We hit the road in Queens at about 6:45 in the morning, after stopping to pick up some food. I had a nutritious breakfast of Sausage McMuffins and blueberry chip doughnuts. Ugh. We had to leave so early because the city had issued a gridlock warning, predicting that this would be the busiest day of the yearfor motorists. We got out of the city with little difficulty.
That was really the only smooth sailing we were able to get. The whole trip was supposed to take between ten and eleven hours. And how long did it take us? Fourteen fucking hours. There were really two reasons for this. The first is that my sisters needed to stop every few hours to use the bathroom. After their bladders had been drained they each get something to drink, ensuring another stop in two hours. Now, I drink a lot of pop, perhaps more than I should (even after switching to diet varieties), but it was mighty ridiculous.
The second reason, and the real culprit here, was the traffic. Holy shit, it was thick in spots. It really hit once we passed Baltimore and headed towards DC. Then we came to a crawl or sometimes a complete stop. We would be stuck for a while and then driving would resume normally then would come to a halt again. Sometimes it would be because of a junction. It once was due to an accident: a four-car pile-up. In the north bound lanes. Rubbernecking dicks. It took us three hours to go a little over fifty miles, but it allowed us to stop in Fredericksburg and eat at Wendy's. Fast-food twice in one day? What a treat!
I took three naps during the journey, which is quite an accomplishment for me. I'm not much of a napper: they make me feel weird for the rest of the day, and they tend to further screw up my already screwed up sleeping patterns. And falling asleep in a moving vehicle is next to impossible, so taking three (albeit short) naps in a car is a good indication of how super tired I was.
The music drove me crazy. My sisters enjoy the Top 40 radio stations, and while I admit I have been listening to way too much of The Q lately, the same fifteen - twenty songs were really too much for me. I was getting sick of that Rihanna and Drake song, and it played so much that one of my sisters wouldn't listen to it any longer and she loves that song, and now I'm really tired of "Bottoms Up" and I have a twisted like of the verse my Nicki Manaj. And what really bothered me is that it took until the twelfth or thirteenth hour to hear my current favorite guilty pleasure "Like A G6" (I know, I know, ridicule away). At least I got to hear the Butthole Surfers.
About an hour left of the trip, and we stop in Fayetteville, South Carolina. What I saw of this city was awful. Too much of The South resembles a dirty strip mall (I'm looking at you, Delaware), but Fayetteville just seems like the epitome. Even the name sounds like it should be a center for crack and crank. Maybe that's just because the grossest cities in Maine seem to have really strong Franco-American connections. Anyways, we stop at a McDonald's so my sister can use the bathroom, and I can go next door to a gas station and use the bathroom and buy a pop. Soon after I made it back to my sister's car this other car hits the brakes behind us and this guy practically jumps out of the car and quickly walked over to the gas station and started yelling and making some really weird hand motions towards some guy pumping gas. The girl driving the car was rocking back and forth, looking nervous. The sisters and I decided it was a good time to get the fuck out of Dodge. Thanks for perpetuating the stereotype, citizens of Fayetteville! At least the lady at the gas station called me "honey" and said she hopes I stop by again. I don't see that happening.
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