Travel

Dear Candace,

You know how family vacation begins. Finally, the van is loaded. Finally, everyone has gone potty (some of them twice) and is buckled in. You instruct everyone to absolutely not tug on or remove anything in the carefully arranged stacks of suitcases and paraphernalia lest it trigger a catastrophic un-packing event in which the van implodes internally.

You are on the road. Mercy, husband has thoughtfully filled up with gas so the pumps can be avoided.

Of course there is that one stop at Walgreen’s for miscellany. {Why are corn chips so expensive?}

Heading out of the city, you impulsively think it would be such fun to get everyone an ice-cream treat to start the vacation off right. Whispering conspiratorially with your husband, the two of you make a plan. {Or, more accurately, since he’s driving you show him an image of an ice-cream cone on your phone and pantomime the rest so the kids don’t hear.}

Soon you stop at a McDonald’s on a busy exit. Husband has to pee since he ate a lot of watermelon earlier (when did he have time to do that? You’ve only managed to eat ONE HARD-BOILED EGG because, packing). Once inside, the waitress apologetically explains the soft serve machine is dead. No ice-cream to be had there. Back in the van, then off again to the nearest fast food joint. Jack-in-the-box is almost empty! Only two cars in the drive-through, so you get in line.

And wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

An old lady hair starts to grow on your chin.

Your husband looks at you as if to say, “Why are we doing this, again?” You back out of the the line with the other vehicles still sitting in exactly the same place. The person holding everyone up must be ordering 50 menu items in varying combinations.

Forward on the highway you go, and this time you must find ice-cream because of course now the children know. The children are counting on it. The children mustn’t be disappointed. This is vacation, after all!

Ten miles down the highway, another McDonald’s sign is spotted. Ah, this will be easy. It’s not as crowded on this exit. This way to the golden arches! Yay! We’re gonna have an ice-cream cone!

Wait-where is the restaurant? Three more miles north of the interstate? Oh.

Naturally, since it’s the only restaurant for perhaps miles in this desolate land, a crowd has gathered. The drive-through looks a bit busy, and feeling raw from your recent experience, you decided to skip it and “just run inside real quick.” The line stretches from the door to the cashier but you are not. leaving. without. ice-cream. You watch, mesmerized, as the young woman taking orders casually flicks her waist-long, thick, black braids here, there, and probably all over your ice-cream. She moves slowly and gracefully. So slowly. You know you’re getting to your destination an hour late at this point. There’s no use in fighting anymore.

When it’s your turn to order, you rattle off your requests like a pro ice-cream juggler, payment poised in hand. Just hurry, black-haired beauty, so we can get back on the road before the afternoon ends. You think this longingly, wishing you’d never suggested a deviation from the straight and narrow.

She leans into the ice-cream while she prepares it. Strands of hair wilding, ever so close. You wonder when food establishments stopped utilizing those wonderful hairnets. She can’t find things she needs-this and that is in the back and apparently she’s the only one to fetch it. Leisurely she puts everything together, as if fifty eyeballs weren’t staring at her. People in line shift behind you, clearing their throats.

When you’ve at long last returned to the van with your treats, you feel an Olympic thrill. You’ve made it to the finish line! It’s vacation! There’s ice-cream! Blessedly sought-after ice-cream. It’s already melting in this heat.

Are we there yet?

Next road trip, we are quite probably skipping the ice-cream! 😉

~Rachel

Letter 27

Letter 29