Coffeehouse Chronicles: Weekend Shenanigans (Featuring the Hose Jockey, Who Is Definitely a Firefighter, Did He Mention That?)
- Marc & Bridget Saunders
- 1 hour ago
- 4 min read
Friday: The RV Summit That Was Supposed To Be Lunch
Friday kicked off like any respectable weekend should: with a plan that made perfect sense and immediately went off the rails.
Our good friend Dot rolled up from her beach city kingdom, fueled by a dangerously exciting idea: “I think I want to buy an RV.”
Now, the HB and I are always ready to enable—uh—I mean support—our friends in making life-altering, financially adventurous decisions. So we picked a neutral battleground: Anaheim. Equal distance, maximum snack options.
We grabbed vittles, sat down, and got to work like a proper advisory board. Dot came armed with notes, pros, cons, dreams, and the kind of enthusiasm that makes salespeople rub their hands together.
Five minutes into reviewing RV specs, floorplans, and things like “Do I REALLY need two bathrooms in a rolling shoebox?” we did what we always do…
Completely ignored the mission.
Next thing you know:
We’re swapping grandkid photos
Comparing who looks more like who
Rehashing life
Wondering why Dot’s been dodging us like we owe her money
Forty-five-minute lunch? Try a three-hour reunion tour.
We look up—boom—it’s 3:00 PM.
At this point, the HB went into DEFCON 1 mode. Because at 5:00? We were scheduled to be at the clubhouse with the Captain, Tennille, and The Right Rev. (Yes, it sounds like the cast of a yacht rock revival tour, but it’s really just Friday night.)
So from 3:00 onward, it was: Go-go-go mode activated.
I already told ya how Friday night went. It was awesome! If you weren't there, you missed a party.
Saturday morning begins mid-adventure because, technically, Friday night never fully ended. Friday night. Enter the Hose Jockey (Firefighter, Probably, He Keeps Mentioning It Casually). While we were out partying, the Hose Jockey pulls up to me.
Now, quick background: The Hose Jockey is one of those guys who:
Will absolutely help you fix anything
Will casually reference “back at the station…”
Will drop phrases like “when we responded last week…”
And somehow wants you to figure it out on your own that he’s a firefighter
(We got it. Sir. We salute you. Please stop hinting. Or don’t. It’s entertaining.)
The Door Handle That Started a Saga
He hits me with: “Hey, my RV door handle is breaking.”
He says this like we’re about to tighten a screw and call it a day.
The handle? Oh, it’s not just breaking.
It had emotionally left the building. There is metal tearing, pieces separating— we are basically one strong breeze away from The Hose Jockey and Mrs. Hose Jockey trapping themselves inside their RV like a low-budget escape room.
I told him, "No worries. Get a new handle, it’s an easy swap, and I’ve got a practically brand-new one that I wanna trade you for it."
Boom. Done. Five minutes.
Or so I foolishly believed.
The Five-Minute Job That Became a Documentary
We get into it.
I advised the Hose Jockey, “Take a picture of the inside,” I say. Because inside that door?
Chaos.Rods.Mystery mechanics.Things designed by a guy who said, “This will confuse them forever.”
But we’re confident. We’ve got tools. We’ve got brains. But then we opened it up.
And immediately:
He’s looking at me
I’m looking at him.
I understand the problem
The Hose Jockey absolutely does not
Inside = proprietary nonsense. Why do they do that to every single motorhome? UGH!!
We’re dealing with: A weird square bolt, custom rod placements, and parts that appear to have been invented on a Tuesday when the designer was bored.
The Wild Goose Chase Tour of Southern California
We pivot.
Stop #1: Locksmith
We pull up. They've closed…5 minutes before we arrived.
Of course they did.
Stop #2: Machine Shops
Two calls.
Two voicemails.
Two chances missed.
Stop #3: The West Coast Obamas
We roll up to see Mr. W.C. Obama, a man who can:
Build things
Fix things
Identify things
He took one look at it and basically said: “Yeah…that’s not happening.”
Even with:
Hose Jockey’s firefighter confidence
My “I’ve seen worse” attitude
Mr. W.C. Obama’s actual expertise
Verdict: Impossible.
Machine shop calls back. Same verdict: “That’s a no from me, dawg.”
Camping World: The Final Boss Battle
We roll into Camping World like defeated warriors.
At first, they hit us with, “Nope. Can’t be done.”
But then… A hero emerges.
A service desk lady who looks at the problem and says, “...Hold on.”
She cooked up a workaround.
I offer to the Hose Jockey: “Whatever it costs, I’ll split it wit’ cha.”
The Hose Jockey (probably after mentioning a fire call mid-sentence): “Deal.”
Service Lady says: “NO DEAL.”
Legend.
She added, “I’ll guide you. YOU do the work. I’m not risking my job while you two experiment.”
Fair.
And with her: Watching. Advising. And most definitely judging, we: modify, we: re-machine, we: recreate the impossible
Two hours later: Victory.
We headed back to Hose Jockey HQ.
Installation time:
Smooth
Clean
Functional
Mission accomplished.
The Final Tally
What was supposed to be: 45 minutes there, 45 minutes back, a 15, maybe 20 install
Turned into: 5.5 hour epic quest
By the time I got home:
I was sweaty
I was starving
I have seen things (RV door internals)
The Dodger game was already on, and in that moment, there is only one dream: A cold Pepsi.
Closing Thoughts
Dot still wants an RV. The Hose Jockey still hasn’t officially said he’s a firefighter (but we know). And I am now emotionally involved in RV door handles in ways I never asked for.
Until next time, Chroniclers! You know what to do: Drink ‘em if ya got ‘em!
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