Pull it together people!

Sun, 8 Mar 2009 20:03:05 -0400

Society always has it's way of disappointing me. Just when I feel a little oomph of pleasantness.

I live in Wisconsin and if you're unaware, the weather is pretty...disgusting, I guess I would call it. Today is a shade of gunmetal gray. The precipitation has been rain, sleet, hail and snow, leaving roads flooded and parking lots and sidewalks muddy, slippery and...disgusting.

I walk out of Pick 'N Save with my full to the brim practically unsteerable cart and I have to walk slash jog to my car. It's sixty feet away. My pant legs are wet, I'm getting sloshed in the face by sleet and the wind is pushing this cart out of my weakling hands. I shove all the bags in the truck and turn around to return the cart to the corral. The corral is conveniently placed every fifteen feet or so down every aisle of the parking lot. It will take me 4 seconds to put the cart back in it's place. To my dismay, there are EIGHT, yes, eight carts sliding around the aisle. Some are lodged tightly into the curb or the tree nearby, but all are within TEN feet of the corral. I watch as right in front of my eyes a man sets his cart every so gently against the car next to his and takes off.

Are you serious? You can't fucking turn around and put the cart back in the corral? REALLY? EIGHT people can't? Have some fucking decency. We all live in this society and have to work together to keep it running smoothly. If you are too fat or have too many kids that you can't control or you're just "having a bad" day it is not anyone else's problem. It is especially not the problem of the eldery, mentally challenged minimum wage employee who has to chase your cart through the slush because you're an inconsiderate dumbass. That's why the corrals are there. PULL YOUR WEIGHT HERE.

No wonder people scowl at our country. We can't get out of the car to get our food. We can't cooperate, work together or think of others. If we all do these simple tasks, life will work better for everyone, including you.

Can't tip your waitress? Don't fucking go out to eat.

In too much of a rush so you have to park at the gas pump instead of the spots specifically made for people NOT pumping gas? That's fine. I'll just park behind you and wait for you to pick out your Hostess snacks and smokes. I'M NOT in a rush or anything.

There are people who legitametely need assistance and need I remind you, people starving in refugee camps, those are real things that people have to deal with. And you can't turn around and put your cart back!??

Help me out guys, help me out.

Road sickness

Sun, 8 Mar 2009 01:03:57 -0500

I've never really had an issue with car sickness. I really didn't even understand it. I'd even roll my eyes at people holding their stomachs in the car. Sure, it's bumpy, but get over it. I once crossed the Andes mountains from Chile to Argentina in a double decker tour bus kilometers over the speed limit. It was scary to say the least, but the long winding turns on cliffs did little to me physically. The view through massive Coach bus windows is extraordinary, and worth every twist and turn.

So when they warned me the roads were bad on my trip from Oaxaca City to Puerto Escondido, I assured my host family and oodles of other student travelers that I would be fine. They needed to toughen up a little bit....

Time: 5:10 p.m. A large gray suburban pulls up. It's a ten seater. There's eleven of us. Since I know others get queasy, I volunteer to sit in the far back of the van, next to the window, ready to be dazzled by the breathtaking trip through the mountains.

Time: 6:00 p.m. It has been one smooth road since we left, I can tell we are starting to drive upwards into the mountains. I've also become relatively irritated at the fact that there are "Topes" about every fifteen feet. Topes are makeshift speedbumps, installed by villagers to prevent tour vans like ours from speeding through the no stoplight-no stop sign roads. We have to literally come to complete stop, become airborne in our seats, speed up for 30 seconds and repeat the process. May I also mention that it is 90 degrees outside and the windows do not roll down.

Time 8:00: Of the ten girls on this trip, the first one loses it. We see her face turn green and scrabble around for an empty bag. Luckily, our driver has seen this before and hands her a small, thin pink plastic bag. We all feel embarassed for her as she heaves into the bag, listening to her vomit splashing against it. She has to hold it for almost an hour. At this point we are taking right angle turns back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And up. And over topes. Practically sitting on top of one another. And it is HOT. And it smells like the bathroom of a corner bar.

Time 9:00: We have stopped at a remote man-made shack in the mountains. It's dangerous to stop because you can't pull off the road, you can just park on it. There are six dark and wrinkled Mexicans waiting to charge us a few pesos to puke in their "toilet". They sit there, in the dark, no walls to their shelter, staring. In the mountains. One by one, ten young white women, I mean green women, step out of the van, each balancing their double bagged pink splashy vomit bag. We place them at the side of the road, attempt to each get one more good barf out in the hole for 5 pesos a pop. I decide to buy a bag of extremely hot Doritos, you know, to replace what came out.

Time: 10:30: Any pride I had or inkling of an idea that I couldn't be phased by car sickness is gone. None of us even flinch when we hear the next splash of fluid into the pink bags. We all clench five to six bags in our hands. I am trying to think about anything other than this road, but it doesn't stop. Not ten feet of straight, smooth road. I can feel the heat from the vomit bag of the girl next to me and the swishing and splashing is surround sound. There is no where to stop, no way to leave, no other cars in sight, and turning back wouldn't solve anything. I would love to somehow be knocked unconscious. I would welcome a blow to the head.

Time 12:00: We are almost there. We ask the driver to stop one more time. He never says a word, just shakes his head at us. We have to stop one more time, as we cannot possibly cargo any more pink bags. Some have holes in them. Finally, he stops. The suburban, with no air, is one big suffocating smell of sweat and puke. I stumble out of the car and into another makeshift shack. I have to eat something. I notice a small wicker basket filled with cellophane wrapped sandwiches. One reads "pollo" and looks relatively simple. A bun, some strips of chicken, maybe some cheese or avocado. I rip it open and take a heaping bite. I just wanted thick bread to calm my stomach, but got a giant mouth full of salty, crunchy chapulines.

Chapulines are crickets.

I travel, and I'm usually a tryer. But eating hot crickets with extreme nausea in the dark on a mountain and four sploshy bags of my own lunch in my hand was not what I had in mind.

I puked on my shoes.

We arrived thirty minutes later and all miserably fell asleep in our hostel. No drinking, no dinner or late night swimming on the beach.

We woke up in the morning to fresh banana pancakes on a balcony on the beach, filled with pelicans and brightly colored boats.

And was the coast worth it?

It absolutely was.

The_Viper's Open Salon Blog

Pull it together people!

Road sickness