GRILL! Read online

  Vi does not introduce me and he fiddles with something behind the counter before he stomps back to the kitchen, stopping along the way to bang the back of an old rancher eating breakfast. “DID YA GET THAT CRAPPY OLD TRACTOR RUNNIN’ YET HENRY?” he bellows out as he puts one of his heavy logging boots up on the redwood bench. Henry must be a regular customer since I had heard his name yesterday. Betty scurries past them on her way to the register and almost slips on a wet spot rounding the corner of the table where Bubba is talking. “BETTY! DAMN IT! SLOW THE HELL DOWN! HOW MANY TIMES I GOTTA TELL YA THAT!” She ignores Bubba’s comment but I notice her cowering body language as she passes him, like a frightened puppy. She quickly continues her fast pace to the register. Bubba sounds like a big bully to me. Hopefully I don’t have to deal much with him. I’m not sure if we’d get along very well.

  From what I can see, Bubba is everything I am running from. If he were my boss, I’d never have considered this job in a million years. He reminds me a lot of my father, my ex-husband, my boss in Ashland, and a few of my last and final relationships. Bubba is the type of man who is self-focused, inconsiderate, loud, and completely unaware of how his actions distress those around him.

  I leave the chaos and drive over to the restroom to relieve myself before I get to work on the fifth wheel and unpack my car. My toilet stall has no toilet paper. Maybe Ruby is around and I can tell her about that. Someone is taking a shower and I can smell fruity shampoo.

  As I slowly approach the fifth wheel my stomach tingles with anticipation. I’m not sure if it is excitement or fear. Bonita and Bandito have been observing all that is going on from their vantage point on the pile of blankets, and recognize that we are at some final destination. I need to set up the fences before I can do anything else. A redwood picnic table is about fifteen yards away. I go over and grab one heavy edge and walk it, one side at a time, closer to the trailer. I need to lay out the damp tent and blankets that are on top of the fencing. Bonita’s demanding bark is driving me nuts; so making the dogs comfortable is my number one priority at the moment.

  With everything drying in the warm sunshine, I get the fencing set up around the table, and give the dogs food and water. Next, I dab some tea tree oil on my itching neck and get the keys out of the car. As I walk toward the steps of the trailer, I can hear the golf cart whizzing by on the dirt drive that is on the highway-side of the trailer. The entry faces the lake so I do not get a good look at Terry, but I am aware of how fast she is going, and get a good taste of the dust she’s stirring up.

  The trailer steps go straight out from the doorway. One side has a railing, and the other side is open and dangerous. It would be easy to fall off if one weren’t careful and it seems to me that the fifth wheel could have been parked two or three feet up from this point to avoid the utility post that is located dead center at the bottom of the stairway. It will be awkward avoiding that post while hauling my belongings to the inside, and hopefully, not breaking my neck by falling off the unprotected side. I suppose at some point I could turn the steps so that the open side is against the wall of the trailer and away from the utility post, but not right now, and not alone because they are made of heavy steel.

  At the top of the steps, I turn to look at my view of the park. Hacienda is shaped like a football arena. The lake, or pond, depending on how you see it, is not quite as big as a football field, but close to it in size. The surrounding parking spaces, laundry, showers, main building, would be the stadium area around the field. At about two o’clock and thirty yards from the fifth wheel is a giant propane tank where the guests probably buy their propane. Across from the dirt drive behind the restaurant, and sitting next to the lake, is a big oil drum looking thing, cut in half, hinged open, and set on steel legs. Perhaps it is a homemade barbeque of some sort. The rest of the view is of the lake, which is only a stones throw away, and the beautiful mountain range behind. The lake has lots of cattail grass and small brush growing around the perimeter. Billy calls it a lake, but it is just a large pond. I see a group of mature ducks, possibly twenty of them, quacking toward the rear of the kitchen, so do the dogs. They love to hunt and would love to be let loose right now. “Hush! I said hush!”

  Terry has driven to the rear entry of the restaurant, which is at about one o’clock and fifty yards away from the fifth wheel. She is drinking a beer in the idling golf cart. Bubba comes out, gets himself a beer from the ice chest in the back of the cart, and they drive off turning their heads to look back at me. Breakfast must be over.

