As I passed into Tennessee, I was tempted to make a detour into Memphis, but
after seeing Steve Timm’s documentary on Graceland, I decided to steer clear
of that realm inhabited by the mad followers of a dead king.

As I crossed into Arkansas, I was greeted by a sign reading “Welcome to
Arkansas — Home of President Bill Clinton.” As though they could legitimate
anything that went on there by the fact that their boy was in the White House.
Arkansas didn’t have much to say to me or maybe I was too tired to listen.

On to Missouri. Once again, I was almost out of gas. I pulled off the
interstate when I saw a sign that advertised gas. Up until this point, all such
signs have always meant that I would find about three gas station/food plazas
that were open 24 hours. Not so here. There was just an abandoned 76 station
at the edge of the exit ramp. I decided to venture into the nearby village.

The place had a strip on which every single gas station was closed.
There are various times in my life when I sense that my demise is at least
60% probable in the immediate future. A little voice inside my head automatically say,
“Ah, so this is how it ends: impending doom.”

This particular situation elicited the response “Ah, so this is how it ends:
Lost in the middle of nowhere in Missouri at the mercy of
whatever wild animals that might live out here.”

As I puttered around the next bend in the road, I saw ahead of me a glowing
not unlike the way the gates of heaven must glow. It was the light of a gas
station. It was open. Relieved, I filled my tank and went inside to pay with
my credit card. I immediately realized that I was Somewhere Else when the
cashier spoke to me in Native Missourian, a language I had never heard. Through
hand and eyebrow gestures, I was able to convey my intentions to pay for the
gas with a credit card.

As she was swiping the card through the reader, I noticed a point-of-purchase
display on the counter. It was a collection of audio tapes entitled “How to
Tell if You’re a Redneck.” It was some comic’s routine that went like “If you
think visiting the dentist is something that only happens on TV, well, you might
be a redneck.”

The cashier informs me that my card is not being accepted by their machine.
I tell her evenly that I’ve been using it all day and it should work fine. She
trys it several more times to no avail. It may as well have been my library
card she was sliding through the machine. She asked me if I had any cash and I
said no. As I stood there, I could feel the gaze of her daughter sizing me up
like a new kind of hamburger she wanted to try.

“Ah, so this is how it ends,” my mind said dryly, “kidnapped and raped by
rednecks in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri.”

The cashier continued to fiddle with the mind-numbingly simple card reader
while I escaped to the restroom. The handle on the toilet must have been
connected somehow to the reader for when I came back out, the card read just
fine. I took my card and got the hell out of there.

I had allotted myself three hours out of the twenty four to sleep. Otherwise
I would have to drive non-stop to get back in time for the job fair. I slept
a bit at some roadside restaurant and then continued on.

It was early morning in Illinois when I had Cop Encounter #4, the last one
of my journey.

I was cruising along, doing the speed limit (as I had been doing for at least
an hour) when I saw a cop car situated on the grassy median strip between the
highways. I had this psychic intuition that he was going to pull me over.

As I passed by, sure enough, he pulled into the flow of traffic. I thought,
“Okay, okay, I’m just going to play it real inconspicuous.” I slid into the
right lane between two semis and then out again the pass one of them.
That’s when the guy pulled me over.

He explained to me that he had scene me move in and out between the two trucks
and hadn’t used my turn signal either time. This of course explains why he
started to follow me BEFORE I changed lanes, right?

I had to sit with him in his car on the passenger side as he wrote up a
warning for me. This wasn’t just a reason to check my record for any drug
related charges, right? As I sat there he told me how he had thought of
attending DePauw, but had gone somewhere else instead. He finished the warning
and had me sign it. He told me to be careful and use those turn signals.

By the time I reached Indiana, I realized that I was going to be at least 2
hours late for the job fair and in no coherent condition anyways. I decided to
screw the job fair and just go back to Greencastle. I drove into town, never
so glad to see it as I was at that moment, and took the car to the car wash.

Even after a furious robotic scrubdown, the roof of my car still had the
writing “Bad Fucking Car” on it from when Ryan, Josh, Rod and everyone went to
see “Pulp Fiction” last semester.

Then I took it to get an oil change. I explained to them that yes, I had just
been in about a week ago and yes, I had since driven almost 4000 miles since
then.

The dorms didn’t open until Sunday at noon, so I needed a place to stay. I
considered staying at Freedom, but I wasn’t sure any of the guys were back. I
thought of Greg Stephan’s place and would have tried there had I not stopped
at Tom Chiarella’s first. He graciously allowed me to stay in the guest room
until Sunday as long as I was gone during the day so the kids wouldn’t be
freaked out.

I slept for a while, hung out, did some other things.