Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I Loved the '80s
When my sister and I were little, my parents for some reason decided that we were going to spend our summers traveling around the country in a camper. I like to think that this was part of some kind of national craze or something, but the truth of it may well be that living in an aluminum box in fields littered with white trash outside the nation's various second tier cities just seemed preferable to spending another three months in Quincy. But whatever the impetus, we spent a great portion of the '80s pulling a living room across the great plains behind our Escort.
The camper itself was one of those Transformer-style jobbies where the couch and kitchen table somehow folded out into beds. There was also a bunk that could be unlatched from the ceiling. My sister and I used to argue over who got to sleep in the bunk; it never occurred to us that this also involved the privilege of falling out of the bunk and getting a concussion. When everything was folded out, pretty much every square inch of the room was covered in bedding. From the master bed your head was mere inches from both the refrigerator and the john.
I don't remember too much about the trips themselves, other than being stung by a whole swarm of bees in Nebraska and having to wear plastic bags for shoes because my feet were so swollen. Oh, and visiting lots of relatives, which was essentially the same feeling.
My point in all of this, I guess, is just that I've always been this completely classy.
When my sister and I were little, my parents for some reason decided that we were going to spend our summers traveling around the country in a camper. I like to think that this was part of some kind of national craze or something, but the truth of it may well be that living in an aluminum box in fields littered with white trash outside the nation's various second tier cities just seemed preferable to spending another three months in Quincy. But whatever the impetus, we spent a great portion of the '80s pulling a living room across the great plains behind our Escort.
The camper itself was one of those Transformer-style jobbies where the couch and kitchen table somehow folded out into beds. There was also a bunk that could be unlatched from the ceiling. My sister and I used to argue over who got to sleep in the bunk; it never occurred to us that this also involved the privilege of falling out of the bunk and getting a concussion. When everything was folded out, pretty much every square inch of the room was covered in bedding. From the master bed your head was mere inches from both the refrigerator and the john.
I don't remember too much about the trips themselves, other than being stung by a whole swarm of bees in Nebraska and having to wear plastic bags for shoes because my feet were so swollen. Oh, and visiting lots of relatives, which was essentially the same feeling.
My point in all of this, I guess, is just that I've always been this completely classy.
