Part of the "Life In 300 Square Feet" Series
I've noticed, during our first year on the road, that RVers, and fulltimers in particular are a VERY friendly bunch. Especially around parks that cater to those of the gypsy-variety, it's not uncommon to get to know all your neighbors within a few minutes of parking, putting down the jacks, and pulling out the slides.
They start to congregate as you're backing into your site, often offering suggestions... "a little more to the right... no, more to the left... no, STOP". Once parked, I've learned to keep the door closed (and locked) until we've got the basics of setting up house done. But once I open the door to hook up power, for example, we're inundated:
"Hey, Wisconsin, uh? Where 'ya from... in Wisconsin I mean? You know I have an uncle that lives in Occonomoc almost, just outside, you know. He's a big fan of Brett Farve's. Too bad he's retiring... Brett I mean. You know, I think he could come back yet... you know he hasn't officially resigned... in writing. Anything's possible you know. Hey, did you bring any cheddar cheese? Hey we're from South Dakota, not really from there, just the tags you know, no tax you know, we used to live in Kentucky, but sold the house, been fulltiming 7 years next September..."
Alright, I really like people and I love making connections with those doing the same thing we're doing. But what could possibly account for this overwhelming need to be so friendly... this gregariousness ... this desire to connect with others?
I've developed a theory, a hypothesis really, for all this warm sociable congeniality.
Simply put, after two people are cooped up together in three hundred square feet for hours or days at a time, they CAN'T WAIT to get out and talk to somebody, ANYBODY, NEW!
Being just a theory, I'm open to other explanations. But until I hear something better... It's my story and I'm stickin' with it.