First and foremost, we survived our first tollbooth. I was reading a book when I looked up and saw the signs announcing its arrival. I threw the book across the cab and started scrambling for my wallet, swearing like a sailor, spare change flying all over the place and beaning Taylor in the head. I ignored his frustrated command to return to my book reading; my loyal Facebook friends had prepared me for this moment and he needed me. I became confused as each car came to a full stop at the tollbooth – I was on the edge of my seat, fully prepared for speeding past the window and chucking out the correct amount of change, thereby proving to the people behind us that whatever conceptions they had about our Idaho license plates were dead wrong. It all turned out to be very anticlimactic, the booth was manned (womaned?) by a very good-natured lady who took Taylor’s ten-dollar bill (with me hissing in the background “Exact change!! She’s gonna cut you!!”) and handed him his change back with a smile and the best of wishes for the rest of our day. We pulled away and Taylor gave me a smug look that I pretended not to see as I put my wallet back with all the dignity I could muster. Just wait, I told him, you’ll be grateful for me when we hit tollbooths further east, where people straight murder other people for not conforming to the strict tollbooth customs that I am quite sure exist.
People were much kinder in Kansas than in Colorado, and even nicer in Missouri. I feel like a novelty around here when people find out we’re from Idaho, we may as well be from Mongolia for as shocked as people seem when they find out. And no potato comments so far, I’ll take it. I was starting to wonder if my notions of the rest of the country being a pit of murder and despair were wrong, but then I saw a billboard on the side of the interstate that said, “People are being sold. Report it” complete with a bunch of little hands reaching up from the bottom of the board to a website for reporting human trafficking. Nope, nothing but evil, starting at the Colorado border.
You’ll be happy to know that we’ve found plenty of Walgreens in which to pass the time when I can’t stand another second in the truck. Upon waking up from a thirty-minute snooze with a serious crick in my neck, we stopped at one in Illinois and, of course, they had just what I needed: one of those chunky little neck pillows for a sweet ten bucks. Walgreens always has your back, unless you need antibiotics in Denver, then it’s every man for himself.
The humidity appears to agree with the speakers, which began working again today, scaring the crap out of us when the silent cab suddenly exploded with the booming vocals of a very impassioned pastor. Beyond that, the only thing the humidity has given us is the responsibility of wiping everything off that came with us between the truck and hotel door, since everything is covered in condensation after that 30-second jaunt.
Upon finding out that the most exciting thing to see in Kansas was the world’s biggest ball of sisal twine, we decided not to linger, though we did have lunch in Kansas City. It was a whole lot of madness trying to drive around that enormous place, and I never saw anything green. Just concrete and then some more concrete. Beatrice (our trusty phone navigator) spent the entire time re-routing us because we kept missing turns. At one point, after a second failed attempt to take the left turn onto 11th street that she had suggested, her forward (and, I swear, annoyed) little voice said “Make an immediate U-turn on Franklin and turn right on 11thstreet”, when taking that U-turn would have introduced the front of our truck to the concrete divider separating the two flows of traffic. Well played,Beatrice, well played. Also, I never realized how much I took parking for granted in Idaho. Want to stop at a restaurant in Idaho Falls? No problem. Pull a U-turn in the middle of the street, sans concrete divider, and come to a full stop alongside the restaurant. Want to stop at a restaurant in Kansas City? No problem. Just drive past it a few miles it through a sea of vehicles and pedestrians, fistfight someone for a spot, and then walk back to the restaurant in the sweltering heat. You got this.
Back to the humidity: this is a bad situation for my already unattended state of attractiveness. Having hair that is neither curly nor straight means I have hair that is frizzy. This was fine in Idaho, where I could just tackle it with a straightener and move on with my life. Here, I tackle it with a straightener, walk outside, and feel it afro-tizing. I’m sure the locals think I’m a quite a sight when I step out of the truck looking tired and harassed, with my hair simultaneously tangled from the wind (we’ve found that the air conditioner works better if we give it a break now and then, at which time we cruise along with the windows down), weighed down from the water-soaked air, but with numerous pieces frizzing out all over the place. I need to stay out of the big cities so I don’t get snagged by one of those crazy daytime makeover shows. I’m a prime candidate at this point.
We’ve passed some of the time thoroughly abusing a senator on NPR because his last name was Dingle, as well as a town we passed because it was called Effingham (effing ham!) and keeping an eye out for White Castle restaurants. Acting your age isn’t necessary once the odometer has rolled back to zero because you’ve driven more miles than it can count.
On another note entirely, if you’ve ever wondered how Amazon can get a package to you on a Tuesday morning when you ordered it Monday nightat 11:30 pm, it’s because the UPS trucks haul some ass on these freeways. You best be getting out of the way when you see one of those, they have important UPS shit to do and they mean business.
Currently, I’m passing the time by blasting ridiculous, old music on my beloved MacBook, singing along to gems like Whoomp, there it is,and Lyrical Gangsta (muuurderaaaa, cha cha chang chang) complete with some sweet upper body moves to keep the atmosphere kickin’. You’ll have to ask Taylor how he feels about that.
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