“Always be prepared” is the motto of the Boy Scouts, I think. While recently camping I deluded myself that I was prepared for anything. Ready to say Fuck You to mosquitos and tent poles that keep snapping open. Even accepted the fact that some person with filthy feet would eventually start playing the guitar. But there was a horror no wilderness survival guide could ever prepare me for, a chatty man in a Señor Frog’s t-shirt and cutoffs.
I am 100% behind a solid head nod to any passerby, I am not a monster. But there is a reason I have escaped to the woods instead of doing something like I don’t know, eating dinner at a communal table at Benihanas.
How could I possibly enjoy making a s’more with this animal running around asking what people are having for dinner and trying to pet their dogs? I knew he was two beers away from walking back over and telling us about his ex-wife, and he did and it turns out he doesn’t much care for her. Bear Grylls wouldn’t have lasted a minute in the wild listening to this guy talk about Stryper, no fucking way.
He told me the rangers don’t patrol after dark. What could that possibly mean?
The only thing I want to do after dark is drink twelve beers in front of a fire and obnoxiously walk around with a headlamp turned on. The only thing he wanted to do was make a lot of eye contact and throw half-smoked Pall Malls into our fire ring. He also kept telling my wife that she was a “real” woman which I think is a compliment but then offered her a loose hot dog though he wasn’t grilling.
“I recently found Jesus,” he told us while setting up a hammock uncomfortably close to our tent. “I am going to watch over you as he watches over me.” Poof, the chance of me sleeping had evaporated.
In the morning I was sure he would be cleaning the ax he murdered us with but he was still drinking tall boys and offered us eggs benedict.