Tonight, I drove about 135 kilometers to go to Cardy’s stag out at Maple Grove campground, past Youbou. I only heard about the stag a few days ago from Bill, and I was already working most of this weekend, so I wasn’t really pumped on going but figured I should since I can’t make it to Cardy’s wedding. Plus I thought it would be fun for Bill and I to head there together.
Bill wound up being busy with his daughter’s second birthday party though so he couldn’t go in the end. I thought about bailing too but my sense of guilt propelled me — I figured if Cardy came all the way here from Edmonton, the least I could do was drive for an hour or two to see him. So I hopped in the car, picked up some snacks for everyone, and headed to Maple Grove.
Unfortunately, when I finally got there I never found our group. I drove around that fucking campground for half an hour looking for familiar faces, familiar vehicles, party decorations, signs that said “Cardy’s stag” or “Cardy’s last night of freedom” or whatever, but there was nothing. All I saw were giant trucks and the tubby white loser redneck twats that drive them. Most of the pricks stared at me with a mix of distrust and disdain as I drove by, searching for my friends. Indeed, the only people that smiled at me were the ruddy-faced, bleary-eyed, tubby white loser rednecks that were sufficiently drunk enough by 8:30 pm that they didn’t feel the need to stare down strangers, and the kids riding their bikes around the place. Even the old men playing some stupid bolo tossing game on the road refused to crack a smile at me as I waved to thank them for moving their shitty drunkard’s game and letting me pass. They just stared at me, their filthy shirts carelessly half tucked in and half untucked, supremely annoyed I had dared to interrupt them.
There was one middle-aged lady sitting by herself on a log by the campground road with a drink in her hand. She was doing something on her phone, but god knows what since there was no reception in this godforsaken place. She was there each time I drove by, and never looked up from her phone. I wonder what the hell she was doing. The first and most likely explanation I thought of was that she was annoyed with whoever she was there with and was taking a time out. I thought that was really depressing.
I remembered that the site # of the stag was 56 or so but that information was useless to me because of the approximately 100 campsites at the place, only about a half dozen of them had signposts with their # on them. There was no campground map with a layout of the place, showing which sites were where. There was only one road sign that said “sites 62-86 this way,” and it pointed in the direction of two different roads so it wasn’t clear exactly where even those sites were. What a terrible fucking campground.
I’ve bitched here in the past about camping, how going to popular campgrounds on weekends is a terrible idea because you’re just going there the same time as every other putz from the city so you’re not “getting away from it all” at all — you and the other putz’s are just moving your miserable suburban life to a campground together to do it there for a few days. Here’s that post in case anyone feels like revisiting that particular diatribe. Anyway, to make that situation even worse tonight is the fact that this is the Canada Day long weekend — I can’t think of a bigger “proud to be Canadian” douchebag magnet than a campground like Maple Grove on this particular weekend. If you ever wanted to hang out with tubby, drunk, sunburned people who love buying crap at Canadian Tire that they throw out after the second use and drive absurdly large trucks for no reason at all, Maple Grove would have been heaven for you.
For me, it was a fucking nightmare. I was so pissed and annoyed that I didn’t even feel very guilty eating half a bag of Two-Bite Brownies and drinking a Dad’s Root Beer on the drive home to console myself. I had hoped I’d have time when I got home to do something fun and make the most of the remainder of tonight but no chance, Lance. Now that I’ve recorded this shitty night for all posterity, it’s 11 pm and I’m beat. Maybe I should have spent more time playing my new bass and less time focusing on things I hate. Yeah right. Never.