By Jan Chaffin

• Disclaimer: The views expressed are mine alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of my employers.

Chapter Eleven – Botched It

A couple of weeks go by and Saturday opening shifts, while not easy, are manageable. A sudden soar in temperatures seems to launch summer into full swing. Traffic is snarled throughout town, folks are walking around in flip-flops and tank tops, in that graceless, tacky who gives a crap vacation state. Invited cars are lining neighborhood streets for summer night cookouts and deck parties. Lots of people are everywhere.

The campground is always full now except for cancellations. In some ways, that makes it easier because I can quickly say, sorry we’re all full to any queries.

Today is one week before the big FOURH OF JULY WEEKEND. Memos have been sent to prepare for early and long shifts. Indeed, I am scheduled to start an hour earlier (at 7am- gasp) on Saturday July 1 and work an hour longer, alone, facing 56 incoming campers plus bunches of extra visiting vehicles because apparently no one likes to camp alone. And let’s not overlook the hundreds of lost souls sent to the wrong park entrance by Google despite our numerous, unheard requests to fix the coordinates. They clog the line of waiting cars and require me to walk outside and hand each driver a little scrap of paper with preprinted directions while describing the turns to take.

Campers start approaching me before I even open the kiosk (before I even get from my car to the door). Somewhat rocking my confidence and flow, I try to accommodate their requests without unduly interrupting my task list. Feeling stressed and rushed, I remind myself to breathe and relax. Transferring yesterday’s camper information to today’s report, I notice two cancellations and make a note of the relished open sites.

Meanwhile, a visiting Ranger from a neighboring State Park pulls up and introduces himself. He will be providing support next weekend because our own Rangers will be patrolling off-site. He asks to come in and observe our set-up just as I start getting busy. The phone is ringing, campers are lining up at both windows and cars are backing up. Sure, come right in!

Checking in campers is really no big deal. It’s the “problems” that create snags and slow things down. Invariably, one or two campers walk up in the morning with site issues – noise, psychotic site-mates, or, in this case, bad mojo. I explain we don’t have any other sites. She is a single woman and needs to feel secure and calm, she slowly, hypnotically explains. She asks can someone else be moved and we answer in the negative. So, the chivalrous Ranger rescues the damsel in distress from the site she booked herself but now doesn’t like because of the bad vibes surrounding it. He offers her one of our special reserve sites and even comps her an extra night. I return to the quagmire of which sites have opened up and who gets what when.

Opportune campers grab one of the open sites. The camp host returns with a site update which I scan. It looks like we have one site. A car pulls up and asks “Any sites tonight”? And I answer, yes, we have one – it’s your lucky day. Sometimes you want certain prospects to get the sites they keep calling or walking up to ask about but luck usually determines the outcome. We can’t stack the deck or play favorites. So, because they showed up at the right moment, these young men got the site I was hoping the nice family in 76 would get.

Or did they? They return shortly saying someone is in their site. It’s two hours before noon checkout. That must be it. I recheck the board, the list, the site map… Yes, that must be it. No worries, they say. They’ll come back in a couple hours. Although irregular to sell a site before the campers check out, I don’t see any real problem.

Until the campers in that site walk up at 11:40am and want to renew for tonight, saying they were told they have first refusal. It’s gone I say. What sad looks they have. Yep, it’s gone. They walk away crestfallen. I barely feel remorse. Until I rethink what just happened. Good grief, I just sold their site right out from under them. Why did I think any part of that was OK?! I call the Senior Aide and explain I messed up asking if she would approve putting the young men in another reserve spot for the night instead. She approves. The camp host reappears and I tell him of my mistake. He runs to catch the packing campers and offer them another night. He returns shortly shaking his head; they are not pleased and decline his offer. Damn; I’ve really screwed up.

The Senior Aide later explains I should have refunded the new campers as soon as I discovered their site was occupied. Not to mention, I should never sell an occupied spot. Ever. The looks on the banished campers’ faces stay with me. I wish I could apologize but it’s too late. I vow never to repeat this mistake while bracing for JULY FOURTH WEEKEND!

http://gravesitestories.com/my-state-park-summer-pt-6/

 

 

by Jan Chaffin

• Disclaimer: The views expressed are mine alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of my employers.

