The third installment of a tale of a journey into the southern swamps wherein I love a truck
Off we go. The first order of business upon leaving the airport is to pick up Cristal's rental car. The people pretzels we had become inside of Shane's AC-less sports car are in favor of this move. I'm not expecting anything grand, but I'm betting there will be air. So we're driving...
And here's a thing to know about Columbia. It is the capitol of SC. It is a Major Metropolitan AreaTM. However, it's nothing like any of you Yankees might think of when you think of a city. Cities in the south tend to have room to grow out, not just up. And as they grow, they don't run into other cities. When a city ends, you're driving two hours before you see another population center. Perhaps this why I still can't tell you if something is standing in Milford, Orange, or West Haven.
So Columbia is a sprawling sort of thing, surrounded by suburbs with interchangeable names. And it's all connected by Interstates. Big ass, straight, ever marching forward roads. Just remember, if you want to get anywhere in Columbia, you're going to have to get on a major highway to get there. But don't worry. The lanes are wide. The drivers are easy to take advantage of.
But all this driving leaves Cristal and I time to begin the eternal chatter. It is our always rolling conversation of the weekend. And it's not as if the boys don't join in. But it's a thing they drift in and out of, as we make little paper dolls out of words and history. I complain about the lack of decent Mexican food in CT. She explains why Lannie Johnson was such a shit head to me. I realize that I have lost my connection to places. She tells me about the breed of feral dogs living in SC. Back and forth, making little potholders and fucking up the paint by number canvas.
We eventually pull into the rental place. And it feels so damn good to pile inside. There's AC inside. As much as southern heat sucks - and oh how it sucks more in the back seat of a car - the euphoria of walking out of that heat into a climate controlled building is a special kind of "Ahhh.... yeah." We fall into chairs as Cristal deals with the paperwork. And Shane is standing there, talking to us.
Shane has always been an unknown quantity to me. I can't watch the thought patterns move through his head in the way I can with most people. He has his very own unique patterns. This is something I totally respect, and boy can he totally knock you out of a rhythm with a single comment. But John finally put into words the thing that makes conversation with Shane such an otherwordly experience. Not only does Shane seem to take pleasure in his off kiltering effect, but whereas your brain and mouth may move at a 70... his brain is going 90, while his mouth is doing 30. And no, I don't mean that he speaks slowly.
It makes for interesting conversation.
And somewhere in the middle of Shane speaking, he looks out of the window behind us and says, "There's a boy walking down the sidewalk, wearing his backpack and carrying his shirt." I turn around to see the shirtless boy walking in the heat. "And that really just sums it up, doesn't it?"
Like I said. Off kilter.
Right so, the rental is ready and we head outside to see what awaits.
Yeah, that's right. A Ford F-150 XLT. You can take the girl out of the swamp, but you can't take away her appreciation for F-series trucks. Now, because of issues we've had with the Escape, I've grown a real hatred of Ford Motor Co. But that could not stop me from falling in love with this baby. It's a goddamned truck with more interior space than our Escape. It's like if a Cadillac kicked ass. And the bloody thing was tricked out and terribly posh inside. Honestly, I could think of no better vehicle for our foray into swampland territory the next day. The thing could very nearly make an otherwise progressive girl want to go mudding.
Or at least fishtail down a dirt road or two.
Instead we went to a Mexican restaurant for lunch. I could say a lot about the food or the service at this place. But instead, I will focus on this. BOTTOMLESS GLASSES OF ICED TEA. Yeah, I went Dooce for that. I drank the tea, they filled it up again. I drank more. They gave me more tea. Sweet tea. Cold, sweet tea. Over and over again. Yeah. It was awesome. This was also the first place that we encountered a southern oddity I'd forgotten. When they took our order, they asked how we were splitting the check. Yup. They did that. They offered separate checks. It actually caught me off guard.
By this time the flight and the long day were starting to catch up to us. So John and Shane headed home. And Cristal and I hit the store quickly on the way. Nothing terribly interesting to report from the Food Lion. Except that they didn't have the hand held scanner thing that I am utterly addicted to these days. And I didn't spot any self checkouts. Which honestly, would make the grocery store run a nightmare for me. Wait? I have to... interact with people? Even slightly? Bah.. go fuck yourself.
