The fourth of July promised to be a leisurely, stress-free weekend. My credit card was paid off and ready for gas purchases. My car was running smoothly. Our campsite was at a private cabin at a lake, and we’d long ago collected all necessary camping gear. The food was to be communal so we brought meat from our warehouse store. We didn’t forget anything, and the trip up was marvelous. Camping was great, and then we left. Still stocked with some food and all the cash we had left with, we decided to extend our vacation. Why not?
Apparently, $410 is why not. What went wrong? In this case, nothing mentioned above malfunctioned. What drilled a hole in my wallet was the dreaded human error.
Human error. If we could all work like clockwork we’d have perfect little bank accounts with all our bills paid in full. All payments would be automated and no one could ever forget anything. Like, how to use a map or a phone book, or how not to leave things behind. Or general human desire.
We took a detour after our lake trip because we still had an extra day before obligations resumed and a choice of four routes to get home. We intended to stop at one of our favorite brewpubs in the nation for lunch, but we found they’re only open for dinner. Had we called ahead, we could have instead found a campsite and grilled up some brats for lunch and waited for dinner, but instead we got there with two growling children. An alternate lunch location was found. $45
This happens to be the only town within a day’s drive that has the shoes my husband likes and you can’t buy leather shoes without trying them on. We were there and his toes were poking out. $60
Trying to find the sign that pointed to a hot springs we heard were worth visiting, we took a detour in our favorite kind of free park: the cemetery. On our way out, passing a police car triggered the obligatory glance at the wallet. Wait, where’s the wallet? $ (the rest of the cash)