Between DC and Philadelphia

This past week I had the unusual pleasure and honor to make a delightful sojourn down to the District for reasons yet to be disclosed (although I'll give you a clue- prospects for a "boj" spelled backwards! See how clever you are!!!). And due to the unreliably freakish time-tables of Septa, and the apprehension I have of ever riding the Chinatown bus again (last time I endured the Chinese-stampede, a common ritual when you have a "reservation" to travel economy-style), I decided to rent with Enterprise.

Quite like the professionalism displayed by the Chinatown bus people (I think the company was called New Century Travel, which is somewhat misleading and ironic considering the stampede looked like some Medieval-aged mob trying to storm a castle because our food rations had been cut), Enterprise also has a loose interpretation of the word "reservation"-- and when I say loose I mean like Monica Lewinsky on poppers. In essence, "reservation" means nothing to Enterprise.

So rather than a compact car as requested, for gas purposes, I was given the option to take a percentage off my bill and drive-------- a Dodge Ram (environmentalists gasp in horror). With regard to Mother Earth, I feel as good driving a Dodge Ram as I would harpooning the last whale of its own species ... however it was snowing and I had no other option to get my butt to DC.

You can picture the scene clearly, can't you? Barreling down the road in a truck that eats gasoline like a Weight-Watchers member at a buffet on their cheat day, blasting the tunes of Hairspray, Wicked, and Enchanted, and singing exuberantly like an insane-asylum escapee while children and adults alike stare up at me in the cab with uninhibited horror and surprise. It was delightful.

There are many things to help you pass the time on your journey up and down the interstate. There is the section of I-95 that has large yellow signs indicating a "weave area", which instantaneously puts me on alert to see if I can find Beyonce patting anywhere in the immediate vicinity. There is the large rest area with people scrambling to ingest as much fat as possible before they sit completely sedentary for the next 4 hours of their lives. There are the New Jersey drivers who had to take an oath to "Do-no-harm-haha-screw-that" before obtaining a license from the DMV (seriously those people are the WORST).

The trip was like taking off a band aid- quick, stinging for just a moment, and then discarded into the trashcan of my memory as I try to prepare for my last 2 weeks here in Philadelphia. As I was driving back through the maze of cars and SUVs, I couldn't help but feel I suddenly didn't belong in either place-- and I wasn't sure if the road I was taking or the direction I was going was the way to my future or to my past.

I'd almost rather stay in between-- singing Dreamgirls, imagining the impossible, and remaining contently unaware that the world can actually see me when I'm lost in my own world, in my big Dodge cab in a large red bullet that is sailing down the highway of life.