Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Life in the Trailer Park

Paul (ND!) came over for breakfast...but arrived closer to lunch time in a Dodge Caliber that he is renting while his car is in the shop. The Caliber was an odd car to be in, little windows and it smelled like old french fries. I'm glad he got it, though. Now, I won't even bother looking at them when I go to buy another car.

We went to the Big Biscuit, which I've heard good things about. Paul had lunch, I had breakfast anyway. It was all good. A family was eating at the table next to us, one of which being a little girl of about three. Mom would put little chunks of scrambled eggs on her little plate, telling her to eat slow with small bites. The girl responds by scooping up everything off her plate and cramming it in her mouth at once. I've never seen a kid eat that fast. It was mesmerizing.

On the way home, we drove by this trailer park that I also drive by when I am going to the store, or Lowes, or anywhere on Hwy 40. You can't miss it. It sits there on the corner, and it bustles with activities ranging from kids playing to adults talking to whatever police officer happened to be called there that day. I must confess, I love to watch the trailer park when I am at the stoplight. It's like watching some sort of habitat at the zoo. Somedays, I just want to get a camping chair and go set it up just to sit and watch the trailer park all day. I'm obsessed, and such obsessions are not healthy.

I always speak of my obsession to Paul, who has an equally disturbing obsession with riding the KC Metro. He's never ridden the bus, but wants to do it before he dies. I have a sinking suspicion that I am going to be part of that little adventure, even though riding public transportation for entertainment doesn't really appeal to me the way observing trailer park life does. Different strokes, for different folks, I guess.

So, we drive by the trailer park and I regale Paul of what I saw last time I drove by the trailer park. On a whim, he just makes a quick turn into the trailer park. I immediately get turned on and start clapping my hands wildly.

We drive through the trailer park, which is bigger than I originally thought. Initially, I had thought it to be not so stereotypical because the trailers closer to the road were newer, but deeper into the park revealed it's dark underbelly. Trailers in varying stages of decomposition. Most all single-wides, 98% older ones with that aluminum siding that comes off in sheets. All of them are cluttered. Paul finds it impossible to keep his mortified expression in check. I'm whipping my head around so much that I almost injure myself. So much to see!! Those people who happened to be out and about in the trailer park, eye us with suspicion and the same vacant expressions. They know we don't belong. Interlopers!!!

We make our way out of the trailer park, along the way seeing a trailer park cat with a crooked hind leg, and a woman at the little trailer park pool sporting a fem-mullet and a tribal band tattoo around her arm. Paul starts to get turned on and claps his hands wildly.

After we get back to my house, Paul concedes that our drive was a lot more fun than he thought it would be. I tell him about a few more trailer parks further down Hwy 40, but I don't suggest we go drive there. It looks far worse from the road, and chances are pretty good we'd get shot or worse.

This could be a fun hobby...checking out various trailer parks of the nation, because what says America more than a small plot of acreage with a bunch of rectangular tin houses?

Then, of course, I get a call from the doctor's office and Nurse Betty kills my newly acquired and drug-free buzz of happiness. Instead of making me feel better by making out with me, Paul says he's tired and goes home. Bastard. Drained, I go take a nap.

I really didn't get much done on my list. I'll try better tomorrow.


Mrs. McMitchell said...

Maybe you two should have just pulled off to the side and started making out in the trailer park? Then you wouldn't have seemed suspicious at all.

This story reminds me of my Grandma who I think had the same severe jones as you, but for polygamist communities. I remember being about 12, driving with my entire family through Colorado City, my 80 year old Grandma hanging out the window yelling "Hello little Polygamist kids!!" I can't tell you how embarrased I was. Good thing there wasn't an uprising where they came at our Suburban weilding sharpened rakes and hoes.

Faith said...

Ok, I don't know about anyone else, but I'm starting to think that the next meet up should happen either in a cross town bus, or a trailer park. Preferably by their trailer park pool. (They have pools? Why do I live in my house again? Oh yeah...so I don't die in a tornado. Duh!)

Spyder, can you run with this? I'm more partial to the bus idea, but I doubt they'd let us drink on one, whereas I'm pretty sure the trailer park requires one to be drunk at all times when within it's confines...

Spyder said...

Faith- Can you scout that out for me or should we have Heather check it out? LOL

IDigSmartLadies said...

Back when I lived in Columbus OH, the gal I was dating and I would drive around trailer parks looking for the crappiest trailer we could find. We stumbled into some trailer parks that were, from our college-student perspective, nicer than ANYTHING we could hope to live in. I mean we're talking nice cars, landscaping, etc. Then, there were the not so nice ones. I think the worst one was an abandoned area of a trailer park, with a few burned out shells in it. Like the Paper Street house in Fight Club, you wouldn't be able to guess whether someone was paying rent or squatting.