29 March 2004
49
R. Linda:
I should check me brain at the door when it comes to travelling because I be convinced I be no good at it. This weekend, me neighbour Tonya needed to drive to New Jersey (yes, she be a Jersey girl) to pick up some of her auntie's antique furniture. It seems Auntie had passed away and left Tonya with some decent Victorian tables and chairs.
Tonya rented a Ryder truck and we took turns driving. The drive was supposed to be a total of 5 1/2 hours to a place called Toms River (down the Jersey shore). Well, begorrah me, we start off and she says she never goes I-95 because it is not a pretty drive, but more to the west and down 495 or some such route to 82 south. She started the drive and we were doing great until we somehow got misplaced onto, you guessed it I-95. There was a tanker accident a few days before where the thing blew up and melted a bridge. That closed the highway and all traffic was detoured to something called the Merritt Parkway.
Tonya is not one for listening to anyone so she pulls off with the traffic and instead of going onto the Merritt Parkway like everyone else, she pulls into city traffic and under the bridge we go into the scariest of neighbourhoods. We had the windows cracked being it was a warm day and oh the salsa music! The amigos were eyeing us as we slowly, and I mean slowly crawled passed in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Now being a white boy, I stuck out like a sore thumb and being I was with a (as she referred to herself) black girl, I'm sure we were noticed.
Tonya didn't help matters because she said the boys most likely thought we were drug dealers with a truckload of "stuff." That didn't make me feel safe but onward we crawled and like magic, we were back on I-95 and speeding south. We would have made the best of time, except I took over the wheel on reaching southern Connecticut. We headed towards the Tappen Zee Bridge and from there we were supposed to go to the Garden State Parkway, but somehow once over the Tappen Zee, we found ourselves on Route 287. She says to me, "Oh, this is okay because this road goes down the way we want, it's just more to the west."
As we are driving supposedly out of New York State, the scenery gets rather woodsy for northern New Jersey. For some unexplained reason, we both thought we had crossed into New Jersey but neither of us saw the welcome sign. I commented to her that I thought New Jersey was overpopulated with houses that were inches apart like in the Sopranos, but this, why this was all undeveloped land and beautiful, and would you look at those mountains. Suddenly Tonya went quiet on me and she said, "Hum, I know there were woody areas on 287 in northern New Jersey, but you are right there is too much-undeveloped land, and my God I don't remember we had mountains like that."
Here she is reading off Mawah, then Sloatsburg and Suffern. She turns to me and says, "Oh my God! We are in New York and going to Albany! Turn around."
We get to the Ramapo toll booth and have to drive another five miles to the exit to turn around so that little side trip to the Catskill Mountains costs time and a dollar.
Finally, we get to the Garden State Parkway and off we go. Well, the picking up of furniture went well, we had gone to one of those storage places and within an hour we were packed up. We had a room at the Quality Inn (twin beds so curb the dirty mind), and because the trip was long we decided to head back Sunday.
Sunday morning we got up, had breakfast, paid the bill and off we started. As we were driving, we were chatting back and forth about people we had lost track of and she told me this story about a family of 300 and 400-pounders that moved into where she used to live growing up. She said they were a white family who took their food very seriously. They had no money because they spent it on what else? Food. They had an RV they travelled around in and a beat-up faded wreck was hitched to the back. They were originally from Vermont and had property up there. No house on the property, just woods, and they'd go there in the RV which turns out to be an old broken down Winnebago; and camp there on weekends.
Anyway, the day was simply lovely and warm, blue sky, and sparse clouds and we were having a wonderful time. We made it out of New Jersey and decided to go the way home Tonya usually does, so we headed off toward New England, Saw Mill Parkway. The trees on the Saw Mill are like something out of Alice in Wonderland, all tangled wood and weird looking. I be entranced with the whole of it and we were speeding along the narrow lanes into Connecticut. We decided since it was near 1 p.m., we should stop for lunch midway through. But as we left the New York exit into Connecticut we were almost come to a halt because of the traffic. Both lanes backed up but moving.
Tonya decided to go back to discussing the fat people who's name is Frentnell, but Tonya started referring to them as the Fartnells and this started us laughing like hyenas. There is one fear that Tonya has in her life, and that is that one day the Fartnell Winnebago will pull down our tiny cobblestone street in Boston, and with a shriek of the brakes, and a puff of exhaust smoke, stop in front of the small brownstone and the four large Fartnell's will lumber out. She says they were always nice to her, but she really wouldn't want them to visit, she would be broke in a day just from the food bills. When she was moving to Boston, they promised to come visit though. She has made sure that her telephone is unlisted in the hopes they can't find her.
