Sometime around four p.m.
Monday, March 7, 2018
After much exasperation, consternation, and other “ation” emotions that we dealt with during the previous week, the big day we waited for was finally coming to pass. When the moment arrived, it was bittersweet. For although we were excited about blazing a new frontier in a new motorhome, we would be trading in the cramped but cozy fifth-wheel we cut our RV “teeth” on.
We would also miss our friends at RV Park USA in Comfort, Texas. Friends who knew we were leaving crowded around at our slot to see if they could help. After handshakes, hugs, and promises to “see-you-later”, we hitched up our Wildcat to our truck and headed down to the Evergreen RV dealership in New Braunfels, Texas. During the past ten months, Jeff and I and even Russet, had become so comfortable in Comfort.
But despite the friendship, the weekly Bingo games, occasional bonfires, and monthly luncheons with our tribe, it was time to move on to the workamping job awaiting us in Georgia.
As we pulled through the gate of the Evergreen RV dealership, almost an hour later, I was relieved to see our 1999 Newmar Dutch Star waiting for us at the front of the building. When the buyer of our pickup ran into a six-day delay that caused our own plans to veer south, I worried that someone else would strut in and slap down a check for the full amount to buy “her” outright, even though the unit had sat on the lot for five months. Finding our Class A cleaned and air-conditioned for our arrival reassured us that “she” was, indeed, ours. After we parked and went inside, the sales manager got someone to pull the fifth-wheel alongside the motorhome so that we could start moving our stuff from our old home to our new one.
At least, I thought that was the plan.
As it turned out, Jeff and I learned that we could not move our stuff in until we paid for it. Knowing there was nothing more we could do until we met the buyer at his bank, the next day, we spent the night in a New Braunfels motel.
The next morning, after a quick breakfast at McDonalds, we drove to San Antonio to meet the buyer, Paul, at his bank. The check, he assured us, had already been cut, so all we needed to do was sign our names in the presence of the loan officer and take the check to our bank. We were giddy with excitement about driving away in our new-to-us Dutch Star before the end of the day.
Although we had expected to call Uber or rent a car back to Evergreen, we were in luck when Paul rode back to Bank of America with us. We were about to march in, deposit the check, and get a cashier’s check to pay for the motorhome when Jeff went pale.
”What’s the matter, hon?” I asked, as I saw him rifle through the pages of the notebook where he had stashed the check.
”I can’t find it. It was right here, but now —.”
After we had, like, a gazillion heart attacks each, Paul whipped out his cell phone and called the bank to see what could be done.
Fully expecting to receive bad news, we were relieved to see his face light up as he ended the call.
“They found it. And you’ll never guess where it was, or who turned it in. The Good Samaritan was none other than our loan officer.”
After back-tracking to the San Antonio bank and recovering the check, we hurried back to Schertz to the same Bank of America to deposit the check.
“When will the funds be available?” Jeff asked.
“In twenty-four hours,” said the teller. “You can pull out the money, tomorrow.”
Disappointed at having to wait and worried that we might have to stay another night in a motel, we held our collective breath when Ron asked Jeff to step into his office.
Uh-oh, I thought. This happens only when someone’s about to get bad news.
But when I saw Ron and Jeff come out grinning and shaking each others’ hands, I exhaled. So did Paul, who was good enough to stick around, in case we needed a ride to a motel.
“Hey, babe,” Jeff said, draping an arm around my shoulders, “We can start moving in our stuff!”
“And we can sleep in our motorhome, too?” I asked.
“Yep. So, c’mon, let’s get started.”
Seeing that we were set for the night, Paul shook our hands, thanked us for selling him the truck, and wished us a safe trip.
There we were, locked inside the lot until morning, but fully equipped with food, water, and bathroom access. After moving drawers of assorted stuff from the fifth-wheel to the motorhome until we were hot, sweaty, sore, and cranky, we decided to knock off for the night, eat a bite, and sleep one more night in the Wildcat since its bed wasn’t stacked up with clothing and drawers yet to be unpacked.
Before we dozed off, that night, Jeff and I looked into each other’s weary eyes.
“Remind me, again, I asked him. “Why are we leaving the comfort of Comfort?”