You may be wondering, “What happened to day 3?! Zomg!”. Well, our third day on the trip wasn’t as “eventful” as some of our other days. At least for me. I will admit that we had a fairly smashing luncheon at Skyline and an impressive performance later that night, by which I mean the performance itself was good. It wouldn’t have hurt to have filled a few more seats in the audience, but I think I speak for all the guys in green when I say Shenandoah rocked. And the 17 people that came to our first show would probably agree…or they would at least attest to the awesomeness of that elevator.
After the show we had a small…party? Was that what it was? “Party”? Yes. At the Mirkopolous household, complimentary with chips, Mystic River, Ping Pong, and a toast of bubbly to commemorate our own Bubbly boy’s Birthday. We popped the cork, grabbed some buffalo wings, and commenced the kick back. Earlier in the night we were joined by some esteemed guests, including two Northwestern gals representing the O-H-I. …O. Whatever, I forgot the zip code, so that’ll have to do. Despite the festivities and inordinate amount of game thrown at them, these ladies decided it was time for bed at…11:45pm? Wow. I thought curfew went out of effect once you got into college. Guess Not. The Birthday Boy proved my point by racking up a fair share of minutes on his wireless plan. If his parents happen to be reading this, we apologize for the lack of intervention. We’re sorry we enabled him. We were weak.
The following day will live in infamy.
We started off at the end: a farewell show at BOOYAH’s high school. Needless to say, they were a helluvan audience (for grammatical correctness. Not to be confused with “hella van”. We would not debase this blog with such an imbecilic vernacular). We did our set, BOOYAH rocked it like it was 1942, and the girls in the audience were already lining up for tickets to BOOYAH’s gun show, rumored to occur sometime this summer. Ladies, please remember to check all firearms and articles of clothing at the front desk.
After a great closing performance, we said our adieus to the Ohio boys who would not be returning with us to Evanston and hopped into the cars. Next stop, home.
…Well, maybe for the other two cars.
Traffic along the I-65 was, for lack of a better word, crawling slower than all holy hell. After a good hour or two of driving, the entire caravan chose to make a pit stop. The Subaru, containing Captain Bubbles, First Mate Land O’ Lakes and Boatswain of the Poop Deck Gameboy (after Scallywag Tag, pirate titles were inevitable), chose to indulge in such sorely missed McDonalds in part due to a the lack of said venue in Evanston and in honor of Snow Cream, who was unable to join us on this voyage…trip. Sorry. Once you get into character, it’s hard to break it, regardless of the circumstances. Right Bubbles? How’d that English accent work out for you?
I digress.
Before entering this elegant eating facility, a blinding heavenly light had entered Bubbles’ right ear as he was driving and given him an epiphany.
The Lion’s Den.
Now, you may wonder what possible use we could have for a pit of lions on our way home. Well, the Lion’s Den isn’t really what you think it is. It’s a very respectable establishment that only serves to aid the tired, yet restless, truckers that make this painful trek every day down this unimaginable stretch of highway. It is a veritable inn for these Mariners of the Roadways to stop and set a spell while enjoying the unique additions adorning the walls. Or as Bubbles put it:
“It’s a sketchy sex shop for truckers.”
…
Well, no points for poetics, but an A+ for conciseness. Regardless, this was our next destination. A car full of talented, handsome, virile men. What could be more perfect?
After a meal fit for three kings, we continued our slothful journey down the highway. Despite the horrific traffic and awful weather, the members of the H.M.S. Freshman15 kept their wits about them, enjoying the tunage of Marc Broussard and MIKA. However, after 4 or 5 hours, complimented by an unpleasant call from the Magic Tour Bus headed by Smokee informing us that they were 50 (count it. FIFTY) miles ahead of us, our patience began to wear. We needed to get to the Lion’s Den. It was not a question of how, but when. Bubbles’ GPS system had set the via point along the way, and it designated the Lion’s Den as being 38 miles ahead of us. Great. It’s about 8pm now. How about we stop off for some food. What’s that Gameboy? You’ve never had White Castle?? Well sweet sassy molassy! That sounds downright fantastic. White Castle and the Lion’s Den. The perfect end to a perfect trip. What’s that. GPS system? You say there’s a White Castle fast food restaurant along the way to the Lion’s Den? Fate must be smiling on us.
