This weekend, I embarked on an epic journey.
In an attempt to take in the various views and visages of the bountiful oasis that is South Jersey, Friday morning I took the show on the road (a tour, if you will) and embarked on an Academy bus leaving from E & E’s Smoke Shop in Flatbush, Brooklyn, headed for the sandy beaches and tranquil serenity of Atlantic City.
As with any seasoned road warrior, I had my bag packed with all the essentials inherent to a successful journey: fiber-rific snacks, the Cheap Eats issue of Time Out New York, and tinted moisturizer. Nestled on my bus, surrounded by the boisterous voices of casino regulars, I tapped away texts to my best of buds.
My road trips are historically riddled with chaos and pratfalls to a degree that would make Paris Hilton shudder. A trip to New Hampshire once resulted in my escort and I being mauled by a vehicle…our own, to be precise. A cruise to Cozumel? Lets just say at various points, the Coast Guard was called, my shoes were nearly apprehended, and the person whom I embarked on the trip with was no longer in my speed dial list by voyage end.
Weaker souls would be paralyzed from future embarkations after facing back to back debacles such as these. Others may at least experience a sense of pause. But when adventure, excitement, and, yes, the siren’s call of music speak to me, I do not let phobias halt me. Not me. I grab my water bottle and travel tote and hit upon my way.
As I boarded my bus, a gaggle of Church ladies snickered beyond me. “Look how exposed that one is.” In my terry tunic and denim jacket, I wondered if perhaps they would be as eager to judge when their own layers of polyester led to heat rash, and undoubtedly, scorn and jest.
Polyester did not exist in God’s original plan, my friend. It was quite possibly, a tool of the devil in an attempt to draw people toward extreme cheapness and lack of pride in one’s appearance.
Speaking of appearance, an interesting dynamic occurs when heat-shielded hair enters a bus and travels on non-stop direct route to increased humidity. Keratin shots may prevent frizz, but their kryptonic abilities have no hold over limp. My spirit may have been high as I entered the pearly gates of Atlantic City, but my flaxen locks were a mass of sad regret.
As I said an adieu to my newfound passage friends (future members of GA, I’m sure), I was three hours into my trip, my hair scrunchie already lost, my sunglasses missing in action, and my bladder whimpering softly. It was a weekend yet to begin, a day already long in its path.