What Happens In Bucksnort Stays In Bucksnort

28 04 2008

The Squirrel Queen and I went to Nashville for a whirlwind trip. It’s always difficult heading to mid-state as I never have enough time to do what I want to do.

I wish I could teleport everywhere I want to go because that just makes things easier. Especially if I could not be one of the guys in the red shirts that traveled with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock because those always got killed by the residents of the planet they were visiting. It’s common knowledge you didn’t want to be wearing a red shirt because you knew that guy/girl was a goner.

With that said, it was a weekend that I needed although I have been so tired and a bit depressed lately. Most people who know me know that I haven’t been myself for about a month so getting out of the situation in Hoots that has been pressing down on me was a very good thing indeed.

As we were headed home yesterday, I-40 came to a standstill. For more than an hour, we knew something terrible had happened on the road ahead of us but we weren’t sure. Squirrel Queen and I didn’t get too antsy about it, although there is always that driver that takes to the median because apparently their time is more important than knowing that whatever brings interstate traffic to a halt doesn’t matter. What SQ and I knew is that someone was having a really bad day so we sat in the car and just waited, ate beef jerky and shared a Baby Ruth with the knowledge that we’d be on the road soon enough.

The road was oddly quiet other than the sounds of traffic headed east across the median. Tons of people were on their cell phones in other vehicles. Lots of people would shrug as we sat still looking at us with either exasperation at being off schedule or with this eerie acceptance on their faces that there was nothing to be done. I felt like we were in a Stephen King-penned movie as traffic lined up for miles and at my brain started thinking maybe I should have better prepared for the zombie apocalypse. This was seriously surreal.

One never knows when the zombies are going to show up.

By the time we got to the scene of the accident, an ambulance had sped by us headed the other way and we saw what looked like a truck that had pulled to the side of the road (there were those little triangles set up but were smashed to pieces.) The side of a huge 18-wheeler was demolished and packs of maxi-pads and diapers littered the highway. As it was raining, I had no doubt that clean-up crews were also going to have a bad day.

When you are stuck on the interstate, the best thing you can do is take the next exit, which to no one’s surprise was where I had the Elvis issue back last August.

At the convenience store where a bathroom was much needed, the wreck was the talk of travelers who had been stuck on the interstate with us. It was a moment among strangers who had seen a vehicular disaster that sent someone to the hospital. (We took video. SQ should have it up later of the road littered with the mess.)

As I was waiting at the truck for SQ’s turn in a very busy ladies’ restroom, I head a woman holler “This is a dry county?!? Don’t they sell beer here in Tennessee on Sunday?” I didn’t respond. She looked madder than hell. What I wanted to say is “Go up the road, I’m sure there is a Coors Light with your name on it in the next county” but I didn’t.

A very attractive and kind looking man on a Harley Davidson who appeared to be Italian shook his head as the woman kept bitching and looked at me with a question gaze. I just smiled. A few moment before he and I had been inside the story and he had asked the clerk for chocolate in a voice that screamed romance and European sexy. The clerk didn’t understand him so I said “He’d like a chocolate bar.” He smiled and looked a bit relieved as he had asked the clerk before and she had said “Sugar?”

As the beer-screaming woman kept bitching about no beer and sitting on the Interstate outside in the cramped little parking lot, the Italian bike-rider unwrapped his candy bar and was looking at the sign at Loretta Lynn’s restaurant.

He grinned and made a gesture that looked like he was playing an air guitar and pointed to the sign. I nodded.

He shook his head again a threw me a kiss with the palm of his hand. I laughed and he got on his bike.

Then Squirrel Queen came out of the store and we all went on our way because life is filled with moments and just keeps on going.




4 responses

28 04 2008
An Interstate Full of Maxi Pads « Tiny Cat Pants

[…] Interstate Full of Maxi Pads Posted on April 28, 2008 by Aunt B. Two cars, two different takes on the notorious maxi pad spill.  Note that the folks from Boston claim to be on I-65, which […]

28 04 2008

LOL, tho sorry you guys got stuck in that. It seems like nowadays for the last few years any time I go to Nashville or Knoxville, I can’t get thru that westbound section between Cheatham County and the river without having to sit there waiting due to an accident.

PS You’re gonna have to be careful with the Coors Light dissing around my Mom, LOL.

28 04 2008

While odd, I have to say this wouldn’t even register in my top five of I-40 incidents. Number 1 would be the time I was stuck for FOUR HOURS just east of the river with nothing but Lemon Jumbles to make me happy. And a dude with a guitar bending my ear with his irritating voice and even more irritating singing for at least half that time. Number two would be the very surreal trip back at Christmas when I saw the flattened car of four elderly people from California who perished for a reason that’s still not known (noone knows why their car crossed the median). There are others and they’re even more depressing. I-40 between Memphis and Nashville is something I avoid more and more all the time. Sorry, West Tennessee friends.

28 04 2008

What a delightful narrative. Writing like this is what I love.

P.S. I grew up not far from Bucksnort. It was the portal that got me to I-40, which got me to Nashville. Not without a stop at that very station, the home of pickled eggs, though.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: