As many of you have read (in the post titled “Today I Flipped an Elderly Man the Bird”), I had a run-in with a man at the RV “resort” we stayed in last week. I wrote about it here. I thought you would all enjoy an update on the apparently on-going saga of The Petulant Muse vs. Old Scratch and friends.
I wrote a little review of Rolling Acres on a popular travel site. It was nowhere near as scathing as my post here. I simply discussed the book of rules they present you with upon admission to their Bengay club. I may have said something to the effect that the whole “No RV campers older than 10 years” rule seemed a bit pompous and petty. But perhaps I judged too harshly, I mean I guess I get it. Who wants to look at an old, worn out, faded, broken down, pot-bellied, balding fool through the window of an 11 year old RV? Not me!
And then I said the legal waiver you had to sign abolishing them of any fault should an injury occur even if said injury occurred during one of their organized and planned activities was ridiculous. But now, having spent a full week there, I see that the risk of fractured hips during “Red-Neck bingo” is just too great to legally ignore. They get pretty wild waiting for the caller to pull that fifth ‘Trucker Hat’ card so they can stamp their blue daubers down and win a free can of hot dog sauce.
It’s also possible that I complained about the cranky old men who will tattle on you if you try to break the rules by letting your 10 year old get into the swamp they call a hot tub. I may have said that the speed limit was 10 mph unless you were reliving your midlife crisis by zipping about at a whopping rate of 20mph in your golf cart, wind flowing through what’s left of your hair. I probably made some snarky comment about the poor Wi-Fi and how most of the “resort’s” guests probably didn’t mind because the last time they actually typed anything was on a typewriter. And I believe I ended it by saying that most of the people we interacted with were not very family friendly and that the place itself seemed to cater to elderly men who think they own the place.
My review was posted yesterday and within minutes I received an email from the site that someone had sent me a private message. Which I had no idea was even an option. So, in the naïve hope that a kindred spirit had sent me a message empathizing with my family’s and my plight in the land of the almost dead, I opened the message. I was immediately shocked to discover that apparently old men DID know how to use Wi-Fi! That place is seriously some kind of crazy Geriatric Cult! I mean, they are monitoring these websites! The second my review went up this grey mustachioed crony of the Geezer Tub-Club named Daniel sent me a lovely message first stating he was “so damn sorry to here [sic] that” me and my “brats” were not happy there. Which, I found very thoughtful and well-written. He then assured me that the rules were there to keep me and my “brats” safe (hot tubs and 11+ year old RVs are very dangerous for adolescent boys) and I thought this was so family friendly. They really are looking out for me and my brats. He dared me to find a resort as nice as theirs and then offered that maybe I (and my brats) should stay at a different one in the future. I agreed! What a great idea. I’m glad he thought of that. Why hadn’t I considered staying somewhere else next time? Lastly he hoped that I (and my brats) “NEVER” showed our faces there again. I think this may have been some kind of coded warning—like if we did, we might see (with our “faces”) more old, wrinkled skin. I don’t know. I’m still puzzling that one out. Anyways, I thanked him, whole-heartedly for proving me wrong when I said they weren’t family friendly and when I said it was full of crotchety old men who thought they owned the place….and then I tattled to the website that he was harassing me. I call that Karma, Daniel: you Cranky, Old Fuck.