Mango Bob Read Online Free Page A
Author: Bill Myers
the restroom can work in your favor.
Before pulling into my chosen site, I get out with my flashlight to make sure the site is unoccupied and doesn't have any problems.
It looks okay.
Parking the truck on the paved pad, I leave the headlights on so I can see to pitch the tent. The tent I've chosen is one of those shock-corded affairs, the kind where all you have to do is lay the tent flat on the ground, and pull up from the center.
I lay it out, pull it up, and the tent locks into place, creating an instant shelter. For added stability, I stake the corners to the ground. Then unzip the door and walk in.
Not bad. Plenty of room. A roof over my head.
The fluorescent lantern from Walmart goes in the center of the tent, giving me enough light to start sorting out the rest of the gear.
The inflatable bed goes on one side, the ice chest with the food on the other. Keeping the food and bed separate is a must when camping in the woods. You never know what kind of visitors the food might attract.
When all my gear is stowed, I sit down on the bed and take a look around. Home sweet home.
Not exactly what I planned when I started the day. But could have been a lot worse.
I keep reminding myself what Bobby said, “You're getting off easy. And living in a tent will be like a vacation.”
8
The first two days of tent camping are pretty nice. Not many people in the campground so I have the place pretty much to myself.
Just me and the snowbirds in their big RVs stopping overnight on their annual trek to the warmer climes of the south.
Of course, it isn't really like a vacation for me. I still have to get up each morning and go in to work. And getting ready for work while living in a tent is a little more difficult than when living in a real house.
My morning routine is as follows. Get up at sunrise. Put on sweats and running shoes. Run the trails, try to cover at least five miles. Return from run, find the least wrinkled shirt and pants, grab my shaving gear, and make a trip to the park restrooms.
The park restrooms are unheated block buildings with primitive facilities. Pretty much what you expect in any government operated park. The good news is the showers have warm water, the toilets flush, and there is a mirror to shave by.
Compared to camping in Afghanistan, this is paradise. No one shooting at me, no scorpions, no blowing sand, no 110 degree temps.
At twelve dollars a night, camping here isn't bad. In fact, it's quieter and cleaner than some high priced hotels I've stayed in. But no cable TV and no maid service.
The park ranger does keep an eye on things during the day, and other than the occasional raccoon, no one has bothered my tent. So far.
Still, it isn't a vacation. I do have to go to my job each day. Speaking of the job . . .
My degree in computer science from the state university was supposed to open doors and be a path to a high paying career in the 'exciting field of computer management.' And for a few years, it was.
But these days, even eleven-year-old kids can write code and set up computer networks. So being a computer expert isn't much of a specialty anymore.
In the corporate world, the IT manager has become a baby-sitter to all things computer related. Anything goes wrong with any computer and you're responsible.
You have little input on the reckless decisions of upper management. And those decisions cause many of the problems you have to fight and fix every day.
If you're a regular reader of Dilbert, you know what corporate life is really like. But I'm not complaining. At least I have (or had) an office job.
Most of the six hundred other people who work at the plant were out on the factory floor. And while I was free to roam most of the day, those on the plant floor were often handcuffed to their stations.
Yeah, I know. It sounds bad. But to prevent injury, machine operators working
Before pulling into my chosen site, I get out with my flashlight to make sure the site is unoccupied and doesn't have any problems.
It looks okay.
Parking the truck on the paved pad, I leave the headlights on so I can see to pitch the tent. The tent I've chosen is one of those shock-corded affairs, the kind where all you have to do is lay the tent flat on the ground, and pull up from the center.
I lay it out, pull it up, and the tent locks into place, creating an instant shelter. For added stability, I stake the corners to the ground. Then unzip the door and walk in.
Not bad. Plenty of room. A roof over my head.
The fluorescent lantern from Walmart goes in the center of the tent, giving me enough light to start sorting out the rest of the gear.
The inflatable bed goes on one side, the ice chest with the food on the other. Keeping the food and bed separate is a must when camping in the woods. You never know what kind of visitors the food might attract.
When all my gear is stowed, I sit down on the bed and take a look around. Home sweet home.
Not exactly what I planned when I started the day. But could have been a lot worse.
I keep reminding myself what Bobby said, “You're getting off easy. And living in a tent will be like a vacation.”
8
The first two days of tent camping are pretty nice. Not many people in the campground so I have the place pretty much to myself.
Just me and the snowbirds in their big RVs stopping overnight on their annual trek to the warmer climes of the south.
Of course, it isn't really like a vacation for me. I still have to get up each morning and go in to work. And getting ready for work while living in a tent is a little more difficult than when living in a real house.
My morning routine is as follows. Get up at sunrise. Put on sweats and running shoes. Run the trails, try to cover at least five miles. Return from run, find the least wrinkled shirt and pants, grab my shaving gear, and make a trip to the park restrooms.
The park restrooms are unheated block buildings with primitive facilities. Pretty much what you expect in any government operated park. The good news is the showers have warm water, the toilets flush, and there is a mirror to shave by.
Compared to camping in Afghanistan, this is paradise. No one shooting at me, no scorpions, no blowing sand, no 110 degree temps.
At twelve dollars a night, camping here isn't bad. In fact, it's quieter and cleaner than some high priced hotels I've stayed in. But no cable TV and no maid service.
The park ranger does keep an eye on things during the day, and other than the occasional raccoon, no one has bothered my tent. So far.
Still, it isn't a vacation. I do have to go to my job each day. Speaking of the job . . .
My degree in computer science from the state university was supposed to open doors and be a path to a high paying career in the 'exciting field of computer management.' And for a few years, it was.
But these days, even eleven-year-old kids can write code and set up computer networks. So being a computer expert isn't much of a specialty anymore.
In the corporate world, the IT manager has become a baby-sitter to all things computer related. Anything goes wrong with any computer and you're responsible.
You have little input on the reckless decisions of upper management. And those decisions cause many of the problems you have to fight and fix every day.
If you're a regular reader of Dilbert, you know what corporate life is really like. But I'm not complaining. At least I have (or had) an office job.
Most of the six hundred other people who work at the plant were out on the factory floor. And while I was free to roam most of the day, those on the plant floor were often handcuffed to their stations.
Yeah, I know. It sounds bad. But to prevent injury, machine operators working
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