Sunday, December 24, 2006
Cross Country
So I made the drive across the state to Quincy for the holidays yesterday. There were a number of amusing things that occurred during this trip. First, I nearly drove off the road because I was trying to dip my onion rings in the "ring sauce" Burger King so generously provided in my drive-through bag. I really thought I would be up to the challenge, as I have previously managed to eat both soup and chicken fried rice while driving. But as it turned out, I was not. Second, I encountered some of the most amusingly ill-conceived bathroom graffiti I have ever seen at a gas station on I-72. It just reaffirmed my essential belief that you should at least be able to spell a racial slur before you use it. Also that there is probably something seriously wrong with you if you have time to compose messages for a stall wall in a gas station bathroom. I mean, come on, bring an Us Weekly. Finally, I ended up digging through a trash can at a Burger King in search of the receipt for my value meal at the behest of the sassy clerk who refused to issue me my Whopper without it. It's a classy, classy start to what promises to be an immensely classy holiday.
So I made the drive across the state to Quincy for the holidays yesterday. There were a number of amusing things that occurred during this trip. First, I nearly drove off the road because I was trying to dip my onion rings in the "ring sauce" Burger King so generously provided in my drive-through bag. I really thought I would be up to the challenge, as I have previously managed to eat both soup and chicken fried rice while driving. But as it turned out, I was not. Second, I encountered some of the most amusingly ill-conceived bathroom graffiti I have ever seen at a gas station on I-72. It just reaffirmed my essential belief that you should at least be able to spell a racial slur before you use it. Also that there is probably something seriously wrong with you if you have time to compose messages for a stall wall in a gas station bathroom. I mean, come on, bring an Us Weekly. Finally, I ended up digging through a trash can at a Burger King in search of the receipt for my value meal at the behest of the sassy clerk who refused to issue me my Whopper without it. It's a classy, classy start to what promises to be an immensely classy holiday.
