Some Notes on the Drive to Atlanta, Part 2

The second we get into Atlanta radio airspace every speck of southern accent is gone. It's like radio brought to you by Brian Williams.

First stop was lunch with a friend in downtown.   The burgers come and Calvin does what Calvin does.  He goes to the bathroom, sits on the toilet and hums until the food is cold.  Grace and I are so used to this we only notice it when we are at a restaurant with other people.  Today he goes into the bathroom and then comes straight out again, stares at the M on the door and then goes back in.  Later, when I go to the bathroom, I walk in and do not see any urinals and without lowering my speed at all turned around and stood in front of the door staring at the M.  There were no urinals in the men's room.  I've never seen this before.  Do the men of Atlanta pee sitting down? The chef did not cut the top off the carrots in my gnocchi and I wonder if these two things are related.  

The next morning was the hand off of the children.  I was trying to get out of there before they got clingy so I kind of threw them at the door and left.  Grandma handed me a couple of granola bars and I booked.

Traffic was still kind of crazy on Sunday morning.  I just wanted to get out of the metro area before any backups occured.  I was knocking back coffee and eating granola bars all the while trying to come up with a sentence or a joke or even a dangling participle that would accurately describe my long standing hatred for Atlanta.  I couldn't get it and the radio wasn't helping because Atlanta radio is not classic rock but 80s pop which of course, I had heard all of it last week in Old Navy while Grace took 2 hours to pick out a t-shirt with a peace sign on it.  It was hard to think.

Cruel Summer
Su Su Sussudio

 I make it out into the country and stop in Commerce, GA at a Starbucks.  Ordered a $5 cup of coffee and got a sandwich.  I asked the cashier if there was any mayonnaise and she said it was in with the sandwich but if I wanted more she was sure the Race Track gas station across the street had mayonnaise with a pump.  I give her my best "You better dream big, girl, 'cause all I can see is a cashier" look.

And then it hit me.  Atlanta is a big wad of turkey with Swiss cheese on 44 grain bread, mayo pack included, and rung up by someone who thinks she is hot shit but is really a cashier.

 By the time I hit the South Carolina border I realize that the granola bars were fiber bars, which lengthened my travel time considerably. And it was Sunday morning so radio was all church.  Then, as I drove by Clemson, in what can only be described as an act of God, some radio station had a thirty minute block of AC/DC - no lie.  It saved me.  It really did.  And I’m pretty sure the DJ was the son of a preacher.  And he got fired Monday morning.

 I do not remember North Carolina.

 I do not remember parking the car in front of my house.

 21 hours in a car in one weekend.  It is as stupid as it sounds.

 

Two weeks after Jeter moved to Richmond he decided to leave. That was 21 years ago. The Richmond Vortex is strong. He has taken classes with Valley.