Tag Archives: Travel

Recommended for Out-of-Control Freaks: Bag-O-Calm

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Finally got around to cleaning out my travel purse from my east coast trip.  Found these items, which ended up being a walk down memory lane.

*Boarding Pass.  The trip started with our usual adventurous (my husband would call it torturous) drive to the airport.  I’ll admit it, I’m a terrible backseat driver.  Every few minutes I gasp, grab the door handle and press my foot on the imaginary brake that I wish resided on my side of the car.  What’s weird though is, if I close my eyes, I travel just fine.  It reminds me of watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.  When they captured an out-of-control animal they covered its eyes to keep it calm.  I’m thinking about inventing just such a thing for out-of-control freaks such as myself.  I’m going to call it Bag-O-Calm.

*Box of Bandaids.  While in New York we walked about a hundred miles every day and because I was wearing my “trendy” shoes, I got blisters.

*DuaneReade.  Receipt for cushions to put inside stupid “trendy” shoes.

*Reserved Sign.  Went to Birdland where seats were held for my VIP Brother – not Prescoe or even Presscove but Pressgrove.  It’s a difficult name, I know.  Presscot is the usual mistake but my favorite ever had to be Bumgrove.  Now my last name is Vratil – which always, always get’s written out as Brattle.  I’ve learned to say and explain it all in one breath like this. “Vratil-V-As-In-Victor.” One time, while looking for my name on a list, after I said Vratil-V-As-In-Victor, the woman said, “But, I don’t know how to spell Victor.”

*Non-Working Metro Pass Form.  More than once I bought a subway pass and it was rejected.  VIP Brother said this had never happened to him in all the years he’s been in New York. Figures.

*Northshire Bookstore.  Visited my best pal, Gina, and walked into her town’s wonderful independent bookstore.  They had a large sign announcing PRINT ON DEMAND available.  I thought it would be cool to watch a copy of my book come off their press, so I demanded that they print it.  Turns out, it doesn’t work that way and I didn’t go over so well.

*Program for Mark My Words.  Attended a Mark Twain writing program with WTF Alumni, Kerry.  We managed to finagle (pay) our way in to the author’s reception.  As you’ve learned by now, I don’t like strangers so I stood in my well-practiced wallflower position on the edge of the room.  Kerry dared me to go up and talk to someone.  I don’t know why – maybe it was the three diet cokes talking – but I did it.  We ended up meeting two wonderful women, who we chatted with the entire time, totally missing our opportunity to meet the authors.  Which was fine with me because that R. L. Stine seems like one strange stranger.

Crazie T and the Whale

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If you need to catch up on my Crazie Camper Caper, click here and here.

Where we left off…I’d been in contact with Anonymous Kevin, the person hired to deliver my 1955 Aljoa from Denver to Kansas City, and arranged to have him arrive on Saturday, the 6th.  Unfortunately, I would still be out of town but my good friend, Sharon, agreed to meet him at my house to take possession.

During my time in New York, Anonymous Kevin sent several emails updating me on all the work he was doing on the camper.  “Repaired broken taillight.” his text read.  “Saw that camper came with trailer brakes so hooked those up for you,”  was the next.  And finally, “Hooked up the electrical so the camper battery will recharge while you’re driving down the road.”

This last one came in while I was at dinner with some friends.  Although Anonymous Kevin had offered to deliver the camper to me for free because of all the problems, these friends became his champions and begged me to pay him.  “Look how sweet he is,” Kelly said.  Followed by my friend Hunter asking,”I wonder if he’s single?”

All the way home from the airport I anxiously awaited seeing my tiny little retro camper that I remembered looked like this.

Only, when I drove in the driveway it looked like this.

Somewhere in the month that it had been gone, it changed colors and grew about 30 feet!  I closed my eyes until I made into the garage and then pulled the curtains so I wouldn’t have to look at it.  What was I thinking?  I can’t handle that!

The next morning I opened the curtains and I swear, the whale had grown another 20 feet.  I closed the curtains and avoided the front of the house entirely.  In the early evening, I stepped out to the get the mail and noticed that although the monster loomed large, it seemed a little less intimdating.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.  I retrieved the keys and walked over to take a look inside the whale.

Remember, how I bought the thing in less than 20 minutes?  Turns out deciding that catching my return flight home was more important than say, looking it over, was not such a brilliant choice.  If I’d taken my time, maybe I would have seen that the top of the door curved in a perfect way to catch rain as it was going down the road.  Or maybe I would have discovered that the sink not only wasn’t plumbed, but wasn’t even attached to the counter.  Or I could have taken a moment to realize that the lights in the bedroom area had their on/off switches broken off and were hanging by their original threadbare wires.  Or better still, I could have looked underneath the whale to discover the two giant holes, allowing access for any size critter to join me on my camping trip.

Sunday, I pulled on my Grown Ass Woman suit and drove it to the repair shop where I walked away with a four page punch list.

This whole adventure reminds me of what happens when, during a mid-life crisis, a husband leaves his wife for a sweet young thing.  The new girl seems so sparkly and energetic, but after a while you see that she’s more worn out than you realized and she takes a lot of money to maintain.