There are about a two dozen designated spots around the perimeter of the club where it is permissible for members to place a gas grill for the season. Depending on your point of view, some of those places are more desirable than others. So it comes about at the opening of the season that otherwise normal club members line up to grab the choice spots.
I share a grill with several other club members. Our plan was to show up about two hours before the gates were due to open at 10 on Saturday morning. We figured we’d be fourth or fifth in line. Think again.
Turns out people had been lining up since the previous evening, showing up with dinner, wine, a laptop full of movies, and sleeping bags to brave a night in the parking lot. Others began filtering in at daybreak. Someone brought a raft of donuts and one of those big boxes of “Joe.”
By the time my grill partner Cary arrived at 8 am (armed with folding chair and ample reading material) he was assigned number 18. Oh yes, there was a sign-in sheet to prevent chaos—right there next to a neatly typed, plastic-protected page of rules titled “Grill Entry Procedure.”
I turned up at about 9:30 with the actual grill in the back of my SUV, last year’s greasy barbecue crud speckling the rear carpet. I hauled the grill into line—eighteenth out of twenty by this point and waited for the magic moment.
A member of the club staff appeared to reiterate the rules. We were reminded that grills could be put in designated positions near the play area, along the upper fence, or on the grass beyond the deep end of the pool. By this point I figured we had all gone off the deep end.
The Grill Entry Procedure recommended that two people be present for each grill—one to enter at the main gate when their number was called, and the second to enter at the side gate with the actual grill. Trouble was, the staffer at the side gate did not have the list of numbers. So, after the hours of waiting, the gallons of coffee, and the endless debates about which spots were best for grilling, a scene ensued that was vaguely reminiscent of those old black-and-white movies about the Oklahoma Land Rush.
Grown men muttered cluelessly, trying to recall their numbers. One poor fellow lost a wheel. His grill, listing sadly to starboard, was pulled off the line until a pool staffer came to his aid.
Finally, I made it through the side gate. Despite being the penultimate grill to enter, we got the exact spot we wanted. When it comes to grill placement, there’s no accounting for taste.