Big Stupid Tommy: Scofflaw

Well, we went camping yesterday. Up to the Chilhowee site near Benton. But judging from the number of folks who had beaten us to the punch, I'm guessing that many of my tens of loyal readers had decided to camp, too.

We (the intrepid band of Steven, Jason, Julie and myself, along a group comprised of Steven's mom, his sister Diane and their friend Elizabeth, who had just come up for the day) found a spot at the Lake McKamy Overflow camping area. Basically, it's a big field where you can go set up tents.

But it's actually closer to the lake than the normal place we camp. So it's all good, I guess.

And we camp. As only we can. Mostly we fart, torment each other and stare absently into space.

Well, come nightfall, Diane, Ms. West and Elizabeth head for the house. The rest of us dine on wieners and potato salad and potato chips. Properly fed, we build a respectable campfire and break out the "beer."

And all the while, we watch a group settle in around us. I say that, as we'd taken the corner space of the overflow area, and they take up two spaces to the left to us and two of the three to our right. I later came to suspect this group was a reunion of friends who'd attended Duke University. Regardless of their education, I also believe these Blue Devils were a group related to the conspiracy to keep Big Stupid Tommy (and friends) from having a good time by being generally loud and obnoxious.

Actually, they weren't that bad. Mostly they just seemed like a lot of Type A personalities who don't know exactly how A.) to have a good time or B.) communicate without being loud and talking over the other person. We were able to have our conversations (look at Jason's cartoonishly large feet; Steven's a butthole; Tommy's just stupid, Why does Julie hang out with us?) in spite of things without too much interruption. Except when a member of the aforementioned group wanders into our site thinking that it's her site. She's wondering where her wine is.

We told her to try the veal.

She didn't get it.

I should mention our beer. We brought two (2) six packs.

Just two.

And a couple were gone by the time we got down to the "sit around the fire" stage of the night. So splitting them among the four of us, none of us could have had that much to drink. Especially spread out over a two hour time span.

Well, not too long after the fun drunk from next door asked where her wine was (and not too long after the same tripped and fell over a folding chair at her site), we decided to see how quiet the lake was around midnight.

It was quiet. There was an odd light off the woods nowhere near where there should have been a lantern. Probably it was somebody camping on the bike trail since all the sites were full. But it was, momentarily, the object of a little bit of conjecture.

Well, we wander back to the campsite, fully ready to drift off to dreamland. When who should show up but your friendly neighborhood park ranger?

And there was looking in the coolers and there was talk about no drinking on the premises and there were questions about who'd been drinking what. I don't really know what was said because I jumped ridiculously quickly when asked for my ID. Halfway between the 100 foot walk from truck to campsite, I realized what a doof I was being. That I should have yelled "Screw You All!" and driven off really quickly.

That's not true. I'd probably have run into a tree.

But then I'd have gotten out and ran! Because once you opt for the life of crime, there's no going back. None!

Well. We got a brief lecture about how we're not bad people, but each of us ended up with a $50 dollar citation (Do-Better-Letter). Any beer at any of the campsites had to be dumped out.

I saw them pouring beer on the ground.

"Nooooo!" I cried. "You're wasting it! You're wasting beer!"

That didn't happen.

Neither did it happen that I asked the ranger if it was alright that we wanted to drink Margueritas for breakfast. I decided that I wanted to go to sleep, and being a smartass would only deprive me further of sleep.

Which would have begun a vicious cycle, as the more sleep deprived I get, the more bold and smart-assy I get.

In the end, I don't think I was bothering anybody. We weren't being loud (like the Duke people). Generally, we were going out of our way not to bother anybody. But rules is rules, I guess.

But based on that $50, this was the most expensive camping trip I've been on, to date.

I blame myself. Also, I blame Steven, because he actually paid for the beer. And Diane, for leaving early, and for saying that it is alright to drink there.