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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on June 1st, 2016, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 17, Issue 13 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 17, Issue 13

RV prom

Party bus takes on a new meaning in the Krider household

By ROB KRIDER

Spring is here and summer is getting very close, which means prom season is definitely upon us. Yes, prom is actually a season. It’s a magical time when people who do hair, nails, and dress alterations make a truckload of money on high school girls who need to have everything just perfect for their special night.

That special night comes at a very special price for mom and dad, who are financing all of this prom night insanity. Even though it’s expensive, (and I honestly can’t see the difference before or after the $50 spray tan) I understand prom is a rite of passage, and so I support it as much as my wallet will allow me.

As the big night approached, and with the cost of photos, flowers, blond highlights, and something called SPANX, my wallet was getting lighter by the second. Then, my daughter, the 16-year-old Disney princess, informed me she needed money to help pay for a limousine. I told her I needed money to help pay for the mortgage. She informed me that she didn’t know what a mortgage was. That must be nice. I remember when I didn’t know what a mortgage was. Life was awesome.

As I was explaining the intricate complexities of the housing market, interest rates, and what foreclosure meant, I could see my daughter didn’t really care. All she wanted was for me to pull $200 out of the ATM that apparently is my ass and make her Disney prom dreams come true via a black stretch limousine. She also told me she wanted the Hummer limo, the one with the hot tub in the back. Oh, and she also needed money to go bikini shopping because they were going to use the hot tub after the dance. I explained to her as nicely as I could that the junior prom bikini-hot-tub-limo-party was NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN!

Now, I’m not an unreasonable guy. I know my daughter can’t wear a full-length dress and heels and take the bus to the prom. Even though I put the kibosh on the hot-tub-limo pregnancy scare, I did have an alternative for her.

“I’ll tell you what. We can’t afford the limo for your junior prom. But I will get our motor home; we can go to the party store and decorate the interior, mom will make some snacks, I’ll throw on a suit, and I will be your chauffeur to the dance.”

“Can we play any music we want as loud as we want?”

“Sure, no problem. What harm can music do? Go for it.”

It was a deal. My daughter sold the idea to her friends, who all agreed to jump on the RV party bus for prom. Other parents were happy too. There would be free transportation and an overprotective dad on security watch, a win-win. Everyone was pleased. Well … until the music started.

I installed a battery-powered disco ball to the ceiling of the RV, my wife made chocolate covered strawberries, and my daughter wrote “#RVProm” on the windows of the motor home. Yes, we even had our own hashtag for the event. I received my itinerary: addresses of houses to pick up kids, a restaurant to get to, and the location of the dance. Easy enough. All that was left to do was turn up the music and start the motor home. When the music started my eardrums instantly exploded.

I quickly learned two things on prom night: 1. Hip-hop music on the radio is much different than hip-hop music uncensored. 2. I don’t like hip-hop music uncensored when I’m listening to it next to my 16-year-old daughter. But, regardless of my feelings about hip-hop music, or the health of my eardrums, I said they could listen to anything they wanted as loud as they wanted, so I didn’t say a word. I just put on my chauffeur hat and drove to my next destination. I had my wife, whom I love, suffering with me at my side as my navigator and personal assistant.

As we picked up different kids, I had the chance to meet some parents. They got to tour the party bus RV and thanked me for offering up my motor home and my evening for the cause. I was happy to do it (after I took a couple of Tylenol for a bass-induced headache). As the RV became fuller and fuller, the party was rocking. The kids were dancing, throwing balloons, eating snacks, and making quite a mess.

I drove all around town, doing my best trying not to knock the kids over with sharp turns. I only heard one scream followed by a loud thud. Kids are resilient; she was fine.

While the prom dates ate dinner at the restaurant, my wife and I had a moment of no hip-hop, which was nice. We cleaned up the RV, put out more snacks and got everything ready for the next leg of our road trip. When the kids came back from dinner we greeted them with some sparkling cider served in plastic champagne glasses and then headed off to the dance.

The music was back on and it was again at deafening and offensive levels. Then a miracle happened. The RV’s subwoofer died depleting the world of bass. The kids didn’t even notice.

We dropped the kids at the dance, playing music out of the outdoor speakers of the motor home as they pulled up to the curb. They had quite an entrance. Mom and I drove across the street and parked our motor home among a bunch of limos. We cleaned up after the kids (again) and then hung out in the motor home and killed time playing dominoes.

After the dance, we drove the kids for some ice cream in their formal wear and then carted kids safely to their homes. For my wife and me, it wasn’t the greatest night of our lives as we played chauffeur and housekeeper to 10 high school kids, but the reality is we wouldn’t have changed a moment of it. We saved some money, got to make sure our daughter got home safely on prom night, and selfishly we got to be there for the whole thing. I want to thank my daughter and her friends for being “cool” enough to skip the limo and roll into prom in the motor home.  

Rob’s motor home gets seven miles to the gallon. He didn’t save a dime that night. You can read more from Rob Krider or contact him at robkrider.com.




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