Chapter Nine – Week Three

I was catching on. In fact, I had day-use down. Opening, closing, solo… whatever. My last week of day-use assignments included a spending spree in the gift shop and a brave (foolish?) jump in the San Lorenzo River. On a warm after-work run, I returned to my now-private swim hole and couldn’t resist a dunk. In, out. Fun!

When I told the Senior Aide, he shook his head. No way would he get in that nasty river.

Temptations were removed when my June shifts switched to the campsite kiosk on Graham Hill Road. Both the river and the gift shop were across a canyon and miles away. Instead, I ran to the Observation Deck frequently.

“34 campers are due in” chuckled my training partner. My first solo opening shift at the campground would be epic. All week I panicked, dreading the challenge. I made sure to get to bed early but sleep eluded me. Finally, I decided to just get an early start and arrived at 7:10am for my 8am start. Clutching my opening shift instructions, I moved through each task from counting the cash to printing the incoming camper slips to updating the license forms to hanging the flags and setting out firewood. I was ready to open by 8:45.

Then the onslaught arrived like an avalanche. Campers approached from all sides wanting to add cars, swap sites, book walkups, get wood, buy day passes, get directions to the Garden of Eden and try to check in early. The phone rang non-stop but I seldom had a chance to answer it.

By 12, there was no sign of a let-up. In fact, more and more cars were lining up. I had to keep the road open and was constantly interrupting transactions to ask cars to pull over or redirect them to the correct location; Google somehow reversed day use and camping directions, creating lots of unnecessary traffic at both entrances.

A Senior Service Aide showed up to assist and started controlling the flow and giving me instructions. I bristled at the added element of anxiety she brought despite needing help. Around 2:30, I hit a wall. Without warning, I suddenly couldn’t complete a thought or remember how to fill in a camp slip.

That’s when the Ranger Phone rang. Rule number one: answer the Ranger Phone when it rings. “Excuse me, I have to get this” I tell an impatient would-be camper waiting in line to check in. I can barely hear the voice on the other end over the Aide’s radio squawking non-stop static at full volume. I think he was asking if there were any issues with campers checking out. I told him none that I knew of. I think he then repeated the question “Are you sure?” And I said I thought so. Then, for whatever reason, I felt so besieged that I told him “I have to go. Good bye.”

And I hung up the phone. On the Ranger. “Who was that?” asked the Senior Aide. I told her. Suddenly, her voice sounded like the taste of gun metal. She said “Oh, that’s no way to talk to a ranger. I needed to talk to him; there’s an issue with checkout.” She hadn’t told me there were any issues. I didn’t know she needed to talk to him. And yes, it was a stupid way to treat a Ranger. She took me outside during a rare lull and explained I would be talked to by the Ranger.

Indeed, the Ranger took me aside and explained he would have to tell my boss. He was concerned if I handled his call like that how would I handle a customer’s call when stressed. (I knew I wouldn’t even answer a customer’s call unless I was able to talk…. But still…)

By that time, the closing shift crew had come on and knew something wasn’t right. I managed to pull myself together and perform the cash-closing procedures for my shift. I had gone from thinking I was coping well to wondering if I was going to be fired. And worse, if I actually should be fired… Did I have a major personality disorder? Was it low blood sugar from lack of food? Lack of respect for authority? Much soul-searching ensued. I wrote my boss as soon as I got home and explained I did a dumb thing and apologized, promising it would never happen again. Then I waited for the consequences, dreading my next solo shift more than ever, wondering if I wanted to spend my summer this stressed.

Chapter Ten – Week Four

A week passes. No word from my boss. Saturday rolls around again. I decide to slow down and joke with the waiting campers that it’s just me and I’m doing the best I can, hoping to gain their sympathy. Thankfully, the morning is busy but not overwhelmingly so. The Senior Aide assists me again for a few hours and we actually joke around like buddies. I find it easier to work with her this time. I start making mistakes around hour six, but I catch some of them and slow down even more. I also make sure I have plenty to eat and drink. The Senior Aide is pleased with my progress. Whew! Who knows what next week will bring, but a month into my State Park Summer, I think I just might make it.

http://gravesitestories.com/my-state-park-summer-pt-5/