December 7, 2016
Kim took Kate to the Miami airport this morning. She'll be back Friday night. Kim and I are holed up near Ft. Lauderdale. We wanted to camp within an hour of the airport, and my research revealed three RV parks. The first was too expensive; the second doesn't allow dogs over 20 pounds; and, the third was dirt cheap with a Passport America club discount. I booked the third place in spite of its poor user reviews. It is the saddest RV park I have ever seen. The people who “season” or live year-round here must be poor. The school bus has a pick-up and drop-off service at the park's office. There are feral cats. Fred Sanford would have made the cover of “Good Housekeeping” if this park had been the bellwether.
The place is infested with French Canadians. When I was checking in, a woman came into the office sporting a bikini top so she could show off her excellent silicone rack. Sun damage to skin makes it hard to guess a person's age, but she is at least 45 years old. When I wore bikinis I always put on a shirt and shorts when I left the beach – even to go to the boardwalk. To me, swim attire is for the pool or the beach, and not for the boardwalk, restaurant, store, or office. Clearly, I'm a prude. The woman wanted to know if the water from the hose is potable, but she was having trouble communicating in English.
The site lots are small and the park's roadways are narrow. I was guided into my site and told to follow the golf cart exactly. The guide said he would bring me a plastic table and four chairs. He did: the chairs are either mildewed or covered in black dirt. There is no cable. The Wi-Fi doesn't work – they've been having "technical" problems. Kim and Kate said the restrooms and shower facilities are filthy, so they are using BOB. The pad upon which I'm parked has BOB listing to port about five degrees, so the shower doesn't drain properly.
I spent about an hour yesterday afternoon setting up and checking BOB's vitals – oil, DEF, windshield fluid, and tire pressure. The temperature was in the mid-80s, and the humidity waseven higher. I had to take a shower to cool off. I ran the air conditioner from the time we arrived until seven-thirty this morning – when it was only 74 degrees with 94% humidity. I put it back on at eleven-thirty. Thunderstorms were promised last night and today, but they haven't materialized. They are promised for tomorrow as well. I left the bra off of BOB so the rain could wash the bugs off his windshield since I couldn't bring myself to do it when I arrived.
My postcards were at the RV office when I checked in. I opened the box before I set up BOB, and I was disappointed to see that they were 4"x6" instead of 5"x7", and that they were also very dark. I called the online printer to inquire about my order because I couldn't see the size of the cards in the order details. A woman named Coretta walked me through how I could choose the size online. I told her the cards were much darker than the proof. She saw that, offered me a full refund, and then offered to lighten the photo. She did, and it was much better. I asked her if I could just pay the difference for the reprints in the correct size. She said yes, then she put me on hold to check to see if any promotions were available. There were, and thanks to her, the new cards are being printed and shipped free of charge. It was the most delightful customer service experience I have ever had, and I would have felt the same if there were no promotion. I told Coretta that and thanked her profusely.
I stopped at a post office in Vero Beach yesterday to buy 200 first class mail stamps for my oversized postcard mailing. There were two employees servicing the customers, and there was a line of more than 10 people. The female employee would occasionally shout out a greeting to the line and thank them for their patience. It wasn't an unpleasant experience for a change. There is a post office around the corner from this park. I walked there this afternoon to mail a return to Amazon – a rare occasion for me. Four federal employees were servicing the line when I arrived, and two more joined the desk as the line grew and grew. I needed a mailing vessel for my parcel post return, and a means of affixing the pre-printed return label. The woman who serviced me did not return my greeting. She mumbled her responses to my questions, and I had to ask her to repeat herself. She said she could glue the label on the pouch or I could buy a role of tape for $3.50. Glue is not a viable alternative to clear packing tape, so I purchased the 90% gross margin role of tape. She sent me away to seal the pouch and label it, saying I could bring the package back to her when I was finished. Thank you. And, thank you for your shitty attitude. Enjoy your undeserved pension, you-lazy-assed son-of-a-bitch. I hate the fucking post office.
I hope the fucking post office delivers my fucking postcards.
I listened to a "Ted Radio Hour" broadcast called "Food" while I was driving yesterday. The piece on added sugars was enlightening: over-consumption of added sugars leads to obesity which can lead to Type II diabetes, heart disease, fatty liver disease and tooth decay. Apparently, the USDA or FDA suggested the average person consume no more than 25 grams of sugar per day until the processed food lobby leveraged up the limit. I decided on the spot that I would examine my protein powder, yogurt, and protein bars for their added sugar content: if any is too high, I will to stop consuming it when my supply is exhausted. The Spiru-Tein protein powder has seven grams of fructose per serving, so it's in. The Kind protein bars only contain five grams of sugar, so they are in. However, I'm breaking up with lime Chobani yogurt because it contains 17 grams of "evaporated cane juice," one of the many food euphemisms for sugar. If Chobani's plain yogurt has no added sugar, the brand will still be in; otherwise, I'll be shopping for a new brand
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Siobhan M. Knox
In May 2016, I bought a five ton, 25’ long Class C motorhome because I like to drive, I like to travel, and it’s more fun and less expensive than living in a hotel. No prior RV experience was required, and I had none: perfect. I’m writing a book about my adventures which will come to an end when I get a job. The dogs will be sad.