The first group to use our group site this year was a
father-son campout. About eighty dads
and sons of all ages converged within a very short time on our pavilion, parking
lot, and tent area. I think there is an
unwritten rule of any father-son outing that no one should be able to tell the
fathers from the sons. For one night
only they ALL get to be little boys.
It seemed that with this group, all I said was “No.”
“No,
you can’t park there. We need to leave
space for other vehicles.”
“No,
you can’t put your tent there. That spot
is reserved for another camper.”
“No,
you can’t build a fire in another campsite.”
“No,
you can’t take your ATV off the trailer.”
“No, you can’t take your ATV off
the trailer and drive it outside of the campground.”
“No. No.
No. No. No.”
One of the dads called me on it. “Don’t you hate always having to be the bad
guy?” He went on. “I’m going to call you Miss Trunchbull.” For those, like me, who had no idea who Miss
Trunchbull is, she is the wicked headmistress in the film, Matilda. I still haven’t seen the film, but the
Wikipedia review refers to her as sadistic.
Ouch. I suppose it could have
been worse. He could have called me
Professor Umbridge.
The Forest Service imposes rules within the campground. These rules are for the safety and comfort of
the campers and to ensure the safety and preservation of the local
wildlife. If that means I have to be the
wicked headmistress to get campers to comply, I guess I’ll wear the label
gladly.
The good news is that both the Forest Service and the
Fremont County Sheriff’s Department have my back. The better news is that we captured our “lessons
learned” from this first group and incorporated them into our process for
checking groups in. (There I go again,
talking like a process engineer.) We've
had no problems managing the group site since.
Of course, we haven’t had another father-son campout since. Wish us luck on the next one!
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