And here's a thing to know about Columbia. It is the capitol of SC. It is a Major Metropolitan AreaTM. However, it's nothing like any of you Yankees might think of when you think of a city. Cities in the south tend to have room to grow out, not just up. And as they grow, they don't run into other cities. When a city ends, you're driving two hours before you see another population center. Perhaps this why I still can't tell you if something is standing in Milford, Orange, or West Haven.
So Columbia is a sprawling sort of thing, surrounded by suburbs with interchangeable names. And it's all connected by Interstates. Big ass, straight, ever marching forward roads. Just remember, if you want to get anywhere in Columbia, you're going to have to get on a major highway to get there. But don't worry. The lanes are wide. The drivers are easy to take advantage of.
But all this driving leaves Cristal and I time to begin the eternal chatter. It is our always rolling conversation of the weekend. And it's not as if the boys don't join in. But it's a thing they drift in and out of, as we make little paper dolls out of words and history. I complain about the lack of decent Mexican food in CT. She explains why Lannie Johnson was such a shit head to me. I realize that I have lost my connection to places. She tells me about the breed of feral dogs living in SC. Back and forth, making little potholders and fucking up the paint by number canvas.
We eventually pull into the rental place. And it feels so damn good to pile inside. There's AC inside. As much as southern heat sucks - and oh how it sucks more in the back seat of a car - the euphoria of walking out of that heat into a climate controlled building is a special kind of "Ahhh.... yeah." We fall into chairs as Cristal deals with the paperwork. And Shane is standing there, talking to us.
Shane has always been an unknown quantity to me. I can't watch the thought patterns move through his head in the way I can with most people. He has his very own unique patterns. This is something I totally respect, and boy can he totally knock you out of a rhythm with a single comment. But John finally put into words the thing that makes conversation with Shane such an otherwordly experience. Not only does Shane seem to take pleasure in his off kiltering effect, but whereas your brain and mouth may move at a 70... his brain is going 90, while his mouth is doing 30. And no, I don't mean that he speaks slowly.
It makes for interesting conversation.
And somewhere in the middle of Shane speaking, he looks out of the window behind us and says, "There's a boy walking down the sidewalk, wearing his backpack and carrying his shirt." I turn around to see the shirtless boy walking in the heat. "And that really just sums it up, doesn't it?"
Like I said. Off kilter.
Right so, the rental is ready and we head outside to see what awaits.
Yeah, that's right. A Ford F-150 XLT. You can take the girl out of the swamp, but you can't take away her appreciation for F-series trucks. Now, because of issues we've had with the Escape, I've grown a real hatred of Ford Motor Co. But that could not stop me from falling in love with this baby. It's a goddamned truck with more interior space than our Escape. It's like if a Cadillac kicked ass. And the bloody thing was tricked out and terribly posh inside. Honestly, I could think of no better vehicle for our foray into swampland territory the next day. The thing could very nearly make an otherwise progressive girl want to go mudding.
Or at least fishtail down a dirt road or two.
Instead we went to a Mexican restaurant for lunch. I could say a lot about the food or the service at this place. But instead, I will focus on this. BOTTOMLESS GLASSES OF ICED TEA. Yeah, I went Dooce for that. I drank the tea, they filled it up again. I drank more. They gave me more tea. Sweet tea. Cold, sweet tea. Over and over again. Yeah. It was awesome. This was also the first place that we encountered a southern oddity I'd forgotten. When they took our order, they asked how we were splitting the check. Yup. They did that. They offered separate checks. It actually caught me off guard.
By this time the flight and the long day were starting to catch up to us. So John and Shane headed home. And Cristal and I hit the store quickly on the way. Nothing terribly interesting to report from the Food Lion. Except that they didn't have the hand held scanner thing that I am utterly addicted to these days. And I didn't spot any self checkouts. Which honestly, would make the grocery store run a nightmare for me. Wait? I have to... interact with people? Even slightly? Bah.. go fuck yourself.