Game Changers

They say the early bird catches the worm, and as such, I got up early Friday morning so I could begin the 10 hour drive to Maine at a reasonable time.  By 7:20 am, I was headed out the door of my DC condo to load up the  Jeep which had been parked the night before in an ever so fortuitous spot right next to my building.

As I headed to the Jeep, I quickly realized that this early bird would in fact catch no worms, but rather a fat ‘ol $100 parking ticket instead.  For what you might ask?  For failure to obtain a proper DC parking permit.  I guess all that parking at the Capitol and taking the metro to work had simply delayed the inevitable.  When I return to DC in ten days, I suppose I shall head to the DMV and “obtain a proper DC parking permit.” 

After this most unfortunate mishap, I finished loading up the Jeep, gave the vegetables in my refrigerator to Rachel (the building character), took the dogs for a walk and departed Q Street at 8 am.  I stopped briefly at CVS to pick up a sugar free Red Bull and then we were on our way – earlier than ever before.  I was sure I could make Portland by dinner time!

When traveling, I like to pass the time by making little references on Facebook when I enter a new state, taking great care to tie them all together in some clever theme.  This time, I would do musical numbers!  And for all of you wondering, most Facebook posting takes place at rest areas and toll booths – I simply push send at the appropriate moment - so please keep the don’t text and drive comments to yourself. 

As we drove through the Harbor Tunnel, I posted Good Morning Baltimore as I envisioned myself riding atop a big green dump truck.  

Heading over the Delaware Memorial Bridge into New Jersey, I posted Jersey Boys and tried to imagine the words to a song from a show I have never seen and don’t really care to, but hey, it’s all I could come up with.  It was then time to think about lunch and that meant only one thing – veer off the Jersey Turnpike at Exit 7A for the only Chick Fil A I have been able to find near one of the exits. 

Now I am well aware that the corporate powers to be at Chick Fil A do not share my social or political viewpoints, but neither do Exxon Mobile or Shell, and I still stop there for gas.  My $7 purchase at Chick Fil A a few times a year will certainly never become a game changer so I put it out of mind each time, throw caution to the wind, and have my 1,000 calorie meal of bliss.  This time – meal deal #2 it was – Chick Fil A Deluxe, waffle fries and a diet coke thrown in for good measure.  I also splurged and asked for two special sauce packets.  After checking in at Chick Fil Aon Facebook, I then braced myself for the deluge of nasty responses from my coterie of liberal friends.  Much to my surprise, I only got one and it took almost 5 hours.  It read, “You realize that Chick Fil A has funded ads against the boss, right?  My response?  “I’ve been waiting all day for some stank comment – I like their chicken – period.”

Chicken cutlet slap anyone?

By 11:40 am, we were back on the road grinding toward New York.  Normally these are quiet rides with time to think and regroup after days of stress at the U.S. House.  But this time, Hunter, like a petulant child, decided that Alex was invading his space in the back seat and howled every time it happened, sometimes incessantly.  At one point, I had finally had it, and yelled out, “For the love of Christ, shut up!”  And to no avail, the howling continued, but at least I felt better expressing my displeasure verbally.

Gliding over the George Washington Bridge, which we reached in a record 4.5 hours, I posted, “Remember me to Herald Square” and swiftly continued my way rather smoothly through Manhattan, the Bronk and other outliers of the “City That Never Sleeps.”   Arriving in Connecticut, we hit the first rest stop to allow the dogs to take a potty, stretch and water break, and I headed inside to McDonalds to get a $1 coffee.  While patiently waiting in line, this nasty woman from Ohio blurted out her order when the cashier asked me, “Hi can I help you?’  I politely but sternly informed her that I had been waiting in line as she then proceeded to complain about the line system to me and anyone else who would listen.  I suggested that perhaps she should go back to Ohio.  Oh and the Facebook posting for Connecticut? Nothing clever, just a shoutout to my Jrs’s buddy Jimmy Lee who hails from Connecticut. 

Back on the road after a second $50 gas fillup, we slogged through the two hour stretch that is Connecticut and finally hit Massachusetts.  I quickly posted, “It was the shot heard round the world, it was the start of the Revolution” from School House Rock.  Props to one of my longest running best friends, Miss Irene, for properly identifying its origin.  An hour later, we hit New Hampshire where again I couldn’t think up a musical selection, so I used the old “Live Free or Die” standby. 

And then, like a beacon in the night, the Piscataqua Bridge, which connects Maine and New Hampshire, appeared on the horizon.  Excitement, intertwined with pure exhaustion, surged through my body.  I crossed the green monstrosity of a bridge, and then I saw it – the game changer according Anya Trundy – the new ever so tiny sign attached to the far larger sign welcoming visitors and returning residents alike to Maine – the Way Life Should Be.  The new sign I would later learn had been attached only a few days before by our new Governor, and it read, “Open for Business.”

“Well thank God” I thought.  The economy has been fixed, all Mainers have health care, tax reform has been implemented, and hunger, poverty and homelessness have been eradicated all because of this new sign!  Businesses by the hoards must have flocked to Maine at Lepage’s urging and literally transformed our state’s economy overnight.  “Phew!”  I didn’t realize that one small sign could do so, so much. 

As I made my way through the streets of the Old Port, my home in Portland, Maine, the sun began to set, and the temperature which had been 68 degrees earlier that day quickly plummeted.  I headed to the fourth floor of 99 Silver Street, my Old Port condo, located in an old shoe factory replete with brick walls and exposed beams.  I opened the door to my hermetically sealed room from the past 6 weeks and nestled high upon my armoire next to the tv was the real game changer for my trip home – Ultimate Reds from my dear roommate Charlie, bookended by an Avitar greeting.  There’s nothing like a blast of anti-oxidants coupled with some fresh Maine air to eliminate weeks of accumulated DC stress.

It’s good to be home!  I'll be spending the week looking for game changers.