Okay, people, if you don't know how to drive, please don't buy something 40 feet long. Truck drivers need special licensing in order to haul their big rigs down the road, but anyone can walk into a dealership and leave with up to 45 feet of RV and take off down the road.
They come here. They back into my trees and grass, despite the fact that my parking lot equals half a football field. If that isn't bad enough, they will drive around the park like it is a speed track. They think the posted signs are for someone else, I guess.
Upon leaving they will pull their fifth wheels through one of my gardens, that particular garden has big rocks around it. Rock bigger than half barrels. Sometimes they will get out long enough to say some words about said rocks. Not my fault they forget they have a 30 foot trailer behind them and turn too sharp and too fast. Do they apologize for the mess they leave in their wake?
Every time I put the rocks back in place (this involves a hand truck) I move the garden in a little closer. I try to accommodate the next driver by making the driveway a foot or two larger. It is never enough, though.
There I was, weeding a little patch of garden, having put my Brunswick Stew on simmer as the bread in the oven cooks. I was in my happy place. It has rained all day and the ground is wet and is making sucking noises as I pull out the dandelions that plague me. A motor home pulled in and pulled almost up to the office at an odd angle, then started to back up.
I walked towards it to ask if I could be of assistance. The wife was driving and the husband in the passenger seat asked if we sold LP gas. We do and I showed them where the dispense station was located. She continued to back up and I watched in horror as she sped up and came really close to taking out my maple tree. This tree was nowhere near the dispense station. Thank goodness they did not stay, I can only imagine her trying to get into a site. It wasn't even a big motor home. Probably about 28 feet. Drivers.