A cat inside a camper on top of a truck? What could go wrong?

First of all, we didn't have a truck. In fact, neither of us had ever owned anything more rugged than a Prius V.

Never ones to let practical details stand in our way, we drove 130 miles from Annapolis (where we were visiting my mother) up to PA  to see the popup camper we found for sale on Facebook marketplace. It was a monotonous drive through flat farmland under a flat gray January sky. Just past Harrisburg, landscape swelled into the foothills of Appalachia, and we came up over Sterret's Gap, said to be the northernmost point reached by Confederate soldiers. Although this story has never been confirmed by historians, it was important enough to local residents that in 1929 they petitioned the historical society to erect a marker.

When we saw the camper in the front yard we knew we had the right address. We pulled up in front of the one story house, hardly visible through clutter piled high on the wraparound porch; miscellaneous gardening supplies, appliances, old coffee cans and mason jars, anything that could be handy down the road. They didn't have a backyard so much as a junkyard, strewn with rusty auto parts and vehicles in various stages of d. isassembly.

We waited at the door for an awkwardly long time until it was answered by a hefty man in his late-fifties. He spoke in short, mumbled puffs, as if each breath came at enormous cost. We followed him as he limped around front to show us the campers. He told us they were selling the camper because he and wife just couldn't climb in and out of it anymore. She'd just had foot surgery, and he was scheduled for the same surgery in a couple months.

The camper was as advertised; a mint condition 2023 Palomino SS 550 pop up, or "backpack" camper, exactly the camper we’d determined we needed, based on long winter nights of youtube research and no personal experience whatsoever. We shivered in the raw wind as he demonstrated that the hydraulic jacks which raised and lowered the soft, tent-like  We already knew we wanted it, but we played it cool, hoping we could talk him down from $12K to 10K. The next nearest camper that met our specifications was located near Mobile, Alabama.

We went back inside to talk terms, greeted by a tubby hound-spaniel mix, who barked and growled unconvincingly as I stroked his velvety ears. The wife hobbled in to join us, apologizing for the mess as she cleared tubs of cheese puffs and Frosted Flakes off the table. We made polite chit chat while we filled out the paperwork. It turned out he hauled junk for a living; the hoarding was not a pathology but a way of life. I mentioned we'd stopped at Krispy Kreme on the way since we don’t have them up in Massachusetts. This seemingly innocent line of conversation quickly took a dark turn. She said Dunkin' hadn't been good since the “towel heads” took over. According to her, “they” were buying up all the Dunkin's and Dairy Queens in Pennsylvania and the government was paying for it, taking jobs away from hardworking Americans.

I wondered if she'd seen the Prius in the driveway and been waiting for the opportunity. Was it bait or a test, to see if we were "real Americans" or part of the liberal elite.

My skin color and heterosexuality felt like very fragile shield. They couldn't see that I have a trans sister, or that I speak fluent Spanish.

Would we be sitting here if we weren't white, or if Ben had an obviously Jewish last name, instead of the one his grandfather had adopted to avoid persecution. Would they have told us the camper was already sold?

Calling her out would just confirm her stereotypes about Prius-driving libtards from Massachusetts who think they know better than everyone else. I wish I could say I called her in, segueing gracefully into singing the praises of the immigrant community.  But the right words never come to me in the right moment.  Maybe that's why I'm a writer.

Instead, I muttered something vague about that not being the case where we live. Ben said politely that it was about time to head back, and we'd be in touch soon about picking up the camper.

We drove back to Maryland with the title to a camper. Now we just needed a pick up truck. How hard could that be?