We were talking this up and laughing when we started to make some headway and we were passing cars in the slow lane. As we came over a big hill we looked down at miles of road and there, yes way up there, was a huge white RV holding up traffic in both lanes because it was creeping a whopping 5 mph in the middle of the road! I shout, "Oh my god Tonya, it's your Fartnell family!"
I was doubled over in laughter and so was she UNTIL we caught up with the RV and she took a gander at the driver as we squeaked on passed. Her arm shot out and she grabbed mine and said, "Gabe, I think it's them. No shit Gabe. Speed up!"
She couldn't see well enough because of the greasy windows of the RV, but there was a powder blue jalopy attached to the hitch at the back. We went on passed and because by now it was 2 p.m. we were famished. I said to her that it probably wasn't them at all, and we could have lunch and they wouldn't have crept up the highway before we were finished.
WRONG
We finished our lunch, gassed up the truck and out onto the ramp entrance we went. And guess what? Yes, bumper-to-bumper traffic. And why? You know why, the RV had crawled on passed as we were sating our hunger.
Here was Tonya's second chance to check out the Winnebago. She didn't want to, but after approximately 15 minutes of inching up on the RV, we saw it as we came over the rise of a hill. She was sitting with her hands over her eyes as I was trying to catch up to it. I was weaving in and out of traffic as she yelled at me not to be so goddamn helpful, but I couldn't help meself, I wanted to know!
Finally, we rolled on up to the wreck on wheels and Tonya pulled on her sunglasses to disguise herself, and I could see her squinting at the occupants of the RV. Suddenly she starts stamping her side of the truck like she has a gas pedal, screaming at me to speed it up and do it now. She was holding her hand up to shield her face in case they decided to look over our way. I tried to get on passed the slow-going thing, but it had veered out in front of me in me lane and I couldn't do it. By this time Tonya's eyes are bugging out of her head and she squeals, "It's the Fartnell family, Gabe hit the gas, oh please, please get us out of here," and she slid down under the dashboard.
I couldn't get us out of there. I bloody couldn't get around and here she is afraid they will spy her in their rearview mirror and start waving. She was in the well of the passenger seat in a ball. I was slowing down so the Fartnells could own the road and not take the front of our rental truck with them, all the while laughing me fool head off. I decided to pull off so Tonya could calm down. I went out an exit to a Dunkin Donuts and ran in while she cautiously pulled herself up into the seat. We stayed there for 30 minutes hoping that the traffic had let up, that the Fartnells had exited somewhere, and we were home free.
I got the truck in gear and off we went to the highway once again. I started howling with laughter as Tonya threw up her hands in frustration. The highway was bumper to bumper as we entered!
After an hour of weaving from one lane to another and getting honked at all the way, we made the crest of yet another hill and there stretched out in full view for miles was the white Winnebago in the middle of the highway still crawling along.
I was sick with laughter and getting me arm punched black and blue couldn't stop me. But the more she hit me, the harder I was laughing.
Tonya said to me that our exit would be coming up soon and we'll be away from the Fartnells. I kept weaving me way through, horns blaring at the brass of me efforts. As we were coming up to our exit we could see the sign a mile off, and what happens? The Fartnells pull off on our exit!
Tonya was pulling her hair out and telling me she knew in her heart they were going to OUR house and oh my God what is she to do? I told her not to worry she could hide in me apartment until they left. She looked at me askance and said, "Gabriel, they have an RV. They can camp out there forever. Don't you see, I can be living in your apartment for a very long time. Now help me think of something. Maybe I'll leave a note on my door that I'm away and they will leave."
I made it up the ramp and made the same turn as the Fartnell RV. I pulled passed them at the next light and finally had an open road in front of me.
"A note on the door?" I asked after setting us free. That would be all well and good, but if the Fartnells decided to "camp" out and wait, well what then? She planned it out, Alison would be telling them she was feeding the cat for the away Tonya OR, we were going to devise a pulley system to get food to Tonya through the upstairs attic window in the dead of night so she could survive. That brought the song, I WILL SURVIVE to mind and we both started singing until we made it to Massachusetts and of course, because we weren't paying any attention, we ended up going in the wrong direction delaying our arrival home to post notes for the Fartnells all over the doors. After two hours, which gave the Fartnells plenty of time to get to the flat first, we pulled into our block.
