 | |
| They won't be smiling when they catch up with this scofflaw... |
My first foray into the world of vice (at least on this trip) was when we crossed the border from Oregon into California. JZ and I were thoroughly engrossed in what I'm sure was a riveting conversation as we approached what I assumed to be a toll plaza. As we pulled up to the booth, I had a fiver stuck between my fingers to give to the attendant. She waved my money away and asked if I was transporting any produce. I must have been taken aback by the question because she repeated, "Any fruits or vegetables in your vehicle today?" Having never been asked such a thing, I dazedly shook my head "no," and she gestured me through, muttering, "enjoyyerstayincalifornia."
It was only about a half-hour later, when we stopped for a light roadside brunch that I realized our transgression.
Myself: "Hey JZ, there's a banana in the cooler!"
JZ: "So?"
Myself: "Didn't they ask us if we had any fruits or veggies when we crossed the border?"
JZ: "Oh yeah, I think so..."
Suffice it say, I immediately glanced around furtively, waiting for the Fruit Patrol to swing in on zip lines, knock us to the ground, and quarantine our smuggled banana (gosh, that sounds gay!). Fortunately, no tactical teams were deployed, and the banana was enjoyed fully. I can only assume the banana's brief existence within the California borders did no lasting agricultural damage...
 | ||
| 24 hours after our entering California with a foreign banana... |
Our other brush with the seamy criminal underbelly occurred a few nights later. We were weary from our adventures in San Francisco, and arrived quite late at a desolate campground in the middle of nowhere. Oddly, there was not another soul present anywhere. Every other campground we've been to has had at least one sorry-looking tent or banged-up RV parked in a slot. Regardless, we followed the usual process of checking out the information board, taking a self-pay envelope, and noting the price. Most campgrounds across the country charge between $15-$20 a night for a tent. California, however, ups the ante considerably by asking $35. $35 a night for campgrounds that often don't even have a shower! The miser in me cringes at such an outrage.
 |
| ...I ain't. |
Once we had selected a site, we filled out the self-pay envelope, and returned to the info board to pay our dues. The envelope was rather bloated, since the majority of our payment was tendered in singles (No, we didn't just come from a strip club, we were saving that trip for Vegas). Try as we might, we couldn't get that envelope to fit in the deposit slot. It just wasn't going to happen. So we decided to hold on to the envelope and give it to the ranger stationed there in the morning.
Rise and shine six hours later, and we're still the only ones there. No campground host, no friendly rangers, no maintenance men. We drove out, stopping at the info board once again. There didn't appear to be anywhere to safely stow our envelope. We looked at each other coyly. We'd honored the honor system of camping for well over three weeks, but this... I mean, California did overcharge ridiculously...and we were really only there for a few hours since we arrived so late...and it's not like we even used any water or anything... We looked around one more time to make sure no one was watching, jumped in the car, and sped away, fees unpaid.
 | |
| I don't want to go back there as anything other than a tourist! |
So you heard it here first! The shocking true confessions of a scofflaw and ruffian. I certainly won't be returning to California anytime soon without a fake mustache and glasses. I can only imagine what "Ten Most Wanted" lists I must be gracing.
Still laughing!! Be careful coming thru the south. They don't take kindly to thievin'
ReplyDeletefruit smugglin' yankees.. Be safe my son...miss ya ...xoxoxo