“Thank you for calling Camping World. Your call may be monitored or recorded. Press 1 for Parts. Press 2 for Service. Press 3 for Confessions.”

>>Threeeee<<

“Hello, Confessions, Su speaking, how may I direct your call?”

Me, sheepishly: “Um, yeah, hi, I’m not sure. I need to confess a major RVing faux pas …”

“Was a crime committed?”

Me, taken aback: “Oh! Heavens, no.”

(Scrolling) “So you won’t be needing a police detective. I could put you through to a priest …”

Me, shocked: “Good grief! I don’t think what I did would be considered a sin in any religion…”

“I can give you the toll-free number for Penthouse Forum …”

Me, chuckling: “Believe me honey, it’s not that kinda confession.”

“Alrighty. Hmmm. Can I place you on a brief hold?”

Me, testily: “Sure.”

Hold Music: Eddie Rabbit. “Oooooh, I’m driven’ my life away, lookin’ for for a better way, for meeee …”

Click

“Sorry for the wait. I just talked to my supervisor, and she recommended Larry.”

Me, perplexed: “Larry? Who’s he?”

“Larry is the Oldest Living RVer. Apparently we send all calls about RV mishaps to him, ‘cause he’s seen and done and heard ‘em all. Word is he’s really good about making people feel better about their RV mistakes.”

Me, relieved: “Whew, yes, he sounds exactly like the right person to hear my confession.”

“Hold please.”

Still Eddie: “Oh the windshield wipers  slapping out a tempo, keepin’ perfect rhythm with the song on the radio  …”

Click

“Confessions. Larry.”

Me, reserved: “Hi, Larry. My name is Tammy, and I was just transferred to you by the front desk because I did something really stupid with my RV.”

Larry: “Hi, Tammy. Do you wanna tell me what you did?”

Me, reticent: “Wellll, come to think of it, I really don’t need to tell anyone. No one ever needs to know what happened. Maybe this was a bad idea …”

Larry: “Now, hold on just a minute. You’ve come to the right place. I’m the right guy to talk to. Did they tell you out front that I’m the oldest Living RVer? You can’t surprise me with anything you’ve got to say.”

Me, encouraged: “Wow, thanks for that. I haven’t even told you yet and I already feel better!”

Larry: “Good! So, spit it out.”

Me, resolved: “Okay, here goes. It was September 30, a month and a half ago. I was spending the night at the Elks Lodge in Bakersfield, California. I had been doing a lot of boondocking/dry camping as I was making miles to New Mexico from Oregon.

I wasn’t particularly happy with the lodge; there were a lot of homeless people around, and it felt a little unsafe to me. The spot had only a 30 amp electrical hook up, but no water or sewer. I unhitched the toad, plugged in and opened the slides.

I was thinking twice about spending the night there by myself, but then another couple pulled in and I had neighbors for the night.”

Larry: “Are we getting to a point?”

Me, perturbed: “Hold on, I’m getting there.

In the morning, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I closed the slides and pulled forward to re-attach the car.”

Larry: “Uh oh.”

Me, sighing: “Yup, you guessed it. Thankfully I didn’t drive very far. When I got out to hook up the car, I saw the power cord trailing behind the rig.”

Larry: You didn’t unplug from shore power before pulling out of the spot?”

Me, shamefully: “No, Larry, I didn’t. For the first time in 3 1/2 years, I drove the rig without unplugging it first. I never thought in a million years I would do such a thing. I mean, duh!”

Silence …

Awkward silence …

Larry, laughing: “Welcome to the club, Tammy!”

Me, sighing: “Really? I mean, I heard a guy talking in an RV park in Gallup, New Mexico a week later, and he said in 40 years he’d never forgotten to unplug the rig. I felt like an idiot.”

Larry: “Well, isn’t he special for being in such an exclusive club? Don’t be so hard on yourself. Did you do any damage?”

Me, relaxing: “Luckily I was using the 30 amp adapter, so the only damage was to the prongs of the adapter, which is a $15 item. I bought another one at Wal-Mart. The rig’s main power cord and the lodge’s electrical box were fine. Thankfully I was still in the parking lot and not dragging the cord down the street. I had no idea I had done it until I got out – didn’t hear or see or feel a thing. Scary.”

Larry: “And how are you going to prevent this in the future?”

Me, resolute: “Before I put the rig in drive, no matter where I am or where I parked, I will do a walk-around outside first.”

Larry: “Thatta girl. Now say five ‘Happy Campers’ and don’t use the slides for a week. You are unburdened and absolved.”

Me, forgiving myself: “Thanks, Larry. Confession really is good for the soul. I feel much better. Until this happened I didn’t even know that Camping World provided this service.”

Larry: “It’s one of the reasons we have a 100 percent customer satisfaction rating!”