There I sat at the table in my store, surrounded by my coffee friends celebrating the end of the long weekend, Cujo in my lap, all happy to be among the ladies that camper DJ refers to as The View.
We sat there sipping coffee and watching RV's leave the park, some one by one and some in groups. There was a lull in the traffic and I watched as a blue van approached from the direction of the state park. I idly think to myself that it looks an awful lot like ........ it turns in the drive, driving too fast, and blows past my dual stop signs ( a driver informed me that I had the STOP sign on the wrong side, so I put one on each side). After that he pauses midway between the drive and my store and then speeds up and comes flying up to the store.
I am brave, my fellow campers have my back and I have a dog named Cujo in my arms. I jump up and run out the door and approach Creepy Man while he is still trapped in his van. I have no intention of letting him get out of his vehicle. Pointing my finger at him I shout, "You ran my STOP sign and you are driving too fast in my park! You need to leave!!"
Today he has a head dress on. Looks like one of those woven "Indian Blankets" you would see at convenience stores close to the interstate. I have no idea what image he was trying to convey. I feel sure he should have had no confusion about what I had just said to him ...... but, he said, "I just wanted to see if anyone was here." I encouraged him to leave again and went inside and called He Who was tending to a sewer situation.
He Who came immediately to the front of the park and gave chase to Creepy Man. Wasn't hard to catch up with him since his right rear tire was going flat. Not that I noticed the tire, but camper Barb did. When He Who caught up with him at the nearest gas station and asked him why he had returned to our park, Creepy Man replied that he needed a tire and thought we might have one ....... since we are the only people he knows ........
We haven't exactly been friendly, so, why he would think we would provide him with a tire is still a mystery. The Creepy Man has California plates on his ride. I closed and locked the door as soon as dark approached, didn't want any lights beckoning to him should he drive by.
Now that I think about it, most of the creepies I have encountered here have been from California.