One of the odd occurrences of where I live is that during the fall and the spring the road from my house to school gets a layer of fog upon it. This morning it was thicker than I've ever seen it - and it lasted the entire drive. So for about forty minutes I can't even see the other lane of traffic let alone if there are cars on it. I can't see the exit signs until I'm almost past them.
But here's what I can see: the fat-assed obnoxious truck in front of me. Now, I don't harbor any ill feelings towards trucks in general, unless they have double tires in the back, silver bull testicles hanging from the trailer hitch and something that references Texas. Then I have some deep seated dislike. This truck, bright "blood of the patriots" red in color, had all of the above, and one thing more. A bumpersticker that read: Dead Molesters Don't. And lest viewers be confused that maybe the driver supports the death penalty, there is a National Rifle Association sticker below it. You know the one, something about cold, dead hands.
So, I'm driving behind Mr. Vigilante Justice, relying on him to just keep going straight. If he takes an exit, chances are I'm following him cause the road is nigh impossible to see. Being sort of a sci-fi geek my mind starts to wander to all of the different stories I know where people get lost in fog/mist and emerge on the other side in the future or the past or a different location altogether. How I wish, wish, wish this would happen to me. I don't want to end up at school - Fuck School. I want to come out in Brigadoon, King Arthurs Court, Avalon - anywhere but where I set out to go. Of course, then I start thinking that with Trigger Happy Jack in front of me, my redneck sherpa guide, the chances of me finding myself in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition (or worse yet, Texas) seem more likely.
Sad to say, the fog lifts just as we hit the city limits, and all seems as it ever was. *sigh*
I had one moment of hope when I drove up to campus - the first guy I saw walking along the sidewalk seemed normal from the back: khaki shorts, polo shirt, backpack, but the obligatory iPod was missing and this young fellow was smoking a pipe.
Odd enough to make me wonder if maybe I had emerged into some different version of my usual reality. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
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I've never quite understood the "Dead Molestors Don't" stickers. I think it's because in my mind I always combine it with the "you can have my firearm when you pry it out of my cold dead hand" sticker, so that the message becomes "dead molestors don't have guns because we pried all of them out of their cold dead hands." Which is something I guess I support, but I don't need a sticker to show it.
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