Jim
RVF Supporter
- Joined
- Dec 18, 2019
- Messages
- 4,541
- Location
- North Carolina
- RV Year
- 2020
- RV Make
- Newmar
- RV Model
- Essex 4543
- RV Length
- 45
- Chassis
- Spartan
- Engine
- Cummins / I6 Diesel Pusher 605HP
- TOW/TOAD
- 2016 Jeep Rubicon
- Fulltimer
- No
Day Six: The Final Chapter
They told me yesterday that today would be the last day. I of course thought they meant work on the coach. Turns out they meant my freeloading in the lobby. But anyhow, I woke up before the alarm, not from obligated motivation, but because my body no longer remembers how to sleep. Six days of RV service center life will do that to a man.
I shuffled to the front of the coach like a Civil War veteran surveying the aftermath. Coffee? Optional. Dignity? Optional-er. The Keurig glared at me, not with malice, but the wounded silence of a companion scorned. I gave it a respectful nod and moved on toward the tech lounge, not for coffee, but to bid farewell to my new friends that had helped carry me through the darker hours.
At the lounge, I was met by my tech, bill in hand, explanation ready. The coach? Done. Fully serviced. Reborn. Buttons once again button. Slides slide. Lights light. It’s like meeting your coach for the first time, only now it remembers everything you’ve both been through. We’re stronger for it. Somehow changed. Battle-hardened.
The tech gave me a nod, the kind you give a man who’s been to hell, kicked the furnace, and walked back out smirking. Nothing official passed between us, but a silent bond now exists between man, machine, and mechanic.
Tomorrow, I drive. Today, I rest. A tired, withered man whose towel still rests in the corner and whose deodorant supply has been pushed to the brink. But I leave this place a better man.
The coach is complete!
They told me yesterday that today would be the last day. I of course thought they meant work on the coach. Turns out they meant my freeloading in the lobby. But anyhow, I woke up before the alarm, not from obligated motivation, but because my body no longer remembers how to sleep. Six days of RV service center life will do that to a man.
I shuffled to the front of the coach like a Civil War veteran surveying the aftermath. Coffee? Optional. Dignity? Optional-er. The Keurig glared at me, not with malice, but the wounded silence of a companion scorned. I gave it a respectful nod and moved on toward the tech lounge, not for coffee, but to bid farewell to my new friends that had helped carry me through the darker hours.
At the lounge, I was met by my tech, bill in hand, explanation ready. The coach? Done. Fully serviced. Reborn. Buttons once again button. Slides slide. Lights light. It’s like meeting your coach for the first time, only now it remembers everything you’ve both been through. We’re stronger for it. Somehow changed. Battle-hardened.
The tech gave me a nod, the kind you give a man who’s been to hell, kicked the furnace, and walked back out smirking. Nothing official passed between us, but a silent bond now exists between man, machine, and mechanic.
Tomorrow, I drive. Today, I rest. A tired, withered man whose towel still rests in the corner and whose deodorant supply has been pushed to the brink. But I leave this place a better man.
The coach is complete!
I don’t know if I have ever been there less than a week, and I have been there every year since my FPU. We’ve got to toughen him up.
