GRILL!
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Cover
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Back Cover
Grill!
The Misadventures of
an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook
Diane Stegman
CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
GRILL! The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook
Copyright ©2012 by Diane Stegman
ISBN-13 978-1-927360-47-7
First Edition
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Stegman, Diane, 1948-
GRILL! The misadventures of an RV park fast-fry cook / written by Diane Stegman.
ISBN 978-1-927360-47-7
Also available in print format.
I. Title.
PS3619.T4485G75 2008 813'.6 C2008-903413-9
Additional cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada
United States Copyright Office Registration # TXu1-344-538
Cover design by Jen Hansard: www.jenhansard.com
Extreme care has been taken to ensure that all information presented in this book is accurate and up to date at the time of publishing. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any errors or omissions. Additionally, neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.
Publisher:
CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
www.ccbpublishing.com
This book is lovingly dedicated to Bonita and Bandito, my dearest companions.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Jennifer Groman Hansard for her kind and gentle patience in effectively helping me to dig deeper, be more precise, and for her wonderful cover design and map. I would also like to thank her for her constant corrections on my use of commas, a problem I’ve yet to overcome. She has changed my writing life forever.
I would also like to thank my dearly departed friend Sherrain, who was there for me from the very beginning wanting to read “More! More! More!” I think she would be proud.
And then I have my sisters to thank for reading through the book during its conception and have not mentioned once that they think I’m nuts!
Thank you Bonnie Kaye, you are my hero and friend forever.
Thank you Chris and Dennis Calaba—for everything!
Thank you Dr. K.
I love you Mom and Dad. Within the frailty of aging and caring that we experience together on a daily basis, we have touched the very core of love and all that life truly means. I am blessed to be sharing this precious time with you. The past is just a story—the future will always be unknown—the present is our only reality.
Introduction
“I own my life, and only mine.
And so I shall appreciate my person.
And so I shall make proper use of myself.”
- Lakota Sioux mantra
Can we cut clean, swift, and painless the cords that bind us to our unhappiness? Yes, some can—I did. Some don’t need to go any place other than where they are—how nice. This particular experience was more painful than I had anticipated. After all, this wasn’t my first, nor was it my second or third time to have run off to greener pastures. I was also surprised at how life-threatening this one escape that bears the title of GRILL! turned out to be, but I think I am wiser for experiencing it, at least I think I’m wiser. I’d like to believe so anyway. In the end of my great escape I was left with a story to tell.
We are all on an endless search to find our proper place in this crazy world that we are living in, a place where we are true to ourselves, our planet, and our environment. As for myself, I want to have more life stories to tell and I want to always feel passion for the creative process, which is my most favorite thing of all.
So, yes, this is a story based on one of my true life experiences. Not every sentence or paragraph is exactly how or when events occurred. I have embellished the truth in several instances—that is my prerogative as an artist and writer. I have changed the names and places, so if you recognize any of the characters in this story, just keep it to yourself and no one will ever know.
Chapter One
Question: How do you make God laugh? Answer: Make a plan.
That is exactly why I have given up on life plans.
Not that I have lived by this joke question for the entire length of my fifty-one years. It’s just that I heard this joke the other day and it seemed to justify my current vagabond lifestyle. Someday, perhaps, I will attempt to figure out yet one more plan, but for now I am behind the wheel of my car loaded with everything I own including my two Chihuahua mix friends. They are staring at me with big ears silhouetted by sunlight as they sit atop a pile of blankets in the passenger seat. “Are we home yet?” seems to be pleading from Bonita’s anxious and concerned little barks. She wants to get the hell out of this car! Her partner in crime, Bandito, tends to keep his concerns internal, yet I know they are there.
“No, my little darlings. We are homeless for the moment.” I mutter, unsure of how long this “moment” will last.
We had a very difficult night last night. It was our first night on the road leaving Ashland, Oregon, my sister, my rented mobile home, and my second shitty underpaid job in a two-year span. I had no plan; but I did have a tent and my first day and night went something like this:
I had driven most of the day heading south in search of a working summer vacation. By late afternoon, I was ready for a break so I found an RV park in Jamesburg. The space cost me $20. I felt pretty proud of myself. I had never camped alone before. The first thing I had to do was retrieve the portable dog fences from the bottom of the trunk. I had brought three of them. They extend to sixteen feet each, giving my dogs forty-eight feet of freedom. My plan was to surround the tent so I could have my own space and my dogs could be relatively free. The fences were more of a problem than I had wanted. They consumed too much trunk space and were very heavy, but folded up quite nicely.
It was a beautiful June day and I had picked a spot near a thick wall of blackberry brush. It wasn’t until I had completely set up my tent, fences, and Coleman stove, that I had the thought that bears like blackberries! Suddenly, my protective fencing seemed like it was made of toothpicks. I pushed the horrible thoughts out of my mind and continued setting up camp. I had to remind myself that this was going to be a great adventure and fears were not welcome.
