I'm almost fully recovered from our trip down to the Durty. Everything was incredible and I couldn't believe how relaxing a holiday can actually be once you put eleven hours between you and your next of kin. I turned off my phone, boycotted my email, and threw the clock out the window. Who needs a clock when you have a Jake, anyway.
To get down there I earned my keep by driving through North Carolina at 3am. So yeah. That's different than anything I've ever done before. NC I95 is way different than our I95.
Our 95 has eighteen lanes, each big enough to land a 747 in case of an emergency, street lights, and a reasonable speed limit. NC 95 has two eensy lanes, nothing but the moon to light your way, and no real traffic rules at all. Our 95 is full of normal, mid-Atlantic people. NC is full of not-normal, not-mid-Atlantic people. Which explains why all the pickups that blew past me at 100mph contained at least one of the following:
*An elderly lady with a 100-length cigarette smouldering in her trach-hole counting Marlboro miles that will be redeemed for Christmas gifts
*A skinny guy spraying Febreeze in a Winston t-shirt to make it smell like new so no one makes fun of him when he makes it to the drinking party at the parking lot down by the old quarry.
*A blonde with a bad dye-job trying to pull her fauxny-tail out of the rifle rack without crashing
*A sloppy weepy chick with runny eye makeup drinking homemade booze out of a mason jar
*A guy in a sleeveless flannel shirt trying to scrape the now-defunct number 8 off his windshield. While driving.
*A 21 year-old guy in a wife beater beating his 19 year-old pregnant wife. Who in turn was beating her just-turned nine year-old son with a broomstick. Who in turn was kissing his almost-about-to-be 12 year-old cousin. On the mouth, with tongue.
*A dog with a bandanna in the truck bed
*A life sized cardboard cutout of Larry the Cableguy
*A life sized cardboard cutout of Billy Graham
*A life sized cardboard cutout of Robert E. Lee waving a real Confederate flag and wearing a mullet wig.
I was a-scared, Ma. Real real a-scared.
So I did the only thing I thought to do. I handed the wheel back over and went to sleep until Charleston.
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2 degrees {comments}:
I call b*llsh*t. That guys beating his pregnant wife was at least 23! Admit it!
You were in the scary part of NC. Up here in the triad we don't have any of what you listed; except the confederate flags, and PWT in wife beaters, and bad bleach jobs, and they smoke alot. But we like to call that "cult-ure".
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