The Sweatiest Road Trip Ever - Day 3 - The Great Mayonnaise Crisis!

Day 3 -

Today was, and this is not going to shock many of the more astute readers, a day full of driving.
We awoke at our hotel and began the day with a toast to crappy coffee.

Crappy coffee tastes slightly better when you drink it out of a mug that your best friend made. Thanks, Ben!

The view from our hotel seemed scientifically designed to remind you that no matter how crappy your coffee is, things could be infinitely worse.

Yes, your coffee may taste like watered down road grit, but at least you didn't have to sleep there.

And it worked. With this renewed, revitalized outlook on life, we packed up Squanket and headed back on the road. Our goal for the day was to make it to Jacksonville, FL so we could have breakfast with my brother and his wife who had recently moved to that area.

Off we go. Kerri is still behind the wheel to prevent me from stopping at The World's Largest Anything.

We had, without any question, arrived in The South. There is a palpable change in the air. I'd like to say that it was the smell of peaches and honeysuckle, but it was, in fact, hot asphalt and diesel fumes. There is a distinct increase in Jesus-themed slogans and billboards.

Awwwwww.

I'm not sure what sort of sin you have to commit in order to need a billboard begging for forgiveness.

Wow. It must have been a whopper.

Seriously. What happened?

WHAT DID YOU DO?!?!

Was it you? It seemed rude to ask. And, possibly, dangerous.

I did enjoy the juxtaposition of the signs begging forgiveness with the signs advertising the "Adult Superstores".

We didn't stop because

Kerri

claimed that

I'm still not

an adult.

As we avoided temptation at every exit, we passed a sprawling trailer park flying a football-field sized banner reading "TRUMP THE LEGEND - 2020".

We also passed a U-Haul storage facility that advertised it as a great place to store "RV - BOAT - WINE". Seems fancy, right?

Southerners, as a general rule, tend to have fewer bumper stickers on their cars than we New Englanders do. We did see many, many alarming "Trump Forever" stickers.

We also saw this cryptic window decal of Jesus shooting a basketball.

And there are also a staggering number of billboards for injury lawyers. I suppose that people spend time reading the billboards, crash into other cars, and then need accident lawyers. It's brilliant, really.

We stopped at a Welcome Center in South Carolina and enjoyed some real southern heat and humidity.

It. Is. SOOOO. Hot. Here.

Tori was afraid her feet would melt if she touched the ground.

South Carolina did have a lovely welcome center, complete with a metal seat, baking in the sun. Naturally, we forced our children to sit on it for a photo.

Don't touch me. Also, our legs are cooked to the seat. Thanks, Dad.

I'd love to show you the natural beauty of South Carolina. I assume it has some. Our view was somewhat limited due to the astounding number of semi-trucks on the highway.

Ohh, look, kids. A truck!

You can see some greenery there. Past the truck.

Hey! Is that a field?

Pretty!

Oh, dear. It seems like death is sort of a self-solving condition, but what do I know?

This is as close as we actually got to seeing any turf or sod in South Carolina.

Look at that beautiful blue sky. 

...sigh...

Hey! Is that a tree?

The majesty of the highway landscape.

Kerri enjoyed the camaraderie of sharing the road with the truckers. 10-4, good buddy! 

And then, it was time for lunch.

We made the regrettable mistake of deciding to combine lunch and a stop for gas. We somehow managed to find the most filthy Exxon station in the entire Northern Hemisphere.

"This seems like a good place to get Hepatitis A, B, C, and K," Tori cheerfully announced.
"Don't lick anything," I growled. "You'll be fine."

We did make the potentially life-altering decision to use the bathrooms at this gas station. Maybe we would need a funeral solution afterward. Who knows?

Without getting overly personal, I made the decision to not wash my hands after seeing the condition of the sink. It seemed safer that way.

After surviving the squalid bathrooms, we naturally wanted lunch. The only place with any sort of shade was right at the gas pumps so, in defiance of all good manners, we ate right at the pumps.

Fresh tomato sandwiches are a weakness of mine. I could eat them every meal in the summer and this trip had come right in the middle of the tomato harvest. I had picked a few tomatoes from our garden just before we left for this trip. I also baked a fresh loaf of bread and packed up a small container of mayonnaise. These are the only things that belong on a tomato sandwich and I will listen to no arguments about it.

Trying hard to suppress the memories of the bathroom, I carefully sliced my tomato.  I gently laid out the bread.  I looked for the mayonnaise. Where was the mayo? HOW CAN I HAVE A PROPER TOMATO SANDWICH WITHOUT MAYO?

Tori, ever the trooper, slipped back into the gas station and grabbed a few mayo packets from the sandwich case. Yes. I'd eat mayonnaise from a place where the sink was too dirty to wash my hands. The irony is not lost on me, thank you very much.

Crisis averted. 

As I finished my sandwich and licked the last few precious crumbs from my fingers, Kerri asked, "Did you ever wash your hands after using that bathroom? We have hand sanitizer right here."

I began resigning myself to a painful, undignified death.  Maybe I should order a few billboards to be installed along the highway so that others will repent not washing their hands.

The good news is that I didn't die.

The better news is that we were making better time than we had planned on. Mostly because we didn't take and scenic routes. Mostly because there aren't any scenic routes available.

Ohhh, scenic. This might be the only toilet in South Carolina worse than the one at the Exxon station.

Or, maybe this one.

This is as close to a scenic view as we were afforded.

