CFN

Having towed the EDGE over 25,000 miles and having set it up 100 times - in every imaginable kind of campsite, I know the rig's turning and backing capabilities quite well indeed.  I also know where the hookup connections are located and the length of my water hose and electrical cord.  How could I not?

Many large RV parks come equipped with old farts in golf carts, whose mission it is to escort you to your campsite and to 'help' you get situated therein.  This so-called service is totally extraneous in my view.  Most old cart farts are content with just getting you there and letting you position your rig as you wish.  A few, however, feel it is their duty to dictate your positioning efforts down to the last inch.  I should note here that cart farts are not necessarily hired for their intelligence, social skills or good judgement.   Last night's cart fart was well qualified to be the poster child for worst of breed.  Enter the Cart Fart Nazi (CFN).

CFN escorted us to our site and dismounted from his faithful steed.  He told me where the EDGE hookup connections were located (wrong), the best position for the rig on the site (no way in hell) and how to get into that position (impossible).  I didn't say a word.  Trish, recognising that the excrement was soon going to hit the cooling device (being told what to do by someone unqualified for the position of village idiot doesn't sit well with me) immediately exited stage left and took off for the woods with Ranger in tow.

After viewing the site, I hopped back into the truck, pulled out of the campsite and did a 180 turn so I could back the rig into position.  CFN went nuts, stomping around, waving his arms and shouting, 'Where ya goin!?'  Again, I totally ignored his shouting, didn't say a word, backed the rig into the space.  I hopped out of the truck and thanked him for his help - with a straight face, no less.  He took off in his cart, muttering as he drove away, and taking a parting shot, 'You better keep that dog on a leash.'  Piss off, idiot.  You're the one that needs a leash, a very short one with a choke chain.

Trish returned once the coast was clear and promptly removed Ranger's leash.  After we got all set up, got cold drinks and sat down outside in our folding chairs, I said, 'Where ya goin!?'  We both cracked up.