  I turn around and notice that the door to my new residence seems pretty abused. The plastic window has slipped halfway down inside the core of the door. Most of the aluminum sheeting is loose and not connected to anything. I put the key in the door and feel it unlock. As soon as I open the door it falls on my foot, and pain shoots up my leg. I see that the top hinge is broken off and the bent hinge on the bottom holds the door from coming completely off. It’s as if the door has been slammed a million times and finally broke apart. Aggression on a door could only mean one thing; unhappy aggressive tenants. This is not good, and makes me feel uneasy about the bad vibes that float out like vapor as I lean the broken door against the outer wall.

  The inside is a completely different story. It stinks! I mean it really stinks! I step over several objects on the floor to get to the windows. I pull back the curtains to reveal a thick film of dirt and fly specks. Dead flies are collected between the screen and the windows. I open every available window and also the two sky lights, which crank open for air. The horrid aroma overpowers my mind and I don’t know where to begin so I go to the car to find my snacks and pull myself together. I eat a banana and drink some juice at the picnic table to refuel for the long day ahead of me. As I sit at the table, Bubba and Terry drive by with a load of full trash bags in the back of the cart. They skid to a stop at the back entry of the restaurant, dump the trash next to a huge pile of empty cardboard boxes, pop open another beer, and take off again. I guess it’s not their job to be the welcoming committee.

  I head back into the fifth wheel and plan my attack. Dishes are piled all over the sink area; most of them are still coated with old dried food. The small refrigerator is full of moldy food and the inside walls are coated with specks of mold. There are blankets, clothes, papers, and empty bags of fast food scattered everywhere. On top of all the debris there is a thick layer of road dust. I begin to open the cabinets and find more leftover food. An open bottle of ketchup has completely turned dark and hard inside. I look in all the cabinets now to confirm my belief that they are all packed with crap! I venture into the tiny cramped space of the toilet and unexpectedly feel the burn of tears brimming over my eyelids as I realize the source of the pungent odor. I feel distressed and disgusted all at once. Is it possible that the holding tank has not been emptied since whomever the hell, crazy-ass, slime bag, grub lived here? I wipe away the tears and try the water pump to the toilet and realize that I need to plug in the electricity, hook up the water, and light the water heater. The contents in the holding tank are probably as dried up as the bottle of ketchup. Okay, I need some trash bags, duct tape, bleach, rubber gloves, sponges, paper towels, and that blue holding tank chemical. It’s time for battle.

  I find all the items inside the store area of the restaurant at inflated prices. The trash in front has been emptied. Vi told me that Billy had said not to turn on the water to the inside just yet, because there’s a broken pipe somewhere. She said to use the water straight from the outside. There was a hose somewhere under the trailer. If I needed a bucket she had one. She also told Vi to tell me that Ray would be by later to check out where the water leak is before he fills up the propane tanks, and to be ready to go to work at 7:00AM, because we all had to pitch in for the busy day ahead with the barbeque in the evening. Vi said that Billy and Ray had gone shopping for the barbeque in Redding and would not be back until pretty late. Isn’t Redding a hundred miles or so away? I thought to myself.

  After p
lugging in the electricity, which seems to be in working order, I begin filling trash bags with everything inside the fifth wheel that is not bolted, glued, hammered down, or part of the trailer. There is not one single item in the stuffed drawers and cabinets that is worth a dime except a large kettle that I decide to keep for cleaning purposes. I don’t mess around taking my time on this current cleansing excavation. When I clean, I show no mercy. I pile the rancid trash bags by the bottom of the stairs. Mid-way through this task, I decide to look for the hose under the trailer. While under there I notice the thick, gray pleated plastic tubing coming out from the holding tank. I find the opening for sewage over by the electrical post and stuff the pleated hose into it. The hose makes a dry crackling noise. I probably need a new one of those too! I put the water hose into the toilet, turn on the water and begin to fill the tank. The water hose has several leaks along its length, so I quickly turn off the water, dry the hose off, and use the duct tape to seal up the many drips. After repairing the hose and filling the toilet tank with water, I add the thick blue chemical, probably more than recommended and continue filling up trash bags. I use the entire box of twenty heavy-duty trash bags; five of the trash bags contain ripped, dirty blankets and discolored pillows. The other fifteen contain clothes, towels, dishes, old food, and hard-core trash! Next, I retrieve my Coleman stove and fill the large kettle with water from the hose. I put the stove and kettle on the picnic table to heat for cleaning. I hear a lawn mower off in the distance and notice the park is getting full of RVs. People are wandering about the premises, fishing and walking their dogs. My dogs bark like crazy every time someone with a dog walks by. I need to get this done to the point that I can bring them inside the trailer.

