Khaki Pants
A Vacation Story
By Chris Stralyn
Copyright 2012
Smashwords Edition
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Khaki Pants
It all started with a hole in the road.
Two days into our annual spring break vacation, my husband Dennis and I, along with our 12 year old son Andy, and 13 year old nephew AJ, were headed south on I-75 in northern Florida. After the long drive from Michigan, we were thrilled to be within hours of our destination.
Then disaster struck – and our nightmare vacation began.
Dennis swerved hard to the right to avoid a large hole in the road. The front tires of our new conversion van missed the two-foot chasm, but the rear tires scored a direct hit. Dennis maintained control of the van, but the jolt caused both Andy and AJ to spill their king size fountain drinks in their laps. As they grabbed napkins to try and sop up the mess, we pulled into the next gas station to check the tires. Not seeing any obvious damage, we turned our attention to the boys clothing dilemma.
It had taken hours to organize and pack all of our belongings into the back of the van, and the boys clothing bags were on the bottom. Being only a few hours from our destination, we decided not to dig through the tightly packed luggage for a change of clothes. Instead, they both hurried into the gas station bathroom to blow-dry their pants with the hand dryer. Fifteen minutes later we continued on our way, with AJ worried that the cola had permanently stained his new khaki pants.
An hour or so later, Dennis complained he felt a shimmy in the rear tires. We got off at the next exit, Ocala, Florida, and found a tire company that could do the necessary realignment. Soon the van was ready, and we resumed our journey.
We didn't get very far.
About sixty miles down the road, the van lurched, and the sound of crunching fenders, grinding metal, and squealing tires filled our ears as the van slid to a stop. Thinking we had been hit, Dennis and I checked to make sure everyone was all right, and then got out of the van.
I was astonished to find the driver's side rear wheel gone. The van sat on nothing more than the axle, which had carved an eighteen-inch long, two-inch deep groove into the pavement. Gasoline from our freshly filled, but now punctured, fuel tank slowly drained into the gutter. Witnesses told us the wheel had "jumped" off the van and careened across all seven lanes of traffic, actually passing us as it missed a group of pedestrians at the corner.
The local fire department washed away the spilled fuel, and our van was loaded onto a flatbed wrecker and taken to a local dealer. The mechanic took one look at it, shook his head, and let out a long, slow whistle. He told us he could probably have us mechanically back on the road in four or five days; but if we wanted the body damage repaired, we were looking at two weeks. Dennis told him to make it run, and we'd take care of the bodywork when we got back to Michigan.
We called a local car rental company, and they arrived to pick us up in a gold Chrysler Sebring convertible - top down. My husband announced that this was the car he wanted to rent until our van was ready. The rental agent said, ‘No problem, just sign here,' and handed us the keys.
Back at the dealership, we loaded our luggage and other bags into the convertible and headed to a campground, about 10 miles away. Halfway there it began to rain, lightly at first, but then the skies opened up and we were caught in one of Florida's famous tropical downpours -- while driving down the road in a convertible with the top down, and having absolutely no idea how to put it back up. Five minutes later, parked on the side of the road and soaking wet, we finally figured it out.
We continued to the campground, checked into our cabin, hung our wet things up to dry, and went to bed hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.
It wasn't.
The next morning was cool and cloudy, and after spending two hours on the phone with the Ford dealership, the insurance company, and the tire company in Ocala, (who had failed to properly tighten the wheel after the alignment) we decided to visit Disney World. Donning pants and sweatshirts we headed out, determined to enjoy the unexpected delay of our vacation.
The Raging Rivers water ride sounded like fun, and the four of us eagerly climbed aboard. Everyone was instructed to place all valuables into the waterproof center compartment, and my husband dutifully placed our cell phone inside. Partway through the ride the top of the compartment came unlatched and our cell phone, which had been on top of the other items, bounced out and onto the floor where it sat in several inches of water until the ride ended and we could retrieve it. But it was too late -- it was fried. As we drove back to the campground, now without our van or cell phone, I couldn't help but think that things had to get better.
I was wrong.
