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I turned the faucet as hot as it could go letting out a sigh of relief as the water began to defrost my frigid hands. Once I could bend my fingers comfortably again, I took two pumps of soap from the dispenser and began scrubbing them clean. I examined myself in the mirror. Under the harsh fluorescent light, I could see my face was in need of a good wash. Despite using my 18 and 1 biodegradable soap, I was still covered in a layer of dirt and grime. I knew the Neutrogena exfoliating face wash shoved in my jacket pocket would get the job done. In the other pocket, I carried Crest toothpaste and my toothbrush. I had been craving the minty fresh sensation of Crest over my all-natural peppermint essential oil toothpaste. Because the water from the sink in my van all drains into one tank, using only environmentally safe, biodegradable products allows me to dispose of this grey water pretty much anywhere.
A flush sounded and a Walmart employee emerged from one of the stalls adjacent to the sinks. I could feel the woman looking at me through the mirror as she began washing her hands. I watched her eyes move from my beanie, to my fuzzy fleece layered over a sweatshirt, to my sweatpants, and finally to my wool socks and moccasin slippers.
She chuckled, “Well, don’t you look like a teddy bear this morning.”
It was getting warmer now that the sun was up and would probably be in the low 60s in a few hours, but the temperature had dropped into the 20s during the night.
“It’s a cold one!” I replied from under my mask.
“I’m from the northeast,” the Walmart employee informed me, “so I know what cold really means. People down here don’t know what a little chill is.”
I suppressed a laugh, amused to have been mistaken for a Southerner who couldn’t handle a morning chill. Four years in New Hampshire taught me a lot about the cold, and the proud New Englander in me wanted to correct her. But, I wondered how I could explain that the only reason I was in the Walmart bathroom at 7 am dressed like a teddy bear was because I had slept in my car in the parking lot that night. Instead, I helplessly shrugged. After she exited the bathroom to return to her shift, I excitedly removed my face wash, toothpaste and toothbrush and continued to indulge in the warm water and my non-biodegradable products.
A Walmart bathroom may seem like a grim place to start the day, but, in reality, it is not so different from the many communal dormitory bathrooms I grew accustomed to over the years. They have similar configurations, the same terrible lighting, and the same single ply toilet paper. However, at 7 am Walmart’s bathrooms are probably cleaner. Sharing a bathroom with 15 other girls prepared me for everything ranging from sinks covered in gold glitter residue to pizza in the toilet. And, if you’ve ever stepped foot in a fraternity house bathroom on a Sunday morning, you might go as far as saying Walmart is heavenly.
Though the #vanlife dream is to spend the night parked at an Instagram worthy vista, a scenic lake, right by the beach, or on a mountain side, the reality is that in between these beautiful destinations when I’m driving trying to cover ground the last thing I want to do at the end of the day is stress out about finding somewhere to sleep. Luckily, there’s always a Walmart within a ten minute radius thanks to American capitalism. My love for Walmart parking lots may seem odd juxtaposed to some of the other locations I’ve called home for the night, but I appreciate them for different reasons and have begun to realize that it’s not always about the view. I enjoy the thrill of trying to find the ideal camping spot, however there are also a lot of unknowns and uncertainty that come with it.
Last week as I was making my way from Ouachita National Forest and into the Ozarks, I found a US Army Corps of Engineers free campsite on Blue Mountain Lake. Arriving at golden hour, the lake reflected mountains in the distance. The site was empty besides a few fishermen, so I claimed the prime real estate right by the water admiring the view as the sky boasted pinks and purples before turning dark . As I was reading in bed at 11 pm, I heard a car pull up next to me. Churro, being the dutiful guard dog that she is, began barking. Despite knowing my doors were locked, my heart raced and I reached for the pepper spray on my keychain. A wave of relief rushed over me, quickly replaced with dread as I heard what sounded like a police officer reading my license plate number into a radio. Then came the knock on my window. Though prepared for it, I was still startled. Flustered, I removed the window cover, unlocked the door, and was greeted by the town sheriff. He confirmed that I was allowed to park there and said that he was just doing his evening round. He checked my license, noted that I was quite a ways from home, and then asked if it was just me.
“Me and my dog” I replied as Churro continued to bark up a storm.
“Do you have a gun?” he asked.
“No, just pepper spray.” I answered, remembering that I was still clutching it tightly in my hand.
“It’s generally pretty safe around here, but it’s hunting season so there’s lots of people coming through. Keep your doors locked. And, I’m going to give you this,” he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me, “Call if anything happens or you need help while you’re in the area. Have a nice night.”
He left and I put down the pepper spray, relocked my doors, replaced the window covers, closed my curtains, got back in bed, and examined the card:
Logan County Sheriff’s Office, Patrol Deputy Mark Walker LCII, followed by an address, phone number, and email. As friendly as he was, I hoped that that was the first and last time I’d talk to Sheriff Walker. As I tried to fall asleep, I wondered if maybe I should have that taser my grandfather offered. Or, at least the baseball bat my dad suggested. But, what was I going to do? Carry those around with me at all times and then try to combat someone if something happened? Twirling my pepper spray on my keychain, I reassured myself of my plan. Pepper spray, lock doors, and drive.
Sometimes it’s nice knowing exactly what to expect when so much of my day is spent not knowing what’s around the next corner. I recently stopped at a Home Depot in Fayetteville, Arkansas to pick up a few items for the van and found myself smiling as I navigated the aisles with ease. Despite being a thousand miles away from the location I had frequented almost every day for 3.5 months in Westerly, Rhode Island throughout the van conversion, I was momentarily grounded in a sense of familiarity.
Pulling into a Walmart for the night every now and again similarly provides a break from the unknown. There are no surprises. I know I am allowed to park overnight. I know there are security cameras. I know I’ll have cell service. I know I have access to a bathroom. I know I can fill up my water bottle. I know I can restock whatever I need. Once it’s dark, with my doors locked, window covers on, and curtains closed, I could be anywhere and still feel at home. I sleep easy despite the hum of nearby traffic.
ABLAZ 