My daughter called home in a panic over Memorial Day weekend. Her car wouldn’t start, and she was stranded up in the Texas Hill Country five hours from home. My husband’s first thought was to jump in his car and drive to her rescue. I calmly reminded him that we have roadside assistance through our auto insurance company, so it really wasn’t necessary for him to go anywhere.
After calling and verifying that someone from roadside assistance was indeed available and could be at our daughter’s location in about 20 minutes, my humbled spouse called our daughter back to let her know that help was on its way. Everything worked out for the best, and she was back at her job as a summer camp counselor about an hour later.
Déjà vu
Her situation brought to mind a memory of a similar experience I had back in 1989 when I was working as a summer counselor for the same camp.
Every counselor is allowed specific afternoons and evenings off from the camp’s grounds to go into town and grab something to eat; to do laundry at the local washateria, The Soap Opera; and to blow off steam. If you work both summer terms, you are allowed to take an entire 24 hours off during each of the four-week terms. Your “24” is like a micro-R&R. If you plan right, you can make it into San Antonio or Austin meet up with friends, have some fun, and spend the night in something other than a twin bunk bed.
In 1989, I was dating my future husband. For my “24,” I made plans to meet him in Austin and do some sight seeing. Although I am a native Texan, I had never toured the state capitol and thought it would be fun to do that.
After spending the night in Austin, I drove to the capitol building with my then boyfriend. We marveled at the architecture of the capitol dome, walked the halls, viewed the various artifacts on display, and acted like tourists. Then we headed to a local Tex-Mex establishment, Chuy’s.
Back then, only one Chuy’s existed. It’s still there, and the food and margaritas are still awesome. The restaurant is actually an old house. Its exterior is painted in pastel colors. When you walk in, you’re greeted by a shrine to Elvis. The floors are multicolored linoleum tiles, the tables and vinyl booths are straight out of the 1950s, and garish, hand-painted fish hang from the ceiling in every room.
Beware the Banditos!
After we were seated, we ordered margaritas and an appetizer called Banditos – deep fried jalapeno peppers stuffed with cheese – and proceeded to peruse the menu.
For some reason – probably the strength of the margaritas – I couldn’t help but laugh at the name. When I graduated from college in 1986, I traveled to the Club Med resort at Playa Blanca. When I booked my travel arrangements, I was warned that I would most likely not be able to get a taxi to take me from the Puerto Vallarta airport to the resort because of several recent attacks on tourists by Mexican banditos. (Ultimately, I was met at the airport by a Club Med employee, placed on an old, rickety school bus, and driven to the resort – two hours away – alone in the dark. But that’s another story.)
I truly thought that the Club Med agent was pulling my leg. All I could think about was the old Fritos jingle, which was sung by a dancing cartoon bandito; of course, I had to sing it aloud for boyfriend!
Ai, Yi, Yi, Yi
I am the Frito Bandito
I like Fritos corn chips
I love them I do
I want Fritos corn chips
I’ll get them from you!
Ai, Yi, Yi, Yi
Oh I am the Frito Bandito
Give me Fritos corn chips
And I’ll be your friend
The Frito Bandito you must not offend.
“Now, boys and girls,” he said, “you are Frito Banditos, too!”
Yes, I am well aware that this type of information is taking up space in my brain that I could use for more important things like my husband’s cell phone number. And, today, I would never dream of singing the Frito Bandito jingle for fear of offending someone. But that was then, and it’s safe to say my judgment was a little impaired at the time.
Time to Go
An enchilada and a taco later, we left the restaurant. My boyfriend had picked me up at my hotel in his car, so he had to drive me back to my hotel so I could pick up my mini Toyota pick up truck (it really did look like a toy) and drive back to camp.
I was running late, so I didn’t stop to buy gas on the way out of Austin. I figured I had enough fuel to last me the two-hour drive back to Kerrville. I have never been very good with math. My estimate was wrong: I ran out of gas somewhere between Fredericksburg and Kerrville.
