We meet all kinds of interesting people here at the campground. It kind of reminds me of my old bartending days. Some are real nice genuine people and some are just plane weirdoes. The ones that continue to crack me up are the ones that are living in their own fantasy world. Last year, for instance, we had a guy living in the campground in a little pink Barbie tent. I don’t even know how he fit inside. He would tell me how he owns a few racehorses over at the Del Mar Race Track. One day I saw him across the street pushing a shopping cart full of aluminum cans he had collected. Just the other day I had to shut down a fellow that was playing an electric guitar. He was telling me he has over 60 rare guitars and gets $60 an hour setting up Rolling Stone concerts. He lives in an old motorhome with a busted window. He also rides around the campground on his bike in a UPS uniform. These people are living in their own fantasy world and I don’t want to be the one to tell them otherwise. If they want to be a millionaire in their own mind, who am I to tell them otherwise. I just listen and smile.
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