  My loaded car has most of the practical items needed for living fairly comfortably—a small vacuum, a small microwave, an ice chest, a boom box with my CD’s and cassettes, a few dishes, silverware, tea kettle, drip filter for coffee, a couple of small pots and pans, bedding, toilet paper, and a small assortment of packaged and canned food. I have a habit of keeping my chaos fairly organized.

  By now my car has all four doors open and boxes and bags of my provisions are spread around. I get the toilet paper and vacuum and head back inside the trailer to take a quick, creepy, crawly-feeling pee in the toilet. I will drain the holding tank after it soaks for a few hours and hope that its contents have broken down enough to flush down into the sewer. While pulling up my pants, I hear an approaching diesel truck coming down the highway going extremely fast, shaking the trailer like an earthquake. At the same moment I hear pounding on the exterior wall of the trailer. In my panic to escape the confines of the tiny cubicle, I slip on a small area of water that had leaked from the duct taped hose and ram my hip on the door knob of the tiny bathroom. The pounding gets louder. I limp over to the door, which I have bungee-corded open and connected to the side of the trailer, rubbing my new bruise. It’s Ruby. She has a beer in her hand and has tears in her red eyes.

  “I’m sorry to bother you Denise, but I’m so upset! My dog, the one I told you about yesterday? Well, he got bit by a rattlesnake this morning and I just know he’s going to die! Billy’s gone and I need to take him to the vet, but I don’t have any money. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass or anything, but could you lend me a twenty? I promise I’ll pay you back!” I don’t see a car or a dog and wonder how she got here and where the dog is. She continues talking. “I’ll bet this place is a mess! Last guy to live here was the last cook Billy hired over a year ago. He was a druggy, and ripped Billy off for hundreds of dollars. He’s even suing Billy and Ray over something that never happened.” Ruby’s nose scrunches up in disgust. “What stinks?” Ruby is no longer crying and I’m appalled to think that I will be sleeping in the bed of a “druggy.”

  “I think it’s the holding tank. I’m trying to clear that out. Listen Ruby, I’m pretty busy and don’t have much time. I’ll loan you the twenty, but I’ll need to get it back as soon as you can repay me. I’m kind of short on cash myself these days.”

  “Cool! Thanks Denise! I promise.” After the supplies at the store and this twenty, which I might not ever see again, I am now down to $110. Ruby walks away and heads toward the restaurant, tossing her empty beer can on the ground.

  Steam is rising from the pot on the Coleman stove. I get a couple of towels to carry the hot kettle with, go pick up the empty beer can, drop it into the trash bin ten feet away, and carry the heated water into the trailer. I put on the new rubber cleaning gloves and pour bleach into the hot water. I start a smaller pot of water to heat up in case I need more, and I can’t help but think that I will certainly need more. The water turns a mustard tan as soon as I dip my wet rag back into it. Nicotine! It’s coated everything! I wipe like a mad woman. No nook or cranny escapes my feverish cleaning— inside cabinets, outside cabinets, walls, counters, and bathroom. There are now several flies that have entered uninvited. I hear the dogs barking and need to stop cleaning to bring them in and feed them. First, I bring in the second pot of water, empty the first, and refill it to heat up again. I get the dogs and shut the screen door that is attached to the broken front door. To my amazement it works just fine. It even snaps shut. I hope this will keep those darn flies out now.

