A Moving Experience
Scott and Jenn relocate to Texas
FRIDAY, AUGUST 6, 2004
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Is this Scott and Jenn�s panic room? You never know if you need to make a phone call from the closet.
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Before I�m even awake Scott gets the bad news at 8 a.m. that ABF isn�t going to deliver their things until Monday at the earliest. The trailer is still in Dallas and they don�t deliver on weekends. Thanks for that extra effort, ABF. It's a long 90 minutes from Dallas to Waco, and I understand your union only permits you to drive when it's under 80 degrees and the french fries at Chick-fil-A have to be soft but not so soft as to lose their crunch, because they don't hold the ketchup and even then if there's not enough ice in your Dr Pepper you can't bring the trailer without caffeine.
Alas, it doesn't matter because Tiffany and I won�t be able to help unload the trailer. I�m sure there�s a way to blame Dad for this development. Actually, in the previous rant I think I just blamed Democrats, and that's good enough.
Faced with this setback I made the tough decision to start heading back home Friday night in the hopes of getting home to Atlanta with at least a day to catch up before the work week begins anew. Originally I planned on driving straight from Waco to Atlanta, through Shreveport, Jackson, Miss. and Birmingham to Atlanta. With Tippy joining us, Scott asked me to drive her to Jackson and she�d catch a bus to Memphis. That�s silly. It would be much easier for me to drive back to Memphis, drop her off at her front door and then sleep at Nana�s. The trip would be a few hours longer, but far more restful. Not to mention having company on a long drive.
Breakfast was a feast of donuts and kalaches, which are like Hot Pockets, just done better. They�re popular in the area after Czech immigrants introduced them, and stuck around when the fat Americans couldn't get enough. Just north of Waco they dwell, which is apparent when you pass the signs advertising a Czech Stop convenience store. Go figure, Eastern Europeans leaving their cold, wet, hilly homes for the hot, dry and flat plains of central Texas. At least Texas doesn't have vampires, werewolves and marauding gangs of gypsies, am I right?
A cold front moved through Thursday night; the high was only 93 today. Have I mentioned Texas is sizzling? I can�t even decide if it�s a dry heat because I�m just trying to breathe. I wonder if this explains why once in Texas we turned on faux Southern accents much thicker than we actually have. We all grew up in the South, so why now? We were too tired to talk fast. It felt natural, at least. The way Jenn would drawl �buttabeans� you�d think she had a fan in one hand and adjusted her hoop skirt with the other. Then again, I would switch from Southern, drinking sweet tea, to South Boston, proclaiming every dumb thing �wicked retahded.� Being a Red Sox fan does that to you.
August 6 is Scott and Jenn�s anniversary, and this one is the big 10. With me and Tippy there, plus the lack of furniture and anything else in their apartment, Scott and Jenn decided to celebrate later. Instead, Jenn and Tippy went to the Wal-Mart Supercenter to get manicures and pedicures. Wow, is there anything you can�t get at Wal-Mart? I mean, besides prompt service?
The male equivalent of a manicure, Scott and I visited the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame & Museum to learn more about the history and lore of the most famous law enforcement agency in the nation and a symbol of the American West. Or at least that�s what the brochure says, and that�s good enough for me.
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Come, Tonto, we shall vanquish evil after sipping Hi-C and eating pimento cheese sandwiches.
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For only $5 the museum is cheap to visit, and as Scott said, those of you interested in police work and that Texas "mystique" might enjoy it. Every case is �grisly,� every Ranger �steely-eyed,� every horse is a horse, of course, and no one can talk to a horse. Of course.
There are several rooms full of artifacts and exhibits including plenty of guns and badges, pictures of people I�ve never heard of, pop culture I have heard of, and a room describing forensic sciences. Scattered about the rooms are bronze Remington sculptures like the one Dad has in his first attempt at starting a collection.
No time for the Dr Pepper Museum, so that and the Texas Sports Hall of Fame can wait until the next visit. I�ve never even been to the Coca-Cola Museum back home in Atlanta, so maybe I should check that out, too, to give thanks for Diet Cherry Coke.
