Alternate Reality, Part I

In the USA, the first Monday in September is Labor Day, the last chance of the summer to get out and away from home, to hit the road for a new experience, to seek an alternate version of reality from the dreary, stressful hours and days of work.

Labor Day began over 100 years ago as a tribute to the American Labor Movement. This fact is often unknown and at any rate unhonored among the millions of capitalist pawns who hit the highways every September. For many, by the end of the weekend, it surely seems a creation of the Devil himself.

It starts by Mom dropping Dad off at the storage lot, cranking up the motor home and taking it to the gas station for a hundred gallons of the Jurassic’s finest. Then it’s back home to hook the Prius to the towbar. The family loads up and off they go down Eisenhower’s best gift to the nation, the Interstate Highway System. It's off to experience the relaxing freedom and glory of one of our National Parks, a few days of relaxation and indulgence under the bright sun and blue sky, breathing the fresh, clean air.

The bliss soon experiences a minor setback when the kids find that the wifi doesn’t work and they can’t play their games on the DS. But then they switch to 3G and order is restored. While Mom and Dad sit up front, talking about the things to do at the National Park, the kids have their heads and minds buried in their devices.

As they approach the backcountry park, the road narrows and they see more and more copies of themselves. It becomes a virtual conga line of bouncing RVs slowly traversing the curves and bounding over the dips in the pavement.

Finally, after a long and tiring day (Wasn’t this what we were escaping from?), they see the rustic entrance sign to the park. After another interminable interval (SPEED LIMIT 15), they arrive at the campground sign and below it see the dreaded message “CAMPGROUND FULL”. The idea that they are self-sufficient, at least for one night, draws some comfort, and they drive on looking for a place to pull over. Each place they see hopefully from a distance turns out, as they approach, to bear a “No Camping” sign, which, for those who can’t read English, has an iconic shaped teepee with a bold red slash through it. They pass multiple others in their expensive home-away-from-homes, each driving around looking for a place to land like the lakeside gnats flying aimlessly.

It’s getting dark and if they head for the nearest town, they can get there before bedtime. When they arrive, the motels are playing the same old “No Vacancy” song. All the restaurants are closed. The kids cycle through the stages of whining, screaming, and fighting. The adults are beginning to see some perverse merit to this strategy. Two thousand dollars a month loan payment on the RV, five hundred dollars for gas, tired bones and frayed nerves, and all for this?

Alternate reality sets in. The old reality starts to look way better.