Two Weeks in November, Episode II: Attack Of the Anecdotes

When last we left our intrepid band of travelers, The Rev, D&D Guy and The Gay were stranded on the side of a highway in Ft. Oglethorpe, Georgia.

We had two options for finding a payphone, walk a half mile south to the next exit or walk a half mile north to the last exit. Opting to at least keep moving in the right direction, we chose to walk to the next exit. We hadn't gone more than a quarter mile when this Ford Explorer-thing pulls onto the shoulder and begins to back toward us. I'm a little nervous. I've read stories. I've seen Deliverance. I know what they do to/with my kind in the South, so I decide to butch it up real quick-like. So, The Rev, D&D Guy and I are introduced to a lovely couple whom I shall refer to as Oxygen Guy and Real Estate Lady. To put our would-be saviors at ease, The Rev introduces all of us and explains that we're headed to the Religious Studies conference in Atlanta.

I still want to know whose gonna put me at ease. Oxygen Guy and Real Estate Lady seem like a perfectly nice 40-something couple, but my experience has been that straight people can turn on you faster than bad sushi. So I remain guarded and thoroughly butchified, busying myself by contacting our fellow travelers (who are now safely in Atlanta, by the way, desperate for a way to get into a hotel room). As I'd been busy on the phone in the back seat, I hadn't realized that Real Estate Lady had been on the phone in the front seat, attempting to contact someone who might have been able to help us. It seems we ended our conversations at about the same time, because I had no sooner flipped my little phone closed when I heard Oxygen Guy say, "well, he sounded awful snippy." Remember what I said about straight people turning on you?

Now, like I said, I was at my butchest, and I had felt that I had been behaving in a very polite, courteous and gentlemanly manner with both my interlocutors and my Southron saviors, so expressions of hurt, confusion, exasperation and ultimately defiance passed across my fair features in a flash. If Oxygen Guy thought I had been snippy before, he hadn't seen anything yet; I very nearly went into vicious-queen mode in less than a second. D&D Guy and I have been friends now for several years, and he knows me quite well, so he was able to read my expressions as quickly as they passed. Being the thoughtful and considerate guy that he is, he gave me a not-so-subtle elbow to the ribs to make sure I kept my mouth shut and we didn't all get tossed out on our ears at the gas station in Ft. Oglethorpe. He's a very smart guy, D&D Guy is. That, and he was paying enough attention to realize that Oxygen Guy had been talking about the guy on the other end of Real Estate Lady's conversation, not me.

As we're sitting in the parking lot of a gas station, pouring through the phone book looking for an 800-number for State Farm (which apparently doesn't exist; you have to know your agent's name and number in order to get any help--what sort of crap is that? At least Progressive has an emergency service number when you pay the $9 for the assistance service), an independent towing service and a tire place, not having any luck at all finding ones that are open at 7:20 on a Friday evening, what should pull in right in front of us but a tow truck. Now, you think our troubles are over, don't you?

Think again. Because of our location (just inside the Georgia state line) the best this tow truck driver could do would have been to give us a very expensive tow to a very expensive garage that wasn't even open deep in downtown Chattanooga. But, the serendipitously-arrived tow truck driver tells us, he thinks that there might be a garage/tire shop/tow service that's still open and able to take care of us in one fell swoop. So, on Tow-Truck Guy's word, Oxygen Guy and Real Estate Lady drive us the mile-and-a-half down the road to a family owned and operated auto shop in East Ridge, Tennessee.

As we were arriving, the family-member on duty, Family Tow-Truck Guy, was about to take-off on another call, and he sadly informed us that they neither carried tires nor did they stock any on the tow truck, but he did leave us with a ray of hope: if we could get a hold of the proper sized tire, he would be able to get the car with the tow truck, return to the shop and complete the repairs this very night. Moving with new motivation, we call every Wal-Mart Supercenter to check if their automotive centers have already closed for the evening as we hurtle back to the car to take the sizing information off the flat tire. Just as we get the information from the tire, it becomes clear that most of the Wal-Marts have already shut down their auto centers, but there is a chance that we can make it to one last center before it closes down at 8:00.

As we were arriving in the automotive department, the last two auto-employees were cleaning up and signing out, so we were just barely able to get the damned tire from the damned evil empire. But we got the bloody thing, so we called back to the Family Service Center only to find that Family Tow-Truck Guy's wife and younger son had joined him at the garage for dinner and that he would be unavailable to help for about a half hour. So, Oxygen Guy and Real Estate Lady decided that they could spare the time to take us to McDonald's for some quick dinner. I should probably mention at this point that Southrons are not afraid to share.

