Most trips entailed my father trying to break some mystical world record without stopping for gas, the restroom, a medical emergency, pedestrians, police officers or traffic signals. My mom shared the driving duties by sleeping and telling dad to slow down.
There’s nothing quite like newly discovered adventures and sights held within towns large and small along our nation's roadways.
I’m fairly certain that no road trip will ever be able to top that on which I embarked last week. I wouldn’t call it a road trip as much as an out of body experience.
A friend of mine is a professional audio producer, which means that she has a real job. Sometimes she utilizes her talents for pure evil by hosting and producing Karaoke nights around the region.
Some might view spreading Karaoke across large regional swaths as domestic terrorism, but it‘s not listed on any federal “watch list”, for now.
She was scheduled for a gig about four and a half hours outside the city and asked me and another mutual friend if we might be interested in riding along. I, often having nothing whatsoever to do, jumped at this opportunity.
I began the road trip the way I begin all road trips- I showed up at her house smelling like beer with a to-go cocktail and a pint of whiskey. This is a clever tactic which will always relieve one from shared driving duties.
As a solid backup plan, if this doesn’t work, tell your fellow passengers that you will drive so long as everyone in the car understands that you have been feeling suicidal for some time now and often find yourself romanticizing exiting the world in wholesale James Dean fashion.
Our third occupant arrived a few minutes later, only it wasn’t our friend. It was his alter-ego...who seems to be from another dimension (the 11th if I remember correctly.)
He was dressed super futuristic hip with flowing black flared slacks, makeup, a new wave David Bowie-esque black wig and a bright purple vinyl tie. I instantly felt positive about our chances of witnessing pure, unscripted comedy at its finest by parading him through a small town convenience store.
Our friend fully appreciates the entertainment value of pulling out his alter-ego, who is, incidentally, campaigning to be elected Emperor of Earth. Trust me when I say that explaining this to residents of rural Louisiana is the most free fun one could ever hope for.
I normally eat extremely healthy but it seems that the open road triggers the need for me to clear the shelves in a convenience store.
Dinner consisted of a 6-inch sub sandwich, a bag of Gummie Bears, Chewy Sweet Tarts, a bag of chips, beef jerky, M & M’s and a package of cinnamon hots. Putting my health first, I also purchased a pack of ultra light cigarettes and bottle of vitamin water.**
**Vitamin water mixes nicely with vodka
We piled into a car at 5:30pm for a whirlwind trip that wouldn‘t end until we returned at 6:30 the following morning.**
**When agreeing to being a passenger on a road trip, it's important to pick friends who own vehicles which one cannot pick up with their bare hands. You live and learn.
About an hour or so into the countryside it became obvious to me that we were wading into untamed territory, as evidenced by several interstate overpass signs peppered with shotgun buckshot.
I remember the feeling of relief which washed over my mind knowing that if rednecks ran us off the road I could pick up the car and throw it at them. And, because I’m a true friend, I was prepared to offer the “Emperor to be” as a sacrificial token of good will.
Road trips among friends are usually punctuated by laughter, lighthearted anecdotes and singing along to the Ipod. As a side note, it seems that the band Train is played about 30 times per hour on commercial radio- which is fine- but when did Train abandon their career and begin singing Dr. Seuss books?
My two compadres seemed unaware of open highway protocol- their conversation included the supernatural, metaphysical philosophy, gauging one another’s shortcomings, death/mortality, destruction, American Idol and cremation…typical fun topics.
They asked if I ever assessed my shortcomings, to which I assured that the road trip wasn’t nearly long enough to voice a comprehensive assessment.
It finally occurred to me that I was sitting in on a scene from the Breakfast Club…at 70mph.
While the “Emperor to be” and my other friend talked, I silently stared out the window replaying several action movie sequences; trying to recall the proper way to tuck and roll upon jumping out of a moving vehicle.
Realizing that jumping was not a viable option, I interrupted the morbid chit-chat and, in a bubbly tone, suggested that we form a murder/suicide pact. A suggestion that clearly relayed my assessment of their conversation.
And so, for the next several miles, we enjoyed the beautiful landscape. A slice of Americana with a brilliantly breathtaking sunset serving as a heavenly backdrop. The countryside appeared unspoiled; dotted with majestic trees, miles of lush grass, cattle, an establishment named “Shooter’s Good Times Biker Barn” and a colossal adult bookstore/peepshow.
Why are these stores always located in the middle of nowhere?? Who’s their target clientele? Perhaps it’s for the safety of the cattle.
