Truck Stop Tarmac
Donation protected
Does anybody remember the old TV show called "Queen for a Day?" Even though I could only watch it when I was home sick from grade school, I vividly remember women in desperate need getting up on stage and sobbingly sharing why they needed a new washer and dryer, or a car, or food for their families. It was tragic. Each person was different and each was equally deserving of help, but not everyone would "win." I guess that was the so-called appeal of the show and why it was placed opposite game-shows of the era. I was very young at the time, but I remember that my parents were staunch Republicans so I watched this show always feeling that there was something both fascinating and repulsive for people to so publicly ask for help. It was blatently begging for "charity" and my young mind had been taught that "charity" was a very, very bad word. Dirty. Shameful. Wrong. The words "bootstraps" and "initiative" and "lazy" were often used in conversations at home. It was the Fifties.
Many decades later, I no longer have that young mind, am no longer influenced by my parents or any political party whole-cloth, and have learned that if we don't ask for what we need, we rarely get it; not because it's inheritantly bad to do so, but because if we don't ask, nobody knows. Many of us may want to help but not one of us can read minds. The message may have been that it is better to give than to receive but, let me tell you something you already know: it's a helluva lot harder to learn how to receive than to give. And, for this child of former white privilege, it's virtually impossible to ask. So, now in my sixth decade, my life-lesson has become two-fold: 1. learn how to ask without shame; and 2. learn to receive with as much Grace as I feel when I give to others. Giving? Piece of cake. Receiving? Not so much.
Let's transition to Saturday afternoon. Driving along at 70 mph in the middle lane on I-81, my camper-home exploded. I was able to remain control of the vehicle and guide it safely off the road through the smoke and horrific grinding to find that my home hadn't blown up as feared but had "only" suffered a catastrophic wheel bearing failure, rendering it stuck where it sat. I was eventually towed to the nearest garage, dropped off on railroad ties, and told that the garage would open on Monday morning. Triple K Fleet Service did, in fact, open at 7AM and, by 9AM I was told that they couldn't find parts for my Rialta in any of the local VW dealerships. The only way to get it back on the road would be if I found the parts and had them shipped myself. They would then put them on.
Done. By 1pm I had ordered and paid for the parts to come from San Diego, CA to Harrisburg, PA. Thank goodness that, with shipping included, and emptying both savings accounts, I still had $25.04 left over. Said parts should arrive either Wednesday or Thursday and the mechanic estimates approximately 10 hours of labor. At $105 per hour. Do the math.
In the meantime, I am safely ensconsed in my Joyful Explorer on the tarmac of this huge truck and trailer repair shop, sitting between two repair bays, watching enormous tractor/trailers backing up slowly by my windows a foot and a half away from my head. It's like being in a train, only the outside moves past the stationery me. I've gotta' say that this is possibly the most interesting campspot of my life so far. It's providing me with a more intimate knowledge of the diesel engine than I ever thought possible. Then, tantalizingly, I am surrounded by mainstream truck-stop restaurants and their smells of hot fries and carbs with a sweet little Holiday Inn Express only 200 yards away. For fun last evening, after the 90 -degree sun went down, I pulled out my trusty lawn chair and book and quietly watched as the shop transitioned from day shift into the night. They don't close until midnight so it was like watching rushing water transfigure into maple syrup as it poured out of the bottle of busyness. Fascinating, I tell you. And I get to continue this experience for another 3 days at least! Or for however long it takes them to fix my wheel. I'd like to be able to get out of here before Labor Day but it's not lookin' too good for the home team at this point.
So, against all my parentally-instilled principles, and with the vow to live in vulnerability, I'm going to do it. Right here. Yep. I am. Just a minute. Okay. Ready? All right. I'm just gonna' say it: I am admitting that I guess I could use some help. (This is a fund-raising website, right?) Yeah. I could use some help. Admittedly, I do have 9 packets left of ramen, a can of black beans, a half-can of corn, and some other miscellaneous staples I've saved for the post-apocalypse, which renders moot the prospect of starvation. (Well, that and the extra poundage that keeps me company wherever I go, you know, just in case I need it for fuel?) I have plenty of water, and the garage makes coffee, so the necessities are covered. There only remains, then, the quandry of paying for the mechanical labor and the petrol to get me back on the road to Florida. (And maybe a little extra food, too?) You see, I promised a very dear person in my life (my step-mom once removed, if you must know) that I would be by her bedside to take care of her as she convalesces from a hip replacement. Her surgery was 10 days ago and I was supposed to have been there for her yesterday. I obviously am not and, as the days go by, I feel worse and worse that she is having to go through this by herself with nobody to help her recover. She is in her eighties now and that's just not right; not only because I committed to doing this for her months ago, but because, well, WWJD? (What would Janie do? Right?) Okay, honestly? If I didn't need to return to Florida, I know that I could probably get a job in one of these truck stops and live in my camper here until I earned enough to pay for the repairs, gas, and more food. (Let's see, $8/hr times x = $1500. Hmm. Better register to vote here.)