The Fartnells never did show or maybe they are still squeaking up the highway towards Boston. All I know is Tonya be living in dread of the sound of that RV and I'm still chuckling me head off.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I should check me brain at the door when it comes to travelling because I be convinced I be no good at it. This weekend, me neighbour Tonya needed to drive to New Jersey (yes, she be a Jersey girl) to pick up some of her auntie's antique furniture. It seems Auntie had passed away and left Tonya with some decent Victorian tables and chairs.
Tonya rented a Ryder truck and we took turns driving. The drive was supposed to be a total of 5 1/2 hours to a place called Toms River (down the Jersey shore). Well, begorrah me, we start off and she says she never goes I-95 because it is not a pretty drive, but more to the west and down 495 or some such route to 82 south. She started the drive and we were doing great until we somehow got misplaced onto, you guessed it I-95. There was a tanker accident a few days before where the thing blew up and melted a bridge. That closed the highway and all traffic was detoured to something called the Merritt Parkway.
Tonya is not one for listening to anyone so she pulls off with the traffic and instead of going onto the Merritt Parkway like everyone else, she pulls into city traffic and under the bridge we go into the scariest of neighbourhoods. We had the windows cracked being it was a warm day and oh the salsa music! The amigos were eyeing us as we slowly, and I mean slowly crawled passed in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Now being a white boy, I stuck out like a sore thumb and being I was with a (as she referred to herself) black girl, I'm sure we were noticed.
Tonya didn't help matters because she said the boys most likely thought we were drug dealers with a truckload of "stuff." That didn't make me feel safe but onward we crawled and like magic, we were back on I-95 and speeding south. We would have made the best of time, except I took over the wheel on reaching southern Connecticut. We headed towards the Tappen Zee Bridge and from there we were supposed to go to the Garden State Parkway, but somehow once over the Tappen Zee, we found ourselves on Route 287. She says to me, "Oh, this is okay because this road goes down the way we want, it's just more to the west."
As we are driving supposedly out of New York State, the scenery gets rather woodsy for northern New Jersey. For some unexplained reason, we both thought we had crossed into New Jersey but neither of us saw the welcome sign. I commented to her that I thought New Jersey was overpopulated with houses that were inches apart like in the Sopranos, but this, why this was all undeveloped land and beautiful, and would you look at those mountains. Suddenly Tonya went quiet on me and she said, "Hum, I know there were woody areas on 287 in northern New Jersey, but you are right there is too much-undeveloped land, and my God I don't remember we had mountains like that."
Here she is reading off Mawah, then Sloatsburg and Suffern. She turns to me and says, "Oh my God! We are in New York and going to Albany! Turn around."
We get to the Ramapo toll booth and have to drive another five miles to the exit to turn around so that little side trip to the Catskill Mountains costs time and a dollar.
Finally, we get to the Garden State Parkway and off we go. Well, the picking up of furniture went well, we had gone to one of those storage places and within an hour we were packed up. We had a room at the Quality Inn (twin beds so curb the dirty mind), and because the trip was long we decided to head back Sunday.
Sunday morning we got up, had breakfast, paid the bill and off we started. As we were driving, we were chatting back and forth about people we had lost track of and she told me this story about a family of 300 and 400-pounders that moved into where she used to live growing up. She said they were a white family who took their food very seriously. They had no money because they spent it on what else? Food. They had an RV they travelled around in and a beat-up faded wreck was hitched to the back. They were originally from Vermont and had property up there. No house on the property, just woods, and they'd go there in the RV which turns out to be an old broken down Winnebago; and camp there on weekends.
Anyway, the day was simply lovely and warm, blue sky, and sparse clouds and we were having a wonderful time. We made it out of New Jersey and decided to go the way home Tonya usually does, so we headed off toward New England, Saw Mill Parkway. The trees on the Saw Mill are like something out of Alice in Wonderland, all tangled wood and weird looking. I be entranced with the whole of it and we were speeding along the narrow lanes into Connecticut. We decided since it was near 1 p.m., we should stop for lunch midway through. But as we left the New York exit into Connecticut we were almost come to a halt because of the traffic. Both lanes backed up but moving.
Tonya decided to go back to discussing the fat people who's name is Frentnell, but Tonya started referring to them as the Fartnells and this started us laughing like hyenas. There is one fear that Tonya has in her life, and that is that one day the Fartnell Winnebago will pull down our tiny cobblestone street in Boston, and with a shriek of the brakes, and a puff of exhaust smoke, stop in front of the small brownstone and the four large Fartnell's will lumber out. She says they were always nice to her, but she really wouldn't want them to visit, she would be broke in a day just from the food bills. When she was moving to Boston, they promised to come visit though. She has made sure that her telephone is unlisted in the hopes they can't find her.
