I’ve only been camping twice in my life. The first time was in Seattle. Unfortunately, due to a clean air act we weren’t allowed to have a campfire. Bogus. Instead we were lulled to sleep by the burning coals in our midget grill and the digital fires we downloaded on our phones.
Last weekend we decided it was time for camping part deux. We drove up to Wisconsin thinking we were completely prepared, but we weren’t. We had already run into trouble only minutes after arriving. Firewood was $5 a bag and we wanted two. The place was cash-only and I only had $9. After digging through the car for change we were still 20 cents short. We still walked away with two bags (thanks firewood lady!) but what we didn’t realize was that both bags were wet.
Unlike camping 1.0, we had much more space to play with in Wisconsin. We were spread out and didn’t cramp our neighbors’ style, but close enough that if a murderer came out of the woods someone would hear our screams. I’m always worried that there’s a murderer lurking nearby (thanks Criminal Minds). So when we had to scavenge through the forest for more firewood, I was 100 percent sure that every horror movie villan in the history of murder was going to pop out and attack. It also didn’t help that Dan was making the creepy noise from Friday the 13th. Had I known where the keys were I would have bolted and locked myself in the car.
Instead I suggested that we just steal wood from our lumberjack neighbor (he had a pyramid of fire wood from a tree he cut down himself). I didn’t feel bad at all suggesting this because he’s smug and obviously hates the Earth. Plus, he and his lady friend went to bed at the elderly hour of 9:30pm. The early bird might get the worm, but the night owl gets s’mores.
If you don’t know Dan, he’s pretty much the nicest, most honest guy you’ll ever meet. However, he’s got a serious complex about stealing. He once stole some money from his brother and felt so horrible that he paid him back. With interest. It was $10 y’all. (Yep, still trying on this “y’all” thing.). I drunkenly (wo)manned up and super stealth-like tip-toed into the neighbor’s lot. Considering I was drunk, I was pretty proud of myself and declared that I would become a full-time thief if this freelance thing didn’t work out — I’m pretty sure this gave him serious reservations about dating me.
Sadly, two pieces didn’t last a very long time. I offered to go back and get more wood, but Dan couldn’t bear the thought of me stealing for him again and offered to do it himself. Let me remind you that it’s dark and we didn’t want to use flashlights as not to alert our neighbors to our mischievous ways. So Dan’s off sneak-sneaking and it’s quiet. Super quiet. So quiet that at one point I think he might just be standing still, completely guilt-stricken, over the pile of wood. But then I hear wood falling, followed by “crap,” and hurried footsteps.
Worst. Thief. Ever.
We decided to give up our life of thievery after that.
Pre-thieving baked potatoes