I fed the dogs and made myself something to eat from my provisions. The coffee was out and ready for morning. My padding and blankets were ready for a warm comfortable night’s sleep. I had decided that I would leave the tent’s skylight open for the night to watch the stars. After a nice evening walk with my dogs, I settled in for the night with my fluorescent lantern and a book.
Off in the far distance I could hear
the low drum of thunder. It was a very dark moonless night when I turned off the lantern for lack of interest in my book. Reading felt a bit too casual under the circumstances, since my concentration was bouncing all over the place. Bonita and Bandito were nervous and I could feel them staring at me like I was crazy even in the pitch black of the tent. They were waiting to go to bed someplace other than right here.
It was hard to get comfortable. My down comforter, folded in half, was not as soft as I had hoped. I could still feel the chilly, hard ground beneath me. Wait just a minute! I began to recall the last time I had slept in a tent. That was about ten years ago on a stupid cut-short trip to Alaska with my once dear friend Jodi. We were going to hike and camp. She started her period on the plane, which made me nervous, since we had just read a notice about bears in Alaska. We read together that it was not a good idea to hike when a woman is menstruating due to the fact that the bear would follow the scent. On our first night of sleepless, bearless camping, I woke with my neck bound as tight as cement and as painful as if it were broken. I also caught pneumonia. Both events caused by, what I later learned, perma-frost. This happens when you sleep on the ground in a tent, the ground being frozen twelve inches below the surface. Needless to say, we caught the first flight home and never spoke to each other again. It took me two months to regain my strength.
The sky suddenly burst with light followed by thunder that was slightly louder than before. I crawled out of the tent to search for an approaching storm. Weird, I saw no clouds. As I crawled back into my tent I had to remind myself that this was not Alaska. I was in the sunny state of California.
I lay in the dark with the dogs. It wasn’t too long after that when a burst of light lit up the entire tent. I could see the dogs in that split second. They were on both sides of my head staring down at me, eyes wide, and ears high like stone statues. I had to laugh. I was laughing quite loud when the bolt of lightening hit very near to us like a bomb, followed by the heavy slow plops of rain hitting the tent, the plops increasing like microwave popcorn. I had to hurry and put the skylight cover back on the tent. By this time the wind had kicked up and it was dark, so I turned on my car lights facing the tent so I could see. It was now pouring, and I was wet and the dogs were panicked. I put them in the car, grabbed all my wet blankets, wet clothes, wet stove, wet tent, and stuffed everything into any and all extra space in the trunk and back seat. Once in the car, I turned on the heater, saw the time (1:30AM), and we watched and ducked the passing thunder and lightening storm until dawn, which was quite beautiful in spite of the circumstances.
I had not counted on storms. The inside of my car smelled like wet dog and down feathers. All that the storm left in its wake were wonderful puffy pink clouds. I had not removed the fencing, so I put the dogs in their yard and made coffee on my Coleman stove. It was around 5:00AM at this point. I was still wet. I told myself that I could not do this again, that today—no, this morning, I would find a job and a house!
I began to unload the wet tent and blankets from the trunk to make room for the wet heavy fencing, put the dogs in the car atop the pile of wet blankets in the passenger seat, drove to the restroom and shower area, dried my hair and changed my clothes. By 6:30AM I was back on the road headed south through the national park. After an hour on the road I saw a small café. The day was warming up quite nicely. I parked, got the dogs out for a short walk, and then went in to see if they were looking for any help. I also needed a good breakfast.
There was no newspaper, so after my wonderful breakfast I approached my waitress with my inquiry. “No honey, this here is a family run place,” the plain looking, middle-aged waitress said as she looked me over suspiciously as if I was being evaluated. I had noticed that the other lady working there was probably her daughter and was about eight months pregnant. “But I do believe that Billy at Hacienda RV Park down the road apiece needs some help,” she continued. As she spoke, I detected a hint of mischievousness that quickly replaced any suspicion that she had about me.
I bid my thanks and as soon as I was outside I looked down to see if I had egg on my shirt or something that might have looked out of place when the woman gave me the once-over. I wonder what someone must think of me.
There was not much tourist traffic, but I found myself caught in a line of many heavy-loaded logging trucks driving way too fast. I began to be concerned about the insurance on my car that my son was supposed to get for me.
