Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century

by Jessica Bruder

Restaurant owners aren’t the only ones scrambling to make a buck. Every year, vendors descend on Quartzsite, setting up temporary booths or reopening storefronts that closed for the off-season, posting signs all over town. “Mr. Motorhome Has the CLEANEST RVS in QUARTZSITE” claims one pitchman, whose photo appears on a series of posters, his grin unsettlingly white. “It’s not a mirage, the deals are real,” blare ads for a competitor, RVs for Less. “FREE PANCAKE BREAKFAST” reads a banner outside La Mesa RV, another dealership. Six mornings a week, seniors line up there for a hot meal in a room called the Silver Buckle Customer Corral, amid televised ads for motorhomes most cannot afford. (They treat the ads like soup-kitchen sermons—obligatory background noise to ignore.) There are dozens of RV supply and service stations, from waste dumping sites to solar panel vendors and roving windshield repair shops. Some use silly names to stand out: Passmore Gas, A Toe Truck, the RV Proctologist. Others make a loftier appeal. At Schartel Pinstriping Services, there’s a tent topped with a giant cross and a sign that says “Hope for America. America for Jesus.” Everyone’s angling for a quick payday, promising rock-bottom prices. “We Stack It Deeper & Sell It Cheaper,” promises one sign. “Everything Must Go!” says another. At salvaged grocery outlets—known as “scratch-and-dent” stores—shoppers find deeply discounted food past its sell-by date in crushed boxes and dinged cans. Behind the l...