Mr Whingebago

Mr Whingebago.

We were camped at a picnic ground in The Coopernook State Forest.  It’s a free camp site, accessed by four kilometres of dirt road, sanctioned by the local council for camping for up to three months. There’s not much there.  An acre or so of flat, mown grass, a few clumps of trees and a long drop toilet kept in good repair.  There’s no potable water available so to stay for more than a night or two requires the storage capacity of a van or a mobile home.  It was here we met Mr Whingebago. 

 

It must have been our turn. 

 

As we ate our breakfast cereal we had watched and commented on the tall, skinny, slightly stooped older male going from camping site to camping site.  We’d speculated on what he might be doing. 

 

We matched his “good morning” as he approached.  We’d been told that free camping sites were great places to meet people and so were keen to make his acquaintance.  We soon discovered that Mr Whingebago probably wore out his welcome at every site by inflicting upon them what I will call ‘faux apologetic whinging’.

 

Immediately Mr Whingebago informed us that he owns a Winnebago and, even though every other brand was rubbish and he wouldn’t buy one, Winnebago the company continually disappoints him.  If he had built his Winnebago Leisure Seeker himself he would have done many things a lot differently.  “It’s just sad” he would say, shaking his head at the conclusion of retelling another example of Winnebago’s lack of care/ knowledge/ foresight – of how all the external lockers on all vehicles have the same key or how he and his brother agree that the dust proofing is woefully inadequate, etc.  He had quite a list.  He shook his head a lot. 

 

Jerry (his real name) is a retired toolmaker, which I think is more to the point.  At a guess I’d say he is bored and feels less valuable within himself than he once did.  He is ‘faux apologetic’ because he always prefaces any new example with “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this…” and then laboriously recounts of how he redesigned or remanufactured something on his Winnebago so that it is much better now than how it was originally.  We’d nod, smile, say something like “Thanks, that’s good to know” and then gasp inwardly as he’d launch into complicated descriptions of exactly what we would need to do to initiate the changes he was recommending.  The more he told us, the more he seemed to get on a roll, and the more we wished he’d go away.

 

We remained polite to a fault and waited him out, our headnods becoming less enthusiastic over time.  Eventually, as had to happen given that we now also remained silent, he ran out of words and he left, wishing us well for our journey. 

 

We thanked him for his wishes as he shuffled away, and then laughed to each other as we watched him shuffling in the direction of two people sitting beneath the awning of the vehicle parked nearest to us.  Another Winnebago.