I spent last Friday driving the back roads of the Sequoia National Forest only to realize I was lost. Really lost. When the road narrowed to a lightly paved one lane and the yellow lines disappeared I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore, Toto. Damn! No cel phone service! I passed disheveled falling down trailer compound followed by welcome junkyard arranged in front of rotting old trailer, until finally I saw a single, old man emerge from an old trailer (with a small, rusty junkyard garden). BINGO! How creepy could Geri Atric be?
"Hi!" I yelled as I pulled my car into his driveway. He's not wielding an axe and he's smiling, so far so good. "Am I anywhere near Huntington Lake?"
Okay, he's not answering but he keeps shuffling closer to my car. Car is still running.
"You're a long way from there, babe," he cackled as he rested BOTH hands on my open window. "Now, where'd you come from?"
I wasn't listening at this point because I was too focused on his rotting smile, a gap of black where his two front teeth used to be, and the fact that I should have left my car in reverse in case I needed to make a break for it. His Whiskey breath told me to be on guard.
I smiled my best, I'll-run-you-over-if-you-try-anything-old-man-smile, and said, "Visalia."
The sun glistened on his spotted, bare scalp and he leaned a little closer before starting in with, "Ya know, honey, I graduated from The College of the Sequoias in Visalia. Let's see...it was 1957. And then," I couldn't believe how much my hands were shaking as he launched into a whole life story of what he did with his Jr. College Degree and the last 50 years.
"And then, I ended up right here in my little piece of heaven," he gestured like a bald, decomposed version of Vanna White's grandmother.
I cannot believe my luck.
In an attempt to bring him back to the dire topic at hand without yelling, "I'M LOST, GERI! JUST TELL ME HOW TO GET OUT OF THIS HELL HOLE!" I instead, chose the following response, "So, um, which way do I go to Huntington Lake?"
He leaned in even closer (this put half of the old man inside my car) and patted my thigh. OMG!!! Stomp on the gas-no, remain calm-he's verbally complimenting my smile while, (eewwww) visually assaulting my chest. Gotta go, Geri, NOW!
Turns out, I was another hour from my destination. Later, I realized I had driven within miles of Huntington Lake when my Mapquest directions suggested I veer a slight right onto Road 200. That's when I took the Trailer Home Tour, circling around several mountain ranges near Yosemite.
With no cel service AND no map in my car I arrived at two solid conclusions: This isn't the first time Mapquest has wronged me, so, #1 "Mapquest, YOU'RE FIRED!" And #2, I need a good old fashioned road map for my future travels.
And if this F$#*&ing Princess CD plays one more time in my car I'm going to snap my tiara in half!!!! A-a-a-a-aaauuuugghhhh (high pitched Snow White Singing). iPod, take me away!
"Hi!" I yelled as I pulled my car into his driveway. He's not wielding an axe and he's smiling, so far so good. "Am I anywhere near Huntington Lake?"
Okay, he's not answering but he keeps shuffling closer to my car. Car is still running.
"You're a long way from there, babe," he cackled as he rested BOTH hands on my open window. "Now, where'd you come from?"
I wasn't listening at this point because I was too focused on his rotting smile, a gap of black where his two front teeth used to be, and the fact that I should have left my car in reverse in case I needed to make a break for it. His Whiskey breath told me to be on guard.
I smiled my best, I'll-run-you-over-if-you-try-anything-old-man-smile, and said, "Visalia."
The sun glistened on his spotted, bare scalp and he leaned a little closer before starting in with, "Ya know, honey, I graduated from The College of the Sequoias in Visalia. Let's see...it was 1957. And then," I couldn't believe how much my hands were shaking as he launched into a whole life story of what he did with his Jr. College Degree and the last 50 years.
"And then, I ended up right here in my little piece of heaven," he gestured like a bald, decomposed version of Vanna White's grandmother.
I cannot believe my luck.
In an attempt to bring him back to the dire topic at hand without yelling, "I'M LOST, GERI! JUST TELL ME HOW TO GET OUT OF THIS HELL HOLE!" I instead, chose the following response, "So, um, which way do I go to Huntington Lake?"
He leaned in even closer (this put half of the old man inside my car) and patted my thigh. OMG!!! Stomp on the gas-no, remain calm-he's verbally complimenting my smile while, (eewwww) visually assaulting my chest. Gotta go, Geri, NOW!
Turns out, I was another hour from my destination. Later, I realized I had driven within miles of Huntington Lake when my Mapquest directions suggested I veer a slight right onto Road 200. That's when I took the Trailer Home Tour, circling around several mountain ranges near Yosemite.
With no cel service AND no map in my car I arrived at two solid conclusions: This isn't the first time Mapquest has wronged me, so, #1 "Mapquest, YOU'RE FIRED!" And #2, I need a good old fashioned road map for my future travels.
And if this F$#*&ing Princess CD plays one more time in my car I'm going to snap my tiara in half!!!! A-a-a-a-aaauuuugghhhh (high pitched Snow White Singing). iPod, take me away!
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