So we pull off the road and into what appears to be the sketchy part of Indiana. I can’t say that with full assuredness as it was covered in snow, but when you know, you know. Anyways, Bubbles’ GPS tells us we’re about 4 miles away from the White Castle. Well, that’s a fair ways away with unplowed streets in a residential neighborhood, but why not? We’ve already been traveling for 8 hours. White Castle will hit the spot. Look! We’re already at the destination point! White Castle should be right…over……
Thus begins my deep-seated hatred for Bubbles’ GPS navigational system.
Out yonder from our car sits a building resembling a large cement block. It doesn’t look anything like a restaurant, but we’ve traveled this far, I say we check it out. Gameboy tries a more intelligent alternative and calls the number associated with the address.
Gameboy: “Hello. Is this White Castle the restaurant?”
Person: *mumbles*
Gameboy: “Oh, this is the factory where you make the buns for White Castle Burgers!”
Case in point. But we were not discouraged. No, the H.M.S. Freshman15 doesn’t surrender a planned evening of frivolity that easily. We jumped back on the highway as we continued toward our primary destination: The Lion’s Den.
Wait…wasn’t that it on the right? Is that the building?! Gameboy! Check your iPhone. Damnit, that was the building! How far until the next off ramp? 7 MILES?! That’ll add another 20 minutes! It’s already 8:30pm! Do we go back? Is it worth it? I said yes. Bubbles said no. Gameboy was in between. In the end, it was ruled down. But on one condition:
We find another sex shop.
Bubbles, having a great breadth of knowledge of existing sex shops, quickly listed off 3 or 4 of them nearby. We Googled them all to add them onto the GPS and see if they followed the path back to Evanston. One such shop does. Namely, Slightly Sinful. This seems like an apt alternative. What about food? We should look for another White Castle.
boop boop boop boop boop. Well, whaddya know? There’s a White Castle on the same street as Slightly Sinful. Wait, we should check the hours for Slightly Sinful to see when it closes.
Closing Time: 10pm
Current time: 8:45pm
ETA: 9:17pm
This seems fantastic. We’ll grab some food and have enough time to peruse at our leisure. The plan seems full proof.
Oh right. There’s traffic.
By the time we get off the highway, it’s practically 9pm, with 7 miles to White Castle and 10 more after that to Slightly Sinful. We punch it all the way to 88 (aka, 30mph) and start passing cars at the speed of molasses. When we reached White Castle, we made a mad dash to get inside and order…well, Bubbles took us drifting in the parking lot or a minute. THEN we went and got our food. Our plan was to get in and get out. Unfortunately for us, White Castle heard of our quest and sought to thwart us by putting an old, senile lady at the register. Actually, the time we were delayed was tied between her and the incredibly unnerving derelict, who pointed out how awesome it was they had stacked the Sliders boxes to resemble wooden toy soldiers. Gameboy responded with the enthusiasm of a hyperactive child on Ritalin. Bubbles and I could not believe the pace we were moving at. However, after slight difficulty with this elderly woman, we grabbed our food and made a mad dash for the car. 910pm. We can still make it.
After jumping onto the I-50 and almost wiping out exiting the off ramp, we saw those beautiful glowing lights emanating from the sacred windows of Slightly Sinful. We had made it. And with 23 minutes to spare. We parked, jumped out of the car, and raced to the store. I suggested asking the guy outside to take our picture with the sign, but Gameboy and Bubbles thought otherwise. Whatever. Let’s see some products.
As we enter the store, the lonely man follows us in. Turns out he works there. Terrific. He asks us for I.D.’s, nodding in approval after seeing everyone. Then, after he looks over my I.D. he says,
“You can’t go into that back room. 21 and over only”.