We were talking this up and laughing when we started to make some headway and we were passing cars in the slow lane. As we came over a big hill we looked down at miles of road and there, yes way up there, was a huge white RV holding up traffic in both lanes because it was creeping a whopping 5 mph in the middle of the road! I shout, "Oh my god Tonya, it's your Fartnell family!"
I was doubled over in laughter and so was she UNTIL we caught up with the RV and she took a gander at the driver as we squeaked on passed. Her arm shot out and she grabbed mine and said, "Gabe, I think it's them. No shit Gabe. Speed up!"
She couldn't see well enough because of the greasy windows of the RV, but there was a powder blue jalopy attached to the hitch at the back. We went on passed and because by now it was 2 p.m. we were famished. I said to her that it probably wasn't them at all, and we could have lunch and they wouldn't have crept up the highway before we were finished.
WRONG
We finished our lunch, gassed up the truck and out onto the ramp entrance we went. And guess what? Yes, bumper-to-bumper traffic. And why? You know why, the RV had crawled on passed as we were sating our hunger.
Here was Tonya's second chance to check out the Winnebago. She didn't want to, but after approximately 15 minutes of inching up on the RV, we saw it as we came over the rise of a hill. She was sitting with her hands over her eyes as I was trying to catch up to it. I was weaving in and out of traffic as she yelled at me not to be so goddamn helpful, but I couldn't help meself, I wanted to know!
Finally, we rolled on up to the wreck on wheels and Tonya pulled on her sunglasses to disguise herself, and I could see her squinting at the occupants of the RV. Suddenly she starts stamping her side of the truck like she has a gas pedal, screaming at me to speed it up and do it now. She was holding her hand up to shield her face in case they decided to look over our way. I tried to get on passed the slow-going thing, but it had veered out in front of me in me lane and I couldn't do it. By this time Tonya's eyes are bugging out of her head and she squeals, "It's the Fartnell family, Gabe hit the gas, oh please, please get us out of here," and she slid down under the dashboard.
I couldn't get us out of there. I bloody couldn't get around and here she is afraid they will spy her in their rearview mirror and start waving. She was in the well of the passenger seat in a ball. I was slowing down so the Fartnells could own the road and not take the front of our rental truck with them, all the while laughing me fool head off. I decided to pull off so Tonya could calm down. I went out an exit to a Dunkin Donuts and ran in while she cautiously pulled herself up into the seat. We stayed there for 30 minutes hoping that the traffic had let up, that the Fartnells had exited somewhere, and we were home free.
I got the truck in gear and off we went to the highway once again. I started howling with laughter as Tonya threw up her hands in frustration. The highway was bumper to bumper as we entered!
After an hour of weaving from one lane to another and getting honked at all the way, we made the crest of yet another hill and there stretched out in full view for miles was the white Winnebago in the middle of the highway still crawling along.
I was sick with laughter and getting me arm punched black and blue couldn't stop me. But the more she hit me, the harder I was laughing.
Tonya said to me that our exit would be coming up soon and we'll be away from the Fartnells. I kept weaving me way through, horns blaring at the brass of me efforts. As we were coming up to our exit we could see the sign a mile off, and what happens? The Fartnells pull off on our exit!
Tonya was pulling her hair out and telling me she knew in her heart they were going to OUR house and oh my God what is she to do? I told her not to worry she could hide in me apartment until they left. She looked at me askance and said, "Gabriel, they have an RV. They can camp out there forever. Don't you see, I can be living in your apartment for a very long time. Now help me think of something. Maybe I'll leave a note on my door that I'm away and they will leave."
I made it up the ramp and made the same turn as the Fartnell RV. I pulled passed them at the next light and finally had an open road in front of me.
"A note on the door?" I asked after setting us free. That would be all well and good, but if the Fartnells decided to "camp" out and wait, well what then? She planned it out, Alison would be telling them she was feeding the cat for the away Tonya OR, we were going to devise a pulley system to get food to Tonya through the upstairs attic window in the dead of night so she could survive. That brought the song, I WILL SURVIVE to mind and we both started singing until we made it to Massachusetts and of course, because we weren't paying any attention, we ended up going in the wrong direction delaying our arrival home to post notes for the Fartnells all over the doors. After two hours, which gave the Fartnells plenty of time to get to the flat first, we pulled into our block.
The Fartnells never did show or maybe they are still squeaking up the highway towards Boston. All I know is Tonya be living in dread of the sound of that RV and I'm still chuckling me head off.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
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