Mainly because we could not figure out how to work the new Hema meant to lead us through the wilderness of Australia and never get lost. Either we were incredibly dumb, really old, or crappy shoppers. All we knew was that we already sucked at being Nomads and we hadn’t even been allowed to hook up the caravan to our truck yet.
The phone rang. It was a 20 something receptionist asking where we were and telling us we were supposed to be there a half hour ago and people were waiting on us and had other things to do. We really liked her immediately. Then, when we tried to explain to her that we had not been given any time, she informed us that the people doing the hand over would have explained all of this to us. We told her they hadn’t because the show was closing down for the day and everyone was in a rush and no one had phoned us since then. She rolled her eyes. I could hear her over the phone. This whole “Grey Nomad,” “caravaning” thing was starting to get on my nerves. It is like once we signed on the dotted line we had entered this alternate reality where everyone was treating us like we were seniors in a Giant Nursing Home of a life where everyone wanted to pat our hands, scold us, and tell us that our perception of reality was not at all real. All that was missing was someone coming at us with a spoon of gruel making airplane noises.
We got to the dealer and she was just as pleasant in person. When I tried to address her accusations, she dismissed me with a wave of her hand saying “whatever, we don’t have time to argue this right now, I have papers for you to sign.” Derek talked. I was too busy giving her the stink eye and wondering what the heck had happened to my laser destruction beams and why she was still sitting there and not busy vaporizing.
The men in the back were much more pleasant. They stuffed a couple of folders in our hands and began what would be 6 hours of non-stop instructions on how everything worked and what else we absolutely had to have and did we want them to put it on now, they only had a little bit of time, but could do it right now if we wanted . . . $1500.00. Derek calmly sorted through all of that and I tried to make sense of 5,000 buttons, and sequences, and warnings, without much success because somewhere into hour 2 of non-stop instruction with terms that made no sense to me all I could hear was “whaw whaw whaw whaw whawddy whaw don’t ever touch whaw whaw.” Continue reading
We decided to take the trolley to and from anywhere we had to go, and leave the car where it was. I informed Derek that I would not be going with him to get the car. I would wait down on the street for him. I kept reminding him of that, telling him several times during the day that I did not want, under any circumstances, to ride in the elevator again. He didn’t say anything, in that vague kind of not saying anything way when you are not sure if it means “ya ok, no prob, you can wait for me” or “ya ok, no prob, you keep talking and believe whatever you want but you are coming with me and that’s that no need for me to discuss it with you further.” Derek is like that, he keeps his cards close to his chest.
Meanwhile, we trollied our little hearts out. All these young people kept standing up and offering us their seats, the ones that say they are reserved for the handicapped, mothers with small children or the elderly. Derek was quite put out that they were offering him a seat. I am not sure what he sees when he looks in the mirror. Maybe he thought that he had put on some weight around the middle and they thought he might be pregnant.
We ended up jumping off in the downtown area and as Derek grabbed my hand so we could run and catch the walk light up ahead, I managed to DEEEEEPLY massage my forehead with a metal sign. I started sobbing like a kid and he was hugging me, not so much to comfort me as it was to muffle the sounds of my wailing. I had to hit him so he would let go and I could breathe. He set me down on a bench seat and made me drink some water (his cure for everything) and wrapped my head with something – I suspect it was one of his tube socks. I had a goose egg. I was not feeling good. What kind of an idiot walks into a street sign? Not a young person, let me tell you. It had to be an taller, old person. The kind of person who just bought a caravan. I was starting to see a trend here and I didn’t like it. Continue reading