Trail Trash #004: Shower Pressure So Weak I Just Gave Up and Used Baby Wipes
- Trail South
- May 23
- 2 min read
Location: A campground that shall remain nameless (because we hope they fix it)
Vibe: Damp. Disappointed. Lightly lemon-scented.
Listen — I’m not asking for spa luxury. When I roll into a campground and see they’ve got showers, I’m just hoping for three things:
Hot water
Privacy
Water pressure that doesn’t come from a disinterested angel spitting through a straw
But this place?
This place made me rethink my relationship with dirt.
So there I was. Tired. Sweaty. Smelling like road trip regrets and truck stop taquitos.I gather my towel, my flip-flops, and my 3-in-1 body/hair/self-esteem wash, and I head to the bathhouse with hope in my heart.
I should’ve known.
The first red flag?The door creaked like it was trying to warn me.The second?There was a frog in the corner making direct eye contact.The third?
I turned the knob, and the shower let out a sound like a dying kazoo……and then produced a gentle mist, like someone whispering on my shoulder.
I stood there. Naked. Betrayed. The mist hit my arm and evaporated before it even made contact.
I stuck my hand in. Waited. Prayed.
Gave it a second.
Nope.
It was like showering under the breath of a dehydrated ghost.
So I made a choice.
I dried off. Walked back to the camper. And grabbed the real MVP of RV'ing hygiene: a pack of off-brand baby wipes I bought at a Love’s station in Arkansas for $1.87.
Do you know how humbling it is to stand in your rig, wiping your armpits with something that says “Soothing for Sensitive Bottoms”?
I do.
Now you do too.
Conclusion:If your campground shower feels like God sneezing on you from space — just embrace the wipes.
They’re cold.
They’re weird.
But they work.
And at least they don’t make eye contact like that damn frog did.
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💬 Got a Trail Trash moment of your own? Whether you battled the drizzle-shower or met a raccoon bartender, send it in. This is a judgment-free zone. Unless you borrow a sewer hose during dinner.
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