After four long days at the campground, we picked up our mechanically sound, but awful-looking van, and headed back to the tire company in Ocala. The rear bumper was nestled between the seats, and other assorted fenders and parts were stashed among our sleeping bags, clothes, and coolers. After several hours of discussing liability with corporate management at the tire company, we checked into a local campground and went out for a late dinner.
It was well after dark when we returned to our cabin, all of us tired and cranky. As Dennis reached for the light switch, he felt something brush against his hand. He flicked the light on and was startled to discover a large red, black and yellow snake curled around the switch box and electrical conduit. It slowly slid into a hole in the wall, just as the light bulb popped and plunged the cabin into darkness. The kids made a mad dash to the campground office, while my husband and I watched in the dark for the snake to return.
The campground manager was awakened, and he arrived with a picture book of snakes, asking us to identify what kind we had seen. Not being familiar with Florida wildlife, we weren't sure, but it looked like a King snake. Since there were no other cabins available -- and I refused to stay in a cabin that had any kind of snake lurking in the walls -- the campground sent us to a motel across the street, at their expense. None of us wanted to enter the cabin in the dark, so we went with only the clothes on our backs. The following morning we retrieved our things from the cabin, and drove to our original destination, Lake Okeechobee. We figured things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
We were wrong.
The first two days were wonderful. We had a great cabin, the weather was perfect, and I began to think that our vacation was going to turn out okay after all. Then on the third day Dennis developed an itchy rash on his hand. We made a trip to the local pharmacy for some ointment, but by evening the rash had spread to his arms, legs and chest. We headed to a nearby medi-center, only to discover that they did not accept our medical insurance. Charging the cost of the visit to our credit card, we took a seat in the waiting room. Forty-five minutes later, the nurse finally called Dennis' name.
The doctor said the itch was most likely an allergic reaction to something, and gave Dennis a prescription for Benadryl and an anti-itch cream. Over the next hour we visited three different pharmacies before finally locating one that would accept our medical insurance, and fill the prescription. Exhausted, we returned to the campground, covered Dennis in anti-itch cream, and went to bed. The next morning I woke up with the same rash on my legs and stomach. By evening the kids also had the rash.
The following morning we packed up and headed north to Bradenton, where we planned to stop and visit friends for a day or so before heading home. They looked at our rashes and recommended a local physician. He looked us over, asked several questions about where we had stayed recently and then announced that what we had was a severe case of bedbugs.
Bedbugs!
I learned that bedbugs live in mattresses and burrow under the skin of unsuspecting victims to lay eggs, which hatch about 48 hours later, and cause a rash with intense itching. The only cure was to be covered in a thick prescription cream from head to toe before bed, for three consecutive nights, and to rinse the cream off with a hot shower every morning. Every piece of clothing was to be washed, in the hottest water possible. All bedding was also to be washed, daily, during the course of treatment, or risk re-infection. I filled the prescription for the cream and the four of us spent the next day in our swimsuits, doing laundry.
Declaring this the worst vacation ever, we headed for home.
Somewhere in Indiana two days later, we stopped for gas, quickly traded our shorts and tank tops for pants and sweatshirts, and then continued on our way. About twenty minutes later, a loud bang startled us and the van lurched to the right. The thump, thump, thump of a flat tire was unmistakable. Dennis maneuvered the van onto the shoulder of the highway and got out to look. The passenger side rear tire was flat. Cursing, he went about the task of changing the tire, putting on the mini size spare in thirty-degree weather and light snow. We then drove slowly to the next exit and found a tire company. Two hours later, we were on the road again.
As we neared our hometown of Muskegon, Michigan, we drove into a blinding snowstorm. Andy, AJ, and I discussed the fact that the snowstorm seemed a fitting end to the worst vacation we'd ever had. Then Dennis announced that he thought we were getting another flat.
As he eased the van onto the shoulder of the road and stopped, a loud thud was followed by the sensation of the rear of the van dropping into a hole. All four of us looked at each other without saying a word, and then got out.
