Monday, July 12, 2004

I’ve got a modest amount of driving experience under my belt, gentle reader, but that certainly didn’t stop me from driving straight to Indi-frickin’-ana yesterday. I’ve always believed that Morpheus recommended staying off the highway because of a serious lack of roadside phones, and while I will continue to pet this theory like a pirate his parrot, I must entertain another hypothesis. I’m postulating that highway signs are incomprehensible.

If I wanted to head east, would I take I94-east? That’s a trick question because I94-east actually goes SOUTH. I found this out the hard way, of course, and if it weren’t for the help of a friendly Mediterranean restaurateur I’d have driven straight to Canada. You’ve probably never heard of Canada because, according to the many signs dotting our fine highways, this country is just around the corner from China.

I remember trying to curl into fetal position, again and again and again, but that merely accelerated the car even more. All that’s under the bridge because I’ve returned to you, a tired wreck too ineffectual to collect sympathy from faceless online stalkers, but a returned tired wreck nonetheless. Operator, get me an exit.