  Bonita and Bandito are very happy to have joined me. They explore the small confined area they are in. Bandito runs and jumps up the two steps that go to the double bed in the far rear of the trailer and acts like he’s ready to play. Bonita looks concerned and apprehensive. I feed them, and then go to the car to find my Bug Zapper; a tennis racket-shaped tool that has a battery operated electrical current to zap flies and mosquitoes. I zap until I feel I have conquered the majority of them.

  After another hour of cleaning with bleach, I feel satisfied that I will be living in a slightly more sterile environment. I know I have only touched the surface of all the details that need to be done to get the trailer up to my standards, but I have all summer, so I begin carting in all my belongings. I have no idea what time it is, so I check the clock in my car and see it is 4:00PM. I go back inside and set my travel alarm, so I can at least know the time.

  The sun is approaching the edge of the mountain range. There is a slight breeze coming up, and the drying tent has blown onto the ground. I roll up the dry tent and put it in the trunk of the car and bring in the dry blankets and down comforter. I lay the comforter on the bed first to separate me from the old, well-used, discolored surface of the “druggy” mattress, and then place the fitted sheet over the comforter. I make a mental note to purchase some Lysol. After that, I make my way back outside to find the valve to empty the holding tank. It was easy to find over on the highway side of the trailer where a large red arrow was pointing down to it reading: ‘To empty holding tank turn valve to the left.’ As I do this, I hear and see the rumbling, heavy, discolored water gushing through the fragile pleated hose on its way to the sewer. When I no longer hear water in the hose, I shut the valve off. I go get the water hose and refill the tank through the toilet and add more blue chemical. Now that the trailer seems to smell better, I make a tuna sandwich and drink a small glass of wine. I finish eating and go outside to drag all the plastic trash bags over to the pile that Bubba and Terry have going.

  “Okay kids! We’re going for a walk!” I announce to Bonita and Bandito upon my return. They are out of their minds with excitement.

  I decide to walk the dirt drive outside the fifth wheel that leads away from the main building parallel to the highway and wind around the entire oval-shaped park. I had noticed earlier that the small row of trailers next to the highway, like mine, seem more permanent, while the temporary RVs are on the one end and the other side of the lake. The dogs are very happy with their sixteen feet of mobile freedom they are allowed with the leashes.

  The sun has just dipped behind the mountains highest peak. There is still plenty of daylight left. It didn’t get too hot today. Thank heavens for that.

  About six spaces from my trailer, I ap
proach a trailer that has the golf cart parked in front. So this is where our charming couple live! The area has the look of a full-time tenant. I see the lawn mower, a few attempts with potted flowers, an older, red, beat up Jeep, a huge fire pit with a huge pile of logs next to it, and various bent up cardboard boxes filled with empty beer cans.

  Bonita and Bandito see the tiny kittens darting from under the trailer at the same time that I do. They shoot out like bullets from the extending leashes, barking like idiots, springing to a halt and flipping their little bodies around when the line runs out. I have learned through time to keep a firm grip on the handles. They want, need, and desire to rip the heads off the cute little kitties. I hang on tight and slowly reel them in.

  With my presence made known, I feel embarrassed. I get a chill down my spine when I realize that Bubba and Terry are probably observing me from somewhere inside their trailer. “Bad dogs! You stop that! Do you hear me? That’s not nice!” As we pass the golf cart parked on the side of the road, I see the ice chest tilted in a sea of empty beer cans in the cargo space of the cart.

  We continue walking around the park. About five spaces down from Bubba’s, I see a large cement drainpipe extending into the lake. Water is flowing at a steady stream from its opening. I presume that the flowing water is the continuous source and supply of the lake. A group of mud hens honk and float near the rippling water. Bits of trash float near the waters’ edge.

  As I round the farthest curve at the far end of the park, I see the forest of pine trees that borders the park. There is a dirt road that curves off the main circular drive and disappears into the forest. Good road for a private walk, I think to myself. On closer inspection of the pine trees, I can see fragments of color beyond the tree line, like large tractors, or equipment of some sort. They are barely noticeable, but it’s evident that there’s a back area in there for storage of some kind.