IT'S A DIRTY JOB

The maintenance workers carefully approached the skunk hiding under our table, not wanting to startle it into a full-blown smell attack. The kids who had been sitting in the dining room eating their breakfasts were now crowded at the doors, noses pressed up against the glass, most likely hoping for the full-blown attack.

More excitement here at Leisure Camp Honey Pot — first, a prowler, now a skunk in the dining room. It doesn’t get any better than this. Carl, a meaty maintenance guy in his forties, who was always covered in sweat, seemed to be drowning this morning; rivulets of water ran down his back and into his partially exposed crack. Hey, maybe Carl was the pervert? God, Carl, there are children around, pull your pants up.

As the fearsome three-some crawled closer to the skunkified table, brandishing useless pool equipment, a tiny kitty scrambled out from under a chair and began yowling pitifully. Carl looked as though he was going to have a heart attack and jumped back so suddenly that he knocked over the coffee service counter, spilling Arabica Forte’, Sunday Morning Mellow, and Decaf Whatever down his already-soaked shirt.

Mike, who had remained in his cooking kingdom to cover everything smell permeable with plastic wrap, sprang into action, wetting a dish towel with cool water, then rushing to apply it to the burns on Carl’s chest and stomach. In mid-stride, he managed to dial 911.

“Take it easy, Carl. I’m gonna peel off your shirt. You get any hot coffee down your britches?”

“God, no. Son of a bitch. This hurts like hell. I don’t feel so good,” he gasped right before he vomited half-digested bacon, eggs, and toast onto the dining room floor.

Within minutes sirens were heading our way. A State Police car led the parade, with a fire rescue truck and Ambulance behind it. The vehicles skidded into the gravel parking lot, thrilling the kids, who were collecting stories this morning to tell their kids thirty years from now.

The State Trooper scattered the lookie-loos so the paramedics could get through, while the remaining maintenance men tried to corner the fierce killer kitty. Mrs. Godfrey, my boss, found me in the gaggle of onlookers and asked me to follow her to the office. As she passed the State Trooper she asked him if prowlers were under his jurisdiction because the camp had a problem earlier she wanted to discuss with him.

“Yes, Ma’am. This is a state highway and probably no one else wants to take the call.”

“Good. Follow me. This young woman saw a prowler looking into the window of her cabin this morning. Her daughters were asleep in the cabin at the time.”

“I can make a report for you, then reach out to your local police forces if you’d like.”

“That would be splendid,” she said, briskly walking around the camp store to the office, where Mr. Godfrey was busily slurping down a gooey donut with a slug of coffee. “Gordon. That’s not going to help your blood sugar. Men. Right, Karol?”

I just giggled, because Mr. Godfrey was the Laurel to Mrs. Godfrey’s Hardy. He was quiet and affable, while she ran the show with an iron fist. I’d seen her re-stock shelves, muttering and shaking her head right after he had stocked them.

They once had fought over where the soda pop should be displayed in a cooler, while I stood there for fifteen minutes with a thirty-pound crate in my arms. Mrs. Godfrey won out, finally, because Gordon, thankfully, had pointed out that I was holding the bulky crate. After the debate was settled he just winked at me and began stocking another shelf, which would need re-stocking when Ava saw how he did it.

It worked for them, I guess. Besides, I had enough relationship baggage of my own to worry about. Gordon reluctantly put down the donut and stepped away. Then he said, “Young lady, you had quite the scare this morning, and what the heck was going on in the dining room just now?”

“Gordon, if you’d wear your damned hearing aides you would have heard it for yourself. We thought there was a skunk under one of the tables. Turned out to be that little kitten that’s been hanging around the dumpster.”

“Wow, a policeman to take care of stray kittens?” he joked.

“Oh, good grief. Ignore him,” Ava huffed and led us to the community room for an adult talk with the officer.

“So, ma’am, can you describe the prowler you saw this morning?”

“Uh, all I remember is he was wearing a dark hoodie and pants. He ran away when I confronted him,” I explained.

“Well, let’s all be thankful he was wearing pants,” the officer joked.

Again, with the giggle. I was beginning to sound like a politician. If I hadn’t been mooning over Matt this officer would have been just my type. Dark eyes, trimmed facial hair, buff build. Whoa! Too little too late.

“No, I meant he was wearing dark pants AND a dark hoodie.”

“Punctuation is important, Miss?”

“What?”

“Your name. For the report,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, yeah, right. Karol Prentiss. K-a-r-o-l. Everyone gets it wrong.”

“Well, did the prowler look like anyone from the campgrounds?”

“Not that I could tell.”

“Mrs. Godfrey, do you have security cameras or security officers at the camp?”

“No, we are talking with our accountant later today to figure out how to put those things in place. Until then our maintenance staff will make rounds several times at night.”

“You seem to be covering all your bases. That’s good. I’m afraid in this day and age even places that used to be considered safe need extra help,” the officer concluded.