As we were headed to Micky-D's, Oxygen Guy explained to us that his first job had been selling the compound that makes tires black. The Rev was curious as to what color tires are in their natural state, and Oxygen Guy proceeded to describe this creamy, pale color. Being a man of the world (or slut, depending on whom you ask), my immediate thought was, "oh, like a rubber." D&D Guy didn't need to stop me this time around; I had regained my bearings and knew enough to keep my mouth shut. But, Oxygen Guy tells us, now he's a tech for a company that distills liquid oxygen from the atmosphere (You get it now, don't you? Can you guess what Real Estate Lady does for a living?). We also learn that he and Real Estate Lady have been together for six years, but that they've just celebrated their second wedding anniversary after moving back to Georgia from one of the Carolina's (I just can't remember which one) to live in her parents' old home since they, her parents, had just built a new place on adjacent land. Oxygen Guy has traveled all over the world, but he and Real Estate Lady just completed a tour of the Northeastern US this summer--all except for Delaware, but that's okay since she doesn't consider Delaware to be part of the Northeast (even though he does), but now they're back in Georgia, and they're really happy there with their five Chinese pugs, one cat and one snapping turtle named Dollar (because he was about the size of a silver dollar when they found him), but they'd really like to buy some more land so that they can start a stable for horses and a kennel for dogs. Remember what I said about sharing?

It was about at this point in the conversation when it became time to return to the Family Service Center to complete our transactions. Oxygen Guy and Real Estate Lady have been exemplary hosts and have treated us with courtesy and respect. We could have been in a world of hurt, but because of their concern and good nature, what could have been a horrible experience was actually a rather pleasant, if unusually loose-lipped (to my Yankee sensibility), experience. This is my big shout out/thank you to them. So, Oxygen Guy and Real Estate Lady leave us in the capable hands of Family Tow-Truck Guy, his wife, Account Office Lady, and their younger son, Number Two.

While Family Tow-Truck Guy and D&D Guy head off in the truck to retrieve the stranded automobile, Account Office Lady and Number Two chat up me and The Rev. Did I mention Southrons like to share? Turns out that they have the office cleaned on Friday night, so all the office furniture is out in the shop, and it makes a lovely obstacle course for Number Two to play on while his mother chats with us, but he just can't help interjecting periodically to explain what all the machinery in the shop does and how it works, and how much fun it is to work with his father, grandfather and uncles in the shop. Number Two, by the way, is in first grade.

As it turns out, Account Office Lady has pictures of Number One, who's 9, and Number Two covered in grease when they were as young as six months old. Personally, I think that's a little kinky, but I'm not a parent, nor do I plan to be. Anywho...Number One is off at his first away from home sleepover, and his mom's a little tense. Seems that a couple months ago, she and her husband headed out to Las Vegas for a five-day convention, and the fifth day of separation from the boys had nearly been too much for her. She thought she could handle one night, and that Number One would be okay as well. He was with his new cub scout troop, and he'd only known most of those boys for a couple weeks, but there was one boy whom he'd known from his earlier troop--there was apparently some scandalous occurrence that fractured that poor troop; Account Office Lady was strangely reticent to speak of the "trouble" they'd had with that previous troop, but I (and Account Office Lady) digress--so Number One would probably be okay overnight. Of course I'm thinking about the sex that scouts do, but I'm certainly not gonna mention that to Account Office Lady in her delicate state. About this time, D&D Guy and Family Tow-Truck Guy returned from their errand, and who should be the one to open the door and release the car from the wrecker but our six-year-old mechanic, Number Two. That child has greater facility with automobiles than most 26-year-olds I know. It's just not natural.

But I can't really complain. The Family cut us a fantastic deal on the work they did, and really did help a queer group of complete strangers out of a really messy spot. So this is my big thank you to Family Tow-Truck Guy, Account Office Lady and their little Number Two.

After our Chattanooga/Ft. Oglethorpe/East Ridge experience, the rest of the trip to Atlanta was really rather blase. We finally arrived in Atlanta just before midnight, so I began the celebration of the beginning of my thirtieth year of quasi-independent living by crawling into bed with a woman as old as my mother (The Rev) whom I had to hip-check at one point to gain more than six inches of mattress for myself. An inauspicious beginning? Perhaps, but I've just gotten started.