Yesterday was “Take Mom To The Dentist Day” again. She’s having a series of things done and we never know up front which days might wind her up drugged, so I get to be designated driver again. (Seriously, if I ever decide to get drunk, she owes me at least 3 free butt-crack-of-dawn get-out-of-drunk-free passes now.)
Anyway, I tell her we’re just practicing for her inevitable senility. I intend to haul her around to her various appointments when she’s old and feeble and I’ve promised she can become a benign alcoholic as long as she can pay for her own booze. (What? It works; don’t knock it.)
Anyway, as I’ve explained before, I live in a somewhat rural area of the world. In order to get to her dentist’s office from here, we go through Farville, Goobertown and Brookland before we hit Paragould. It’s all trees and bean fields.
See? This is a bean field. Except the parts that are trees. I'll leave you to sort that out.
And for some reason, someone decided a few years ago that two lanes through the beanfields and trees weren’t quite enough, so it got a 4-lane highway. This is nice, especially since there’s never any traffic. It gives you a better view of the bean fields. And the trees.
I’d post a picture of the trees, but that’s just unnecessarily cudgeling of the deceased equine. (Big words are basically my only talent. DON’T JUDGE ME.)
Anyhow, 4 lanes through the bean fields and random stoplights scattered throughout. I guess they’re so that we can pause and properly appreciate the bean fields. Normal trek takes about 20 – 30 minutes. That is, of course, unless you’re me and unless it’s yesterday. But you’re not and it isn’t, so I’ll explain:
Yesterday, I seriously had to have ticked off some lesser god of asphalt or something and caused this 4-lane highway of indulgent convenience to become something other than its normally clear, carefree self. In fact, it had become a traffic jam. Traffic STOPPED. If you live in a regular metropolitan area, this is probably de rigueur for you, but in an area where the highway has more lanes than cars, it’s a bit of an oddity.
Seen here, the autopocalypse. Or maybe a Chrysler. Anyway, it's not moving.
See that over there? That’s not normal. That doesn’t happen on this highway at this time of day. I’ve never even seen that many cars on this road at one time, leading me to believe they’d been there for at least a week. They were probably about to go cannibal. I’m probably lucky to have escaped with my life (and Twizzlers)!
Okay, so actually at this point I was wondering what happened. The only thing I could think of was that it had to be a wreck. And it had to be a bad one. And I started going over CPR steps in my head just in case. (Step one is to take CPR classes, right? Remind me to do that…).
The longer we waited the more I was certain that it wasn’t just a wreck. It was probably an earthquake and the whole road had caved in. Or, since I had been reading abnormal amounts of H. P. Lovecraft lately, Cthulhu was picking off cars one at a time. Either way, it was obviously not good.
So I used my handy-dandy iPhone app to tune into police band radio for my area only to find it had mysteriously gone off the air! I’m not really surprised, though, because when Cthulhu attacks, all kinds of weird crap happens. Or, um, so I’ve read. So no radio, no visual cues beyond the stopped traffic and no plan for riding out the autopocalypse beyond “Eat my Twizzlers before anyone else spots them.” I began to feel a bit less optimistic about my chances for survival.
As we crept along, I tried to scootch ever so slightly into the turn lane to angle for a better view up ahead. No dice. See that white van? It was blocking me at every go. Probably Cthulhu sympathizers.
Eventually, though, we came to the part of the road called Farville Curve. It happens rather handily to curve at that point and we had an opportunity to see what lurked ahead (and to provide me with a better estimate of how fast I’d have to eat my Twizzlers before Cthulhu stole them).
That’s when I saw this:
See that? THAT'S NOT CTHULHU.
Do you see that? That’s not Cthulhu! That’s a HOUSE. I felt so cheated. Here I was prepping for disaster and hoarding my Twizzlers and all it was is a lousy oversized HOUSE.
Why they were dragging a house down the road, I’ll never know. We passed some more chunks of house, too, because they apparently had to saw the thing into thirds to get it to adequately block the entire highway. And right as I snapped this picture, that house tried to turn left into a bean field.
I live in a dumb state.
It swerved back through all 4 lanes of traffic and carried on its way for a bit until, I guess, the drivers sensed they were in mortal danger and pulled all chunks of the house off the main road long enough to let the 3 miles of cars that had piled up behind them cruise through.
It was the dumbest adventure ever. I had prepared myself for Cthulhu and I got a house — not even a full house. A THIRD of a house! Hey, lesser god of pavement or whoever? Next time you plan to block the road, try to call up an elder god or at least (AT LEAST) get an airplane or something to block traffic.
I was sorely disappointed. So disappointed, in fact, that I actually feel kind of bad for dragging you through all of that for such an anticlimactic resolution. So, hey, how about some ice cream? Yeah?
Okay, not for real (for you, I mean, but for me). A few days before, at Burger King, I asked for a vanilla cone. The woman handed me one and then her manager called out, “Ma’am? I’m sorry. I can’t permit you to take that ugly cone.” (My cone looked fine…. I was just gonna eat it, not frame it….). Anyway, she took my apparently sub-standard comb and instead handed me this:
Note the aesthetic ... something.
It was basically a monstrous tower of ice cream. Hope that makes up for it. You’re welcome.