You know what's strange? Even though I KNOW that it's okay to ask, and I KNOW what I would say to someone else who needed help, I STILL feel queezy about posting this. After all, I am the strong one, I can do everything, I don't need anybody's help, I am the one who helps others not the other way around, you can always come to me for anything you need, I'm not lazy, I'm more than willing to work for what I have, what makes me think I deserve help when there are others who have it so much worse and who deserve it so much more, yadayadayada. Ouch. Yes, I am very, very, VERY tempted not to click the button, or add the photos, or put this online, but I gotta'. And a woman's gotta' do what a woman's gotta' do, right? Right? Give or don't give. I will always Love you, whatever you choose. At least now you know my story.
Poor baby. I know it hurts. We're going to the hospital right away!
Owie! We'll soon get those scratches taken care of. I promise.
As yet undiagnosed. Still thinking it may be a broken axle.
Will absolutely need some cosmetic surgery at a later date...
Diagnosis: wheel bearing failure. Major surgery required. "Hope you've got a lot of money cuz it's gonna' take a lot of money to fix this," said the owner to me before he said hello.
First morning in my new campsite. Hey, they even gave me electricity. Can't beat that! Good thing I've started carrying water in my tanks. 97 degrees in the afternoons. Or maybe 87. Who knows? It's just HOT on that tarmac.
Well-travelled neighbors in the site next to me...and very skillfully manoevered into their spot, I might add. Inch. By. Inch. Riiight next to my face.
Campground is full - and open from 7AM until midnight, providing for interesting night sounds.
At least the door to the ladies' restroom closes. But, alas, no soap so gotta' use the gents' to wash up.. That way I get to choose between 3 different strengths of abrasion - great for the complexion!
Plenty of drinking water available.
Plenty of "food" available - for those with spare change.
Settling in for a quiet evening among the mercury-lighted stars accompanied by the pleasant chirping of air brakes permanating the night exhaust, er, air.
Soon, my little love. Soon. The medical supplies you need will be here soon. Tomorrow...or the next day...or maybe Friday...or, because it's Labor Day weekend, maybe next Tuesday.
Many decades later, I no longer have that young mind, am no longer influenced by my parents or any political party whole-cloth, and have learned that if we don't ask for what we need, we rarely get it; not because it's inheritantly bad to do so, but because if we don't ask, nobody knows. Many of us may want to help but not one of us can read minds. The message may have been that it is better to give than to receive but, let me tell you something you already know: it's a helluva lot harder to learn how to receive than to give. And, for this child of former white privilege, it's virtually impossible to ask. So, now in my sixth decade, my life-lesson has become two-fold: 1. learn how to ask without shame; and 2. learn to receive with as much Grace as I feel when I give to others. Giving? Piece of cake. Receiving? Not so much.
Let's transition to Saturday afternoon. Driving along at 70 mph in the middle lane on I-81, my camper-home exploded. I was able to remain control of the vehicle and guide it safely off the road through the smoke and horrific grinding to find that my home hadn't blown up as feared but had "only" suffered a catastrophic wheel bearing failure, rendering it stuck where it sat. I was eventually towed to the nearest garage, dropped off on railroad ties, and told that the garage would open on Monday morning. Triple K Fleet Service did, in fact, open at 7AM and, by 9AM I was told that they couldn't find parts for my Rialta in any of the local VW dealerships. The only way to get it back on the road would be if I found the parts and had them shipped myself. They would then put them on.
Done. By 1pm I had ordered and paid for the parts to come from San Diego, CA to Harrisburg, PA. Thank goodness that, with shipping included, and emptying both savings accounts, I still had $25.04 left over. Said parts should arrive either Wednesday or Thursday and the mechanic estimates approximately 10 hours of labor. At $105 per hour. Do the math.