My producer friend broke the silence with a cheery proclamation as to how she wants her ashes to be distributed upon being cremated. Judging by her driving skills I thoughtfully pointed out that they might be distributed across this stretch of interstate after we crash head on into the oncoming semi truck.
After swerving back to her lane, she instructed that her ashes be divided amongst several necklace vials so that her friends may wear them, thus she can go anywhere that her friends go.
I’ve never heard of posthumous stalking, but she’s innovative that way.
As she continued, I noticed a tiny airport beacon in the distance which indicated to me that a rescue pilot might be nearby. I wasn’t prepared to take that chance, so I plotted stealing the car at our next restroom stop.
We finally arrived at the club where the door man affixed a red wristband on my right hand. After being cooped up in a car for so long, for amusement purposes, I acted overly jumpy, prompting him to ask if I was okay. I informed him that I haven’t worn a wristband since I was released from the “program” last month.
Following the uncomfortable silence I shot him a nervous smile with wide, crazy, eyes and asked if strobe lights would be used in tonight’s show.
The show began and, after surveying the room, the “Emperor to be” and I came to the conclusion that we had absolutely no business being outside of the city- and that it seemed that we had stumbled upon a John Waters movie in the process of being filmed.
There were rednecks, girls who seemed quite pleased to meet the new guys from the city, average Joe’s and a large gay man (also pleased to meet the city boys). He sang a hard-driving Garth Brooks country song in such a way that I fully expected him to punctuate each verse by ad-libbing “Hollah girl!” as he snapped his fingers in the air.
The club was nice but not elaborate, with the exception of a $400-thousand dollar light and sound system. I inquired if they were expecting Elton John to show up tonight.
My producer friend, who has a terrific voice, sang a few songs, as did the “Emperor to be“, who also sounded great. I, on the other hand, sang a song which showcased the fact that I’m an enthusiastic underachiever.**
**(Note: this seemed to please one of the barfly girls...and the large gay gentleman).
The crowd seemed oddly detached, blankly staring at the stage as though they were at a 401k enrollment meeting. That is, until an abundantly talented young man got up and sang a beautiful love song by the great Eminem.
EVERYONE in the audience sang along as if they were auditioning to be Snoop Dog’s wing-man…including some random 70-year old guy.
Not a jealous man, but females lie,
But I guess that's just what sluts do,
How could it ever be just us two?
Never loved you enough to trust you,
We just met and I just f**ed you,
But I do know one thing though,
Bitches they come they go,
Saturday through Sunday monday,
Monday through Sunday yo,
Maybe I'll love you one day,
Maybe we'll someday grow,
'Till then just sit your drunk ass on that f**kin’ runway ho...
Valentine’s Day must be an extremely special time in this town.
The show came to a conclusion and I assisted in packing the equipment; hoping that we wouldn’t be involved in a drive-by shooting in the parking lot.
Just as I thought that nothing could top the past 10-hours that had unfolded, it was announced to me that, as a favor to a colleague, we would be adding a fourth passenger who needed a lift to the city.
Nothing out of the ordinary, except that it was a young drag queen who weighed all of 90-pounds. She obviously subscribes to Newton’s opposite/equal law- In order to balance the weight deficit in the vehicle-she came equipped with 500 pounds of luggage & props.
At this point I was certain that I was on an MTV prank show.
I excused myself for a quick stroll, wondering where things went wrong for me in life. Upon my return, I noticed four assorted wigs lined across the rear window storage area. As I stood behind the car staring at the wigs, I couldn’t help but to think that it appeared as though we had abducted the Golden Girls somewhere in rural Louisiana, and then severed their heads.
I did what anyone would do and carefully planned my story for the police in the event that we were pulled over, settling on the safest, most logical story:
That these three were on a cross-country murder spree and that I’d been kidnapped from a rest-area.
The ride home was tranquil as we inched our way through the countryside under a blanket of darkness to which none of us “city-folk” were accustomed.
Upon our arrival to the city (in the blindingly bright New Orleans morning sun) I helped with unpacking the car- carrying the wigs as though I were handling a biological weapon- and made my way home with another chapter of fond road memories.
You learn a lot about people after spending time with them on the open road in the confines of a car. I learned that my friends do not engage in particularly fun road conversation but they are interesting and real.
I also learned that they obviously NEVER have to stop for a restroom break…
My dad would have loved them.
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| The (future) Emporer Of Earth |
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
