Raspberries and Rhinos

So my friend invites me to go beach camping. I’m always ready for an adventure so hubby and I accept. Our last camping excursion was not too successful. This adventure includes my friend and three pre teen girls.
The campground was nice, small, right on the Gulf of Mexico and filled with gigantic RV’s. We had a pup tent. We found our plot of paradise right on the corner. We set up our dwelling and I felt like an ant at the Grand Canyon. We were surrounded by 40 foot shiny behemoths. We had a pup tent. A pup tent set up on a sharp corner of paradise. If I do the math calculations - forty feet making a sharp right turn on five feet of roadway, 3 foot pup tent hugging the curve. I believe any rolling penthouse will be a few feet shy of making that corner. So we parked our truck right smack in front of the pup tent. Once one of those mobile suites smacks into the truck the noise will awaken us and we can flee to safety. We feel free to begin our adventure with our temporary homestead securely in place and protected by the truck. The white sandy beach beckons five responsible adults and three giggly giddy girls.
We trudge down the beach. My friend points and says, “That’s where all the action is. See those white tents. The sand sculpture contest is right in that area.”
It’s funny how the mind plays tricks on us. The farther we walked toward the white tents the farther away they appeared. How can that be? A mirage? I being the most sensible of the adults in this procession have worn shoes. After what seemed to be hours of walking we arrived at the festival. And it was an amazing site. Within seconds hubby has vanished into the troves of people. He has in his possession the car keys, the money and the water. Hours slip by and I am thirsty, tired and cranky. I want to return to the pup tent perched precariously on the corner space. As thoughts become reality he shows up. I bite my tongue – ouch – and say nothing. Although the less than hospitable eye contact reaches him he just smirks at me. He knows what I am thinking. We leave the heat of the beach and head for the main roadway to catch a trolley back to the campground. We have come prepared with pocketfuls of quarters.
The green metal trolley bench is perched right in the sun along the main road. There are about 60 unhappy looking people waiting for a trolley that holds 20 bodies. Let’s do the math. One woman mutters that she has been sitting in the hot sun on the green metal bench for over an hour. Let’s do the math again. We discuss our situation and the decision is made to walk to the next trolley stop. Off we go with smug faces and most with bare feet: bare feet on a rough hot sidewalk. I look down at my Crocs and snicker.
Twenty minutes later we stumble upon the trolley stop. No green metal bench just a sign indicating the trolley runs on the hour. Twenty cranky looking people hover at this trolley stop. We pass by and head to the next stop. The sidewalk becomes rougher and hotter. I look at my feet encased with protection.
The giggly giddy girls begin to whine. Hubby pulls out his sandals he has stashed in the backpack and hands them to the girls. They take turns wearing the sandals. They beg for a taxi. I eye the bike chained to a tree but realize I have left the hacksaw at home. We see a scooter ‘For Sale’ only $1,200. We have a pocket full of quarters. Perhaps they would take the quarters for a down payment. Then the math facts come into play again: scooter for two, six people walking down a hot rough sidewalk. Oh and just a pocket full of quarters. We trudge on for what seems like hours but it most likely minutes. We find another trolley stop and slip silently onto the green metal bench.
I see the trolley before I hear it. Our excitement is uncontainable. Shouts of triumph spill over the weary travelers. The green trolley breezes by, the driver waves and we see the FULL sign in the window. They are no printable words for my feelings. Hours of walking with grumbling girls finally brings us back to the campground. Our illegally parked truck is absent. A yellow towing notice is taped to the electrical box on our site. Big black tire tread marks run across the top of our crumpled pup tent.