In the meantime, I am safely ensconsed in my Joyful Explorer on the tarmac of this huge truck and trailer repair shop, sitting between two repair bays, watching enormous tractor/trailers backing up slowly by my windows a foot and a half away from my head. It's like being in a train, only the outside moves past the stationery me. I've gotta' say that this is possibly the most interesting campspot of my life so far. It's providing me with a more intimate knowledge of the diesel engine than I ever thought possible. Then, tantalizingly, I am surrounded by mainstream truck-stop restaurants and their smells of hot fries and carbs with a sweet little Holiday Inn Express only 200 yards away. For fun last evening, after the 90 -degree sun went down, I pulled out my trusty lawn chair and book and quietly watched as the shop transitioned from day shift into the night. They don't close until midnight so it was like watching rushing water transfigure into maple syrup as it poured out of the bottle of busyness. Fascinating, I tell you. And I get to continue this experience for another 3 days at least! Or for however long it takes them to fix my wheel. I'd like to be able to get out of here before Labor Day but it's not lookin' too good for the home team at this point.
So, against all my parentally-instilled principles, and with the vow to live in vulnerability, I'm going to do it. Right here. Yep. I am. Just a minute. Okay. Ready? All right. I'm just gonna' say it: I am admitting that I guess I could use some help. (This is a fund-raising website, right?) Yeah. I could use some help. Admittedly, I do have 9 packets left of ramen, a can of black beans, a half-can of corn, and some other miscellaneous staples I've saved for the post-apocalypse, which renders moot the prospect of starvation. (Well, that and the extra poundage that keeps me company wherever I go, you know, just in case I need it for fuel?) I have plenty of water, and the garage makes coffee, so the necessities are covered. There only remains, then, the quandry of paying for the mechanical labor and the petrol to get me back on the road to Florida. (And maybe a little extra food, too?) You see, I promised a very dear person in my life (my step-mom once removed, if you must know) that I would be by her bedside to take care of her as she convalesces from a hip replacement. Her surgery was 10 days ago and I was supposed to have been there for her yesterday. I obviously am not and, as the days go by, I feel worse and worse that she is having to go through this by herself with nobody to help her recover. She is in her eighties now and that's just not right; not only because I committed to doing this for her months ago, but because, well, WWJD? (What would Janie do? Right?) Okay, honestly? If I didn't need to return to Florida, I know that I could probably get a job in one of these truck stops and live in my camper here until I earned enough to pay for the repairs, gas, and more food. (Let's see, $8/hr times x = $1500. Hmm. Better register to vote here.)
You know what's strange? Even though I KNOW that it's okay to ask, and I KNOW what I would say to someone else who needed help, I STILL feel queezy about posting this. After all, I am the strong one, I can do everything, I don't need anybody's help, I am the one who helps others not the other way around, you can always come to me for anything you need, I'm not lazy, I'm more than willing to work for what I have, what makes me think I deserve help when there are others who have it so much worse and who deserve it so much more, yadayadayada. Ouch. Yes, I am very, very, VERY tempted not to click the button, or add the photos, or put this online, but I gotta'. And a woman's gotta' do what a woman's gotta' do, right? Right? Give or don't give. I will always Love you, whatever you choose. At least now you know my story.
Poor baby. I know it hurts. We're going to the hospital right away!
Owie! We'll soon get those scratches taken care of. I promise.
As yet undiagnosed. Still thinking it may be a broken axle.
Will absolutely need some cosmetic surgery at a later date...
Diagnosis: wheel bearing failure. Major surgery required. "Hope you've got a lot of money cuz it's gonna' take a lot of money to fix this," said the owner to me before he said hello.
First morning in my new campsite. Hey, they even gave me electricity. Can't beat that! Good thing I've started carrying water in my tanks. 97 degrees in the afternoons. Or maybe 87. Who knows? It's just HOT on that tarmac.
Well-travelled neighbors in the site next to me...and very skillfully manoevered into their spot, I might add. Inch. By. Inch. Riiight next to my face.
Campground is full - and open from 7AM until midnight, providing for interesting night sounds.
At least the door to the ladies' restroom closes. But, alas, no soap so gotta' use the gents' to wash up.. That way I get to choose between 3 different strengths of abrasion - great for the complexion!
Plenty of drinking water available.
Plenty of "food" available - for those with spare change.
Settling in for a quiet evening among the mercury-lighted stars accompanied by the pleasant chirping of air brakes permanating the night exhaust, er, air.
Soon, my little love. Soon. The medical supplies you need will be here soon. Tomorrow...or the next day...or maybe Friday...or, because it's Labor Day weekend, maybe next Tuesday.
Organizer
JE Buckingham
Organizer
Satellite Beach, FL