Que Sera Sera My Ass

You Sir are a ...

I'm tempted to use Al Swearengen's favorite word, but for politeness sake I'll refrain. I wouldn't want to offend the gentle reader with a word that rhymes with socktucker.





Sometimes life kicks you in the family jewels. With me, it has pretty good aim. Case in point...





I have been searching high and low for a cheap camper in good shape to take to Texas Motor Speedway for NASCAR. I'm tired of mooching off others kindness. Trust me, I pay my way. But sometimes you need your own space to get away from the crowd. A private bathroom is worth it's weight in gold. Hence my search.





Sunday I finally struck gold. I found a '79 Class C RV in good condition on Craigslist. Everything worked and it was $1800. BINGO! I called the owner on Sunday and set up an appointment to look at it after he got off work Monday. I called him again before I left and confirmed it was still for sale and told him I was on my way. I told him I planned on driving it home if it was as advertised. He said it was still for sale and I was the only one that had asked about it.





The RV was 100 miles away (according to Google Maps) near Greenville. I knew it would take a while and gave him a guestimated time of arrival of around 7pm. I told him I had to stop and pick up Brotherinlaw to drive my truck back. This was at 5pm.





I hit the road running.





It's been a while since I was east of Denton on 380. Did you know they have installed 9000 traffic lights out there? All things considered, I thought I made pretty good time. Having a pair of Corvettes playing ahead of me helped. Who's a cop gonna stop? A pair of racing Vettes or a Dodge pickup trailing them?





I finally clear Farmersville and I'm getting close. Google maps lied to me. It was not 100 miles away, it was over 120. I hadn't figured that extra distance into my ETA and I was already a bit late because of the enhanced traffic control devices the state so conveniently installed. I pulled into the owners driveway at 7:40.





I was pleased with the look of the RV as I pulled in. It looked like everything was as advertised. A few minor blemishes, but overall in good shape. I stepped out of the truck and the owner walked up. I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. My greeting was returned with "I already sold it".





[Insert long awkward pause here]





You're kidding me, right?





No, he is not kidding. He sold the RV to his neighbor 10 minutes before I arrived. He said he thought I blew him off and he tried to call me but couldn't get a good signal. I checked my phone and had 5 bars. He said he had a bumper pull camper for sale for the same price. I told him no thanks. At this point, I wouldn't give him a nickle for a glass of water if I was dying of thirst.





Seriously, I Shanghai my Brotherinlaw, drive 120+ miles one way and this is what I get?





Being a former sailor, truck driver and construction worker I have a vast colorful vocabulary to call upon and normally I'm pretty talented at using it. Today, I was at a loss for words. What could I do? The RV is sold. Throwing a cussing fit will not change this. My desire to punch this socktucker in the face will only bring me grief in the long run and still no RV. Doing a gravel slinging donut in his driveway won't change anything either. Besides, I'm trying to act like an adult.





I've been delt more than my share of disappointment in my life and I know how to deal with it. That doesn't mean I have to like it.





If there's a bright side to this story, and trust me I'm grasping at straws to find one, it's the fact I saved a buttload of money on gas it would take to drive the behemoth home.





Now, pass me the Xanex and a bottle of bourbon...