We did not have a flat tire. And we had not fallen into a hole. The rear wheel had come completely off and was lying on the pavement, pinned beneath the van. We were only 50 miles from home, stranded, and without a cell phone, in what was to be one of the biggest snowstorms of the season. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, we stood there, dumbfounded, and shook our heads in disbelief.
A passing motorist soon stopped and I used his cell phone to call a wrecker. I was told that due to the snowstorm it would be at least an hour before they got to us. We got back in the van to wait.
After several minutes of silence, AJ announced he thought maybe his khaki pants were cursed. When I asked him to explain, he pointed out that everything bad on this vacation had happened while he was wearing his khaki pants. He had even slept in them the night we stayed for free at the motel and became infected with the bedbugs. I assured him it was just a coincidence. It had to be.
The wrecker finally arrived, two hours later. The attendant loaded the van onto the flatbed and us into the cab. As the driver prepared to pull into traffic, AJ screamed at him to wait -- he wanted to change out of his khakis, just in case.
I'm sure the driver thought that we were all nuts, but everyone agreed. We climbed out of the cab, Denny hoisted AJ onto the flatbed, handed him the keys, and told him to hurry. AJ climbed into the van, changed into his sweat pants, and tossed the khakis into the back of the van. Once again we all climbed into the cab of the wrecker, and the driver pulled away, shaking his head.
At last, the driver pulled up in front of our house, dropped us in the driveway, and then continued to the repair garage with our van. We would retrieve our things tomorrow.
With the wind howling and the snow swirling all around us, we stood outside the back door of the house and waited while Dennis searched his pockets for the keys. Not finding them, he turned and looked at AJ, then shook his head. The keys were in the van, in the pocket of AJ's khaki pants.
Vowing that khaki pants would no longer be allowed on any family vacations, Dennis smashed a window and climbed inside as the rest of us shivered in the dark. A moment later he unlocked the door and we went inside - our National Lampoon Vacation was finally over.
The following day the window was fixed, the cell phone replaced, and we retrieved our things from the van.
The khaki pants were burned.
And to this day, whenever something goes wrong, the first thing any one of us asks is, "All right...who's wearing khaki?"
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About The Author
Chris Stralyn never intended to be a writer. Short-order cook, security guard, safety officer, childcare provider, and teacher were all titles she’d worn – but never writer. Then she entered an essay contest for “The Worst Vacation Ever” and won. Writing became her new hobby, and soon she had several articles in print with local publications. This was followed by a short story, The Khaki Pants, which was published by RDR Publishing in an anthology that went on to sell over a million copies. Khaki Pants, A Vacation Story is a reprint of that original story.
A suspense thriller was her next undertaking, and in 2008 This Time You Lose was named a finalist in the TNBW Strongest Start Novel Competition. Four months later it earned the distinction of being a TNBW Readers Choice Top Ten Novel, and has remained on the Top Ten list ever since.
Chris Stralyn continues to put pen to paper in her endeavor to appease the Muse within. She lives in Michigan with her husband and family.
Other Titles by Chris Stralyn
What others are saying about This Time You Lose
“This Time You Lose is a real heart stopper; the tension and suspense is unbelievable. Very graphic and vivid, this story is gripping, enthralling and exciting as hell. Really a phenomenal read.”
Mike Amrein, author of Into The Flames
“Chris Stralyn is far beyond many big-name authors. Stralyn keeps the reader's interest from page one. Though the story only spans a couple days, she not only keeps your heart thumping, but she also invites you inside the characters' minds. Your heart aches for the children as they fight their fear with the strength of the innocent. You even feel sympathy for the protagonist's younger brother as Stralyn unravels the mystery of the younger man's loyalty. Read this book. You won't regret it!”
April Plummer, writer
“I read This Time You Lose cover to cover in one sitting. I really couldn’t put this one down! The writing is so fast paced, and the action kept me on the edge of my seat. Lisa summoned such strength in her fight to survive, and I was impressed with the author’s ability to capture her survival instincts so vividly and with such precision.”
Emily Betsler, Aria Books
“Well written. A real page turner. I actually felt the fear!”
T. Kaye, writer
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