Soon, our brief journey through South Carolina was at an end.

Good-bye, old friend.

Hello, new friend.

The most striking thing about Georgia was that it was almost exactly like South Carolina.

Except it had a light house,

unabashedly cheap gas,

And lots and lots of peaches.

And as soon as we had really started to appreciate Georgia, we were in Florida.

Well, thank you!

Behold, the bridge into Florida. We had arrived.

Our plan had been to stop near Jacksonville and pop in on my brother and his wife for a quick breakfast before we hit the road to get Tori to school on time. We made such good time that we arrived in Jacksonville earlier than we had planned.

Pat & Carolyn very graciously changed their plans from breakfast with us to dinner with us. We joined them for a delicious BBQ dinner at their beautiful new home. It was relaxing and fun and delicious!

Pulled pork = joy.

Me and my kid brother, Pat. Thanks for the wonderful visit!

Since we still had about 5 hours of driving before we reached Fort Lauderdale and Tori wanted to check in by 2:00 at the latest and I still hadn't died of gas-station-induced dysentery, we decided to get in another couple hours of driving.

We made it to a hotel in Daytona and spent the night.

I don't know what the view outside the room was like because it was dark. But inside the room:

Maybe don't leave the card advertising your "Squeaky Clean" rooms next to the eggshells and cracker crumbs scattered all over the desk. 

Tomorrow: Move In Day for Tori!

Another Year of Low Level Animosity Directed at My Best Friends

Let us begin with a picture.

It is a deceptive picture. What appears to be a happy, heart-warming scene of Christmas gift giving joy is actually the opening salvo in this year's annual Gift Swap of Horror.

It would be smart to include a brief history lesson at this point; but I did that last year and I'm not going to rewrite the whole thing. You should click here to read about the history of the Gift Swap of Horror.

Be sure to come back here though, because otherwise you'll miss out on how this year's swap included gunfire and 7 layer Mexican dip that may have only had 6 layers.

Tim and Katie, pictured above in the scant few seconds before the enormity of their fate was made clear to them, have long held an annual Laser Tag game in the week between Christmas and New Year. The invitations always point to the fact that you will have the opportunity to shoot your loved ones in a festive, jolly fashion without all the messy legal wrangling that holiday family shootings usually involve. It also gives everyone an opportunity to run around in a dark arena and work up a healthy holiday sweat while mindlessly shooting at children. It is incredibly enticing immediately after the holidays.

This year, the Laser Tag shootout was postponed a bit. Through serendipitous happenstance, we were able to shamelessly piggyback the Gift Swap of Horror on to the same day as the Laser Tag. We played Laser Tag, then we gathered for The Swap.

My wish, in retrospect, is that the order of events could have been reversed. After the Gift Swap, there was much more animosity stewing within us that could have used venting. And more importantly, after the Laser Tag, there was much more locker room aroma clinging to us that could have used venting. We masked the odor of our stinky selves with 6 or 7 Layer Mexican Dip (I couldn't get a clear layer count) and soldiered on with The Swap, however.

We are seasoned Gift Swappers, battle hardened from 13 years of bestowing unimaginable eyesores on one another. After what seemed to be a sufficient time milling around the kitchen, grazing on snacks and slurping brain-lubricating liquids, we all trudged warily into the living room where the gifts waited.

The gifts almost looked welcoming and enticing in their festive wrappings. We drew names with the solemnity due to the occasion and then the horror began in full.

First up were Tim and Katie. If you visit them at any point in the next twelve months, be sure to take a tour of their bedroom and look for this treat, which we predict will look amazing over their bed.

In fact, there is some speculation that the couple in the picture is actually Tim & Katie on their recent honeymoon.
You decide.

Ben was delighted that his gift included a convenient, beat-up carrying case so he can bring his gift with him wherever he goes.

And he most certainly WILL bring it with him wherever he goes, as soon as he figures out what the heck it is.

Not clearly visible in the picture are the three-inch, lethal steel spikes protruding at random angles from this thing. Those spikes made it clear to Ben that he had been given a most rare treat in The Swap. A wearable piece of art. He doesn't even need that carrying case.

The age of this crumbing beauty pretty much guarantees that the glittery white filaments raining down on Ben's head are asbestos.
Or lead.
Or both.


Julie and Scott were amazed and awed by the surreal beauty and transcendent, sublime loveliness of the art which will be blessing their home for the next year.

A genuine, rapturous glow shone in through the windows as they bathed in the splendor of their gift.

If they ever find the mental patient who glued all those individual beads down to create this masterpiece, I'm certain that they will prostrate themselves at his feet, thanking him endlessly for the joy he brought into their lives.

Kerri and I had the terrible misfortune of drawing Ben's name this year. Ben's wife, Ann was unable to attend this year's swap. Ben claims that it was a sinus infection, but I am of the opinion that she simply didn't want to have to face whichever friend was saddled with this for the next year.

If I could offer a good description of it, I would. It is giant. It is made of some sort of cast material; possibly the same crushed asbestos that Ben's gift is made from. It weighs at least 50 pounds.
 You can see for yourself how delighted I was when I unwrapped it and herniated myself lifting it.

Ben offered the suggestion that I might want to sink a giant lag bolt into a stud behind the wall for hanging. "Make sure you get it on a stud," he warned.

I'm considering hanging it outside. I may be able to turn my yard into a sort of Magellan Museum, complete with a hideous cast bust of Magellan and nothing more.

I'm certain my neighbors will love it as much as I do.