This following article is presented for entertainment purposes. It is not intended as scholarly research or a final authority on the subject.
Last week, I talked about how I became homeless in the weirdest possible way and ended up living in a 19 foot RV in an RV park.
(Homeless is probably not really the right word, as it usually means someone who is living on the street. What I mean is I am home-less. We have no home of our own right now. We are at the mercy of whoever will have us.)
Now I’m out of the RV and the RV Park and on the next leg of my journey, and I thought I’d share a few highlights from the unique experience of living “tiny” in an RV park.
Living “tiny” was an experience in itself. If you want to get an idea of what the inside of a 19-foot RV looks like, fire up your favorite internet search engine and get to looking. The one we lived in was a 2011 Skyline Joey 193. Go on and check them out. I’ll be here when you get back.
For lack of anywhere else to go, my poor little dog took over the laundry basket (which sat on one of the benches of the “booth” style table because there was nowhere else to put it).
Everything I did had to be simplified. Stuff like making the bed and sweeping the floor became complex hokey-pokeys where I squeezed through spaces meant for someone significantly smaller—or more graceful—than I am.
There was no room to let laundry accumulate. I had to do laundry every other day.
The way I did laundry changed. I no longer sorted lights and darks. Nor did I wash towels and sheets in separate loads.
At $1.50 per load to wash and $1.25 per load to dry, I crammed as much as I could into each load. This took me into close proximity of the RV Park’s public restroom.
The public restroom was one of the most interesting and mysterious places in the park.
The interesting part was the states of undress in which people visited it. By far, my favorite visitor was the guy who walked across the park with his pants half down–bright red underwear fully visible–and went inside the restroom.
The mysterious part was that I never once saw the inside of the restroom during my 45 days in the RV park. I–and most of the other full-time residents–did not have access to the public restrooms. The fee to use them was $30 per month.
The overnight guests must have had it included in their stay because traffic in and out of the restrooms increased on the weekends when we had the most short-term guests. One elderly couple came in their pajamas–which was a shorty robe with nothing underneath for her ladyship and nothing but a pair of pants for his lordship.
All this might sound negative, but I really enjoyed the experience. My neighbors were great.
Approximately 95% of the RV park’s residents lived there full time. Age demographics broke down like this:
- 80% of the full-time residents were senior citizens.
- The remaining 20% of the residents varied in age, most appearing to be in their mid 30s to mid 40s.
- The one person under 18-years-of-age in the park was a young woman who was about to graduate high school and had plans to join the military.
Despite the close quarters, it was a very, very quiet place to live. I heard music blasting exactly two times. Because no small children lived there, there we no kids screaming and roaming and needing to be entertained. My fellow RVers were the best neighbors I could have hoped for. They smiled and waved, but they stayed to themselves. Heaven after my experience in my former residence.
Plus, as you’ve probably noticed in the pictures I’ve posted, the place was absolutely gorgeous. The grounds where people lived were kept manicured and free of garbage. Everybody picked up his or her dog’s poop and disposed of it properly.
Behind the park were 20 acres of mowed trails for the residents to explore. It was like another world back there.
The best part about the RV park was I started writing again there. I wrote two Peri Jean Mace short stories in the month and a half we lived there. I’m having ideas again, and I feel like writing them down. The future has words in it.
Hope y’all had a great week, too.