You know that feeling associated with telling a small child Santa doesn’t exist? That’s the equivalent to my emotions at this moment. Here we were, after trekking for literally 9 hours of driving through horrendous weather and ungodly traffic. We missed our first chance after being side tracked by the BUN BAKERY for White Castle, then concentrated on nothing else but getting to this shop, and now we can’t see ANY of the good stuff? Are you kidding me?
No, actually. He wasn’t. We were confined to sultry costumes and swings. I personally thought an F15 swing would be the perfect addition to PLounge v. 5.0, but what do I know? The gentleman’s underwear was entertaining for a short period of time, but eventually got boring. We were being robbed of an experience. As Woody would put it, this was theft. Albeit, none of us pounded on our chest or shouted “OH-EM-GEE”, but you get the idea.
Then Gameboy, our own personal savior, came to our rescue. He ordered some novelty cookie cutters, and the owner(?) took him into the back room to pay for it. As he did this, he added, “You can bring your friends if you want.”
Santa does exist!
Words cannot aptly describe the room we entered, and if they could, I sure wouldn’t be
using them. All I can say is fear the Rambone. Fear it.
We enjoyed taking a couple photos with some questionable characters, including a blow up Sarah Palin doll, gasped at some other trifles, and chatted up with the owner. He had a couple stories to tell us about his experiences, and we shared our journey to his store. After an exchange of words and money, we took our leave, but not without a picture documenting this historic occasion.
With our mission completed, we decided home would be the best stop after this. The end.
…Nah. It’s only midnight. What else can we do?
As we headed to Gameboy’s pad to drop him off, Bubbles and I began to contemplate our sleeping arrangements. More specifically, did we have any? Where were we staying? We decided the current PLounge would be the best spot to crash, so we gave Woody a ring. No response. We dropped Snapz a line, but he wasn’t there and advised us to call Woody.
Great now what?
How about the Orrington?
We decided that we should end the night in an epic fashion: We’ll try to convince the guy at the front desk to give us a room at the cheapest price we can get. But first we’ll check the PLounge. Luckily, when we arrived, Woody answered the door and we determined a definite place to crash. But was that what we really wanted? Of course not. We wanted to see this through. Next stop: the Orrington.
We parked in the MAB lot so as to avoid being towed in case we were successful. We carried our suit cases and basically agreed upon a fairly true story: we were headed back from U Chicago and were going to stay at a friend’s house, but he was asleep and didn’t answer so we had no place to sleep. I patted some snow on my face to give it that “been freezin’ my butt off for an hour” look, and Bubbles followed suit. We trudged across the divide and entered the Orrington.
It was fairly deserted. Even the front desk was empty. We dropped our bags and donned the faces of a pair of lost college boys. A man finally came out to greet us. I explained our predicament, and inquired if any rooms were available. He said there were. I asked the price, and he responded with “$125”. It may not be obvious, but Bubbles and I are flat broke/aren’t going to pay $67 a piece. We tried coercing him into lowering the rates, emphasizing the depth of our poverty. He finally conceded to a degree, giving us a discounted rate of $80. Having previously agreed upon nothing over $20 a piece, we woefully declined his offer, and sought other refuge.
We made it back safely to the PLounge after finding reasonable parking for Bubbles. Woody showed us his sleeping arrangements (a long couch pillow on the floor) and then ours (two full couches and two la-z-boy chairs). If you’re still scratching your head as to why we were better off than him, quit while you’re ahead. We don’t understand either. We were just glad to have a comfy place to sleep after a considerably long day. The last day of our tour.
In retrospect, despite the never ceasing problems that occurred along this trip, I will always hold dear the moments we all shared on our way, in, and back from Ohio. I hope everyone who went on tour will cherish these moments as I do, and I encourage others not to miss out the next time something like this comes around.
And with that, I conclude the very, very, very, very long Book of Land O’ Lakes.
—L.O’L
No comments:
Post a Comment