Uh-Oh
I did manage to make it to a lonely CITGO station on the side of the road. I pulled up to the pumps, relieved to find that the station was open and had an attendant on duty (this was well before the days when you could just slide your credit or debit card at the pump and pay without human assistance). I reached into my purse to get my wallet and my CITGO card only to discover that my wallet was gone!
It was at that moment that my formerly wonderful day turned to dog poop.
After my initial panic subsided, I remembered that I had taken my wallet out of my purse and placed it into the glove compartment of my boyfriend’s car before heading into the state capitol building. Yes, I realize now that it was a stupid thing to do, and for the life of me, I cannot recall why I thought someone would mug me while I was inside with my boyfriend, who is 6’ 7”.
I did, however, have $5 worth of postage stamps in my bag.
“Great!” I thought to myself. “I’ll barter these for $5 in gas. That will be enough to get me back to camp. I can then borrow some money for additional gas from a fellow counselor and fill up on my next afternoon off!”
And That’s How I Met Curtis Green
I got out of my truck and went inside the station. I explained my situation to the attendant. He told me that he couldn’t trade gasoline for postage stamps. He would, however, be happy to loan me enough money to put enough gas in my tank to get back to Kerrville.
I was so grateful! I thanked him profusely for his kindness and then asked, “Could I also borrow 50 cents for a can of Sprite? (This was an old fashioned gas station, which sold paper road maps, engine belts, and oil. It was not fully stocked like the gas stations of today.)
The gentleman (he truly was a gentleman) said, “Yes, of course!” before handing me some change for the Coke machine.
I asked him to write down his name and address on a piece of paper and promised him that I would send him the money within a week. He said he wasn’t worried about it and sent me on my way.
I still remember his name: Curtis Green.
Safe and Sound
I finally got back to camp. I was late, and the Camp Director was standing outside in front of the dining hall waiting for me. I explained what had happened and why I had not been able to call and let everyone know I was on my way. I knew I was in trouble.
“That’s a great story,” she said. “I tell you what – I won’t dock you any time off for being late, but you have to stand up and tell everyone in the dining hall what happened to you after dinner.”
“That sounds fair,” I replied, before heading into the dining hall.
Fortunately, one of the divisions was out on its assigned overnight activity, so the entire camp wasn’t there to hear my story, saving me some embarrassment. But camp being camp, the story got around.
Later that night, I was able to use the pay phone in the Counselor’s Lounge (this was well before the advent of cell phones) to call my boyfriend collect and explain what had happened. He promised to send me my wallet the next day.
My Care Package Arrives
A few days later, I received an enormous box emblazoned with a Dos Equis logo – it was obviously from a liquor store. Nothing at all embarrassing about that, right?
Inside, I found a virtual treasure trove. My boyfriend had mailed me my wallet along with enough Jolly Rancher candy and other junk food to keep all of the counseling staff on a sugar high for a week! He had also enclosed a handwritten letter, which I still have today. On the back of the envelope, he had written the following message: “Jerry Jeff Walker said he would quit drinking until the Ayatolla died. No one has seen Jerry Jeff for a week.”
This was all news to me. We didn’t have the Internet, laptops, or cell phones back then, and there were no televisions or radios on camp. It had been this way since I was a camper. I still remember standing on the front lawn with my parents, my fellow campers, and their parents as we listened to Richard Nixon give his resignation speech to the nation over the camp’s PA system – it was August 8, 1974. The parents were there to take us all home.
I don’t know if the Jerry Jeff Walker anecdote is true, but it was very funny to all of us at the time.
I Made Good On My Promise
On my next afternoon off, my friend and I went into town, where we bought Pop Tarts and picked up a $5 money order, which I mailed to Curtis Green at the address he had provided.
I never heard from Mr. Green again, but Houston is the world’s biggest small town. The last time I told this story at a party, one of the women listening said, “I know Curtis Green! He’s my cousin.”
So, you see, a good man isn’t that hard to find after all.