At about 8:15 I cruised by the Hacienda, but did not pull in. What in heaven’s name would I do at an RV park? I could see that they had a restaurant, store, and a pond. If I worked there where would I live? This is not a town; this is in the middle of nowhere. I had driven about 20 miles on a deathtrap highway to get here, but decided it was worth the risk to drive on and look for greener pastures. Half hour later, I approached a small town, perhaps not a town, but a motel, café, Post Office, and some scattering of homes. I went into the motel and spoke to the owner. He could see my loaded up car out in the parking lot with what looked like from this vantage point, two rat-like oversized cats sitting in the front seat. “Damn, I just hired someone, but I do believe Billy, down at Hacienda RV Park needs some help. Let me give them a call for you.” I could not hear the conversation that took place in his office, but he returned to confirm that this was so. I began to understand that everyone knew everyone within fifty miles of each other.
A little while later, I found myself back at Hacienda, dragging my feet up the stone steps to the restaurant. At the entry I noticed a large ashtray overloaded with butts and many had tumbled to the ground below. A large trashcan overflowing with foul trash complimented the scene. A fat trail of ants was thriving to and from the can. Once inside, I realized the spacious log building was actually quite impressive with a bustling crowd of hungry vacationers. I could see that they needed help.
Inside I could smell bacon and pancakes. The counter for registration was immediately to my left. I saw a person at the counter that could possibly be Billy finishing up with a traveler about his RV space. Suddenly I heard a bellowing male voice coming from somewhere in the kitchen beyond the restaurant seating area. “HEY HENRY, YOU OLD GOAT! YOU EAT ALL THEM PANCAKES AND I’LL LET YA HAVE YUR BREAKFAST FREE!”
Looking in the direction of the roaring voice, I saw the chalkboard menu with the day’s special. ‘BUBBA’S SPECIAL: BISCUITS AND ROADKILL SKUNK. MADE WITH RATTLESNAKE GRAVY.’ I was pretty sure this was just a local joke of some sort.
“Kun I help ya?” Said a warm voice from behind me.
“Yes, my name is Denise and the…..”
“Oh, you must be the lady looking fur work! I’m Billy.” Now at this point I was not sure of the sex of Billy. It appeared to be in its early seventies with very short salt and pepper hair, wearing a western shirt, and a cigarette hanging out of its mouth. Its kind eyes settled me down, but I remained puzzled. I also noticed at this point the tall gentleman dressed in pajamas who was peeking from behind a doorway. He, too, was in his seventies and looked like an old handsome rancher who had seen better days. Oxygen hoses clung to his nose as he puffed on his cigarette. I think he winked at me.
Billy saw the direction of my eyes. “That’s Ray, my husband.” Mystery solved. What an odd-looking couple.
“Yur gonna be my cook.” Billy announced with pride.
“Pardon me?” I felt my eyebrows rise in shock.
“I said yur gonna be my cook!” Billy really meant this. The cigarette bounced as she spoke.
I fumbled for a way out. “But I’m not really a cook per se. I was hoping you might need a waitress or counter help.” I added in a fragile smile for first impression’s sake.
“Nope, I need a cook.” Billy was staring into my eyes as if I had no choice.
“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I have to think about it. I guess I need to know if there are any places to rent near here.”
“No need fur that. Gotta home fur you right here.”
“Pardon?” Did
I really hear that?
“Right out back. There’s a fifth wheel sittin’ empty. You can live right there.” She is now pointing towards the kitchen area and, I presume, beyond the interior walls to the outside.
“I have two little dogs.” I warned her.
“All right with me. We love animals. Have a dog myself.” Sounded too good to be true.
I got right to the point. “How much?” It better be really cheap for me not to turn around and get back on the highway.
“How much fur what?” She took a deep drag from her cigarette.
“I’m sorry. How much to rent the trailer?”
“Nuthin’! It comes with the job, which, by the way, we pay $6.75 an hour. You split the tips with the waitress.” Billy snubbed out her cigarette in the over-loaded ashtray.
I told Billy I needed to check out the fifth wheel first and then sleep on it. We walked outside and she pointed out the fifth wheel to me. It looked quite roomy and fairly new. It was parked behind the restaurant and next to the pond on the edge of the park twenty yards from the highway. I inquired about a motel for the night. She suggested a small town off another highway about thirty miles in another direction. I said I’d call her later tonight with my answer about the job, even though I had already made up my mind.
So that puts me in the current moment at Hacienda RV Park in Bud’s Creek, California. Before I head off to the motel, I need to call my sister and family to tell them about my new job and place to live. I need to put their worries to rest, but right now I’m a little fearful of my quick decision to leave my life in Ashland and settle into an RV park as a cook. When I left yesterday I was full of confidence and exploding with a sense of adventure. Now I am beginning to wonder if I am just plain nuts. If I were a normal, stable, well-grounded, middle-aged woman, a crazy scheme like this would never enter my mind. I suppose I’ve chosen the unknown obstacles that life will throw at me in exchange for the predictable, daily nuances of routine and servitude.