Unfortunately, by the time we were done and met up for a barbecue lunch with Jenn and Tippy it was time to fold our hand of Vacation Texas Hold'Em. Our bluff of helping to unload the truck for two days was called, and we lost. By 4 p.m. we were out the door, Scott genially filled my tank to get me on my way, and we loaded up on drinks and junk food to fuel ourselves.
I should have realized the bad traffic omens right away, when the first highway I got on to leave Waco was backed up from a wreck. (Cue ominous music) Once through Dallas on the eastern side we hit three different jams that postponed our drive over a half-hour. (Cue frustrating Jeff's-in-a-hurry music)
By the time we�re through the backups, the drive to Texarkana out of Texas is neverending. It�s like driving on a treadmill. Every four miles the signs mock me: �Texarkana 76 � Texarkana 72 � Are you sure you want to leave Texas 68 � Remember the Alamo 64 ��
East Texas, Arkansas, west Tennessee, northern Miss�ippi, central Alabama, it�s all the same: trees, a few hills and all kinds of farmland. Texas just has more ranchland with cattle and is a little flatter, so much so that the highest point in Waco is an arching bridge. It's so flat, to borrow from a Family Circus cartoon (the only time I've ever said that), it's hard to tell the world is round in Texas.
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Miles traveled: 2,475
High gas price: $1.959 per gallon, Love's truck stop, Mt. Vernon, Texas
Low gas price: $1.749 per gallon, Shell, Waco, Texas
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With Tippy turning the dial, I listened to more R&B than the last five years combined, but Tippy knows all the words to the country songs, too. What a well-rounded gal. Can�t wait for her new hit song, �Gonna Buy My Ho A New Pickup.� She even put in my Beach Boys CD, then indulged my love affair with 80s music. I should have asked Tippy to drive with me to Atlanta, and I�d just fly her back.
Speaking of country, the official song of Waco is Martina McBride�s �This One�s For the Girls.� Scott warned us that during his month here in June and July he heard it once an hour. It�s true. On every country and pop and adult contemporary station the song plays almost continually. I�m not sure, but I may have heard it on the classical and rap stations, too. Tiffany hates it, but it�s all about her! C�mon, Tippy, you�re 18 and on your own, in little apartments just tryin' to get by/Livin' on, on dreams and Spaghettios,/Wonderin' where your life is gonna go. This one�s for you! You�ve wished upon a shootin� star, you love without holdin� back, you dream with everything you have! This one�s for Tiffany!
Then again, I'm in a little apartment getting by, living on ravioli, wondering where my life is going. This one's for me!
Our nine-hour trip was like one of those movies where the old person and young person learn valuable lessons from one another. She taught me to love life again, I taught her to value Twizzlers. It's an even split, as far as I'm concerned. Plus, she said only 25% of my CD collection was dorkish. Yes! Victory is mine! Can you believe I'm 28?
Of course, for someone who looks so sweet, watch out, Tiffany has a sinister streak in her. She actually has all these opinion thingies. That's just crazy talk. She wants things her way, like the rest of us, and isn�t afraid to tell it like it is or demand satisfaction. But with a smile, of course, which is where she gets you. I'm putty.
Why God is great, No. 2,400: despite the Taco Bell and beans for dinner Thursday and for lunch Friday, I had no gas whatsoever while Tippy was in my car. These are the things I worry about when in the company of women. No, I haven't had a date in three months, and why do you ask?
Speaking of Taco Bell, I generally avoid the stomach-churning disaster, but Tippy couldn't stand another burger. For dinner I grabbed an E. coli taco and Salmonella burrito, with some Listeria nachos on the side.
The emptiness of west Arkansas meets the full load in my bladder. It�s a life and death struggle. We found the oasis of Arkadelphia and it didn�t get any less interesting. Pulling into McDonald�s, the first sight is an old man wearing shorts, black socks and sandals. Wow, those socks are amazing to stand up so straight! Then I see the reason people in New York and Los Angeles think we�re all hicks. Next to me is a guy in a big cowboy hat and dirty wife-beater t-shirt, his pregnant wife/girlfriend/knocked-up stripper barefoot and his son sporting a rat-tail hairdo. They got their food and hopped into a beat-up old pickup truck that had three antennas on it. Tippy and I gave thanks for our gene pool.
