Imagine being forced to live with your family in a house half the size of your living room for four months. It doesn't exactly sound like a teenager's dream. But for me this nightmare came true this summer when we moved out of our 2,500 square foot house into a 29-foot pull trailer. Why, you might ask. Well, we had recently sold our house and decided to build a new one on Rogers Mesa. Since we had to be out by May 10th and we couldn't find any place to rent, we were forced to purchase a travel trailer to live in during the summer while our new home was being built. Of course, this was a huge shock to my system considering the entire trailer was barely the size of my bathroom and bedroom in our old house.
The trailer was a 1993 Roadranger, and I'm sure it was a beauty in its time, but it was becoming pretty run down by the time it got to us. It was in pretty good condition on the outside, other than the off-colored ivory paint, which was clearly weathered and faded. A thin orange stripe sandwiched between two large brown stripes decorated the lower portion of the body. An old metal rusted "Roadranger" emblem was hanging crooked next to the spare tire that was covered in an old white cloth, yellowed from time. Over every single window was a small awning acting as a shield from the sun. In the front of the trailer there was a large awning, the size of the entire trailer that protruded about 5 feet. It made a nice patch of shade to sit under on hot days. However, it was in pretty bad shape. It was covered with brown and yellow stains caused from rain and dirt that reminded me of a tie died T-shirt.
Upon entering the trailer there were two doors. One went into the master bedroom, and the other into the living room/dining room/spare bedroom/office. The one going into the master bedroom was rarely used because once it was opened, it was nearly impossible to get it shut. The front door was a hard metal door, and it almost felt as if it had been stuccoed because it had a really rough and bumpy texture to it. Behind this door was a screen door. The lower half of the screen was torn and then duck-taped back together. The upper part was torn as well but was just left hanging there on one side like the flap of a pair of suspenders. The step to get into the front door was anything but safe. It was known to give out on the left side at any moment.
When I stepped in the trailer for the first time, all I smelled was old. Old as in the way my great grandma's house smelled. It was a musty and not lived in smell that I hated. The first thing I saw when I walked into the trailer was brown: brown carpet, brown couch, brown table, brown cupboards, brown linoleum, brown everything. I'm not talking a nice warm chocolate brown either; it was more like the color of a present my cat would leave me.
I almost tripped over a large brown chair that was practically sitting in the doorway. This chair was the most comfortable place to sit in the trailer; it had a...