The Oxford Courthouse. Scene of A Time to Kill, etc.
A friend of mine (I love you, Weezie!) recently commented that my travel disasters don’t often seem to occur in the good ole U.S. of A., and so, I humbly submit the following for judgement. It will start with an ill-conceived road trip, meander through a whole lotta vomit and general offense, and end with a high speed car chase. Well, not really, but there were definitely high speeds, a BMW (not mine) and a cop involved…
It’s 5:30 am, I’ve been asleep for about two hours, and I am completely beyond fucked up. This is unfortunate, ’cause I’m supposed to be driving about 30 unpleasant paleontology students to the field for some fossil prospecting in about 30 minutes. I can’t get a ride to school ’cause my ride is in a worse state than I (it’s true, bless his heart), and I’m thinking I may be too incapacitated to figure out the bus. I know, I’ll bike! About 20 minutes and, say, three whole miles later (so I’m a little wobbly and confuddled, so what…), at least I’m there on time. This is when it dawns on me that I totally can’t drive, the professor I’m slaving for is narcoleptic so there’s no way in fuck I’m riding with him, and it’s shaping up to be about 110 degrees out today. Balls.