I've almost forgotten what it was like not to be able to pay at the pump. When it's broken, I'd rather drive a mile down the street to use another station. I decided to give it a shot in West Memphis. I had to leave my credit card with the cashier, then go back in and let her run it through. She then tried to give my card to another customer, after temporarily misplacing it under the register. I don�t want to name names, but the people at PILOT travel stores should try harder to please customers.
My passenger went to sleep just before we got to Little Rock, so I was alone with my thoughts. Problem is, I don't want to be alone with my thoughts, because my thoughts scare me. They tell ghost stories and have wild fantasies that don't even involve me.
After a few hours of caffeine, Mr. Goodbars and sports/talk radio it was time to make a grand entrance into the Bluff City. Sure, Mayor Herenton didn't get the notice and the marching bands were late, nevertheless it never fails to inspire when I cross the Mississippi River into Memphis, especially at night. Whatever problems my old hometown has, an impressive skyline isn�t one of them. Tippy wasn't as inspired, her face buried in the headrest. I woke her up at 1 a.m. at her exit, slowed down enough to kick her out and got to Nana�s twenty minutes later.
That night I slept in an actual bed for the first time in a week, having �slummed� on couches and air mattresses in the meantime. Now I know how those freeloading relatives get by while they get yelled at for being losers on �Maury Povich.� They may want you to get a job and clean up, but they won't kick you out.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 2004
In my mind Friday night, I figured I could leave Memphis at 1 p.m. and get to Atlanta by 6 p.m. after gaining an hour with the time change. By Saturday morning I saw the fallacy in that plan. The fallacy being that Atlanta is an hour ahead of Memphis, so leaving at 1 would put me in town at 8 p.m. with the six-hour drive.
As a result, I ate a full breakfast cooked lovingly by Nana, chatted for a few minutes, and hurriedly shipped out of my brief port of call shortly after noon. Might as well trudge back to my apartment � no, wait, the vacation doesn�t have to end here! Instead of driving straight to town I stretched out my trip another couple of hours in Jasper, Ala. to see old pal Patrick, his wife Julie with her prettiest green eyes ever and their daughter Caroline.
I hadn�t seen Caroline since Christmas, and eight months out of a 20-month old girl's life is colossal. Back then she was still uncertain about walking and said little. Now, once she warmed up to this big strange guy invading her home, she was talking, singing and running around. During my eight months I haven't changed a bit. I might have bought some new socks or changed my underwear, but that's about it. I think I have ice cream sandwiches that old in my freezer.
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CDs listened to:
Grease 2
Monster Ballads
Jerry Seinfeld
Evanescence �Fallen�
Beach Boys "Sounds of Summer"
Best of Garth Brooks
Peter Gabriel's "Hit" and "Miss"
Last of the Mohicans score
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Hey Alabama department of transportation, you can stop fooling yourselves with the �temporary end to 78� signs. The highway has been under construction for over a decade, and you've been diverting me onto two-lane roads for two, three years at a time as sections are completed. It�s like saying, �World War I was pretty bad, but at least it was temporary.�
Vacation over, I walked in the door at 9:30 and immediately started to upload all of my pictures and put together my notes for the travelogue. There�s plenty of time to catch up on other minor things like, say, paying bills. Actually, with my mind still on vacation goodness, I tried to open my front door with the wireless remote for my Aztek.
All in all, a happy-go-lucky vacation. It is what I wrote, but if you're looking for more drama, I could come up with a "True Hollywood Story: Jeff's Trip to Waco." Next on E!, Jeff gets famous, gets hooked on unhealthy food and drink, has several failed relationships, mooches off family and friends and eventually ends up a tapeworm in society's belly.
Hmm, that sounds awfully familiar.
Annnnnnd ... scene.
If you've enjoyed my travelogue at this very low, introductory price, there are pictures available at no extra cost, including free shipping!
UPDATE: America, our long national nightmare is over. The trailer finally arrived the following Tuesday, and Scott and Jenn were able to unload the trailer with help from his new Baylor classmates.
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