Day 4 started with a delicious breakfast at Our Place in Fort Worth, Texas. It's Joanne's usual spot, and for good reason. Our server was a little off her rocker, but the food came out correctly so I won't slam her too much. I think the highlight of breakfast was watching Matt try to get the powdered sugar off his french toast, but stealth style. Joanne and I are chatting and then she's looking at him like, "WTF?" So I looked over, and there's powdered sugar flying off the table onto the floor and his phone. Joanne and I burst out laughing. Matt didn't see the problem.
Also amusing was Joanne finding a banana peel stuck to my bike rack. The day before, Matt had asked me to chuck his peel out my window since I was riding closest to the grass. I didn't get it very far and Matt actually thought it hadn't even left the car. With exaggerated confidence I declared that it had definitely cleared the car. Oops.
I don't intend to drive through Louisiana all that soon again. Matt got the morning shift for driving and we're cruising along at a nice 85mph since it's a 75mph speed limit there. Before, too long, there are some pretty blue lights flashing behind us. The state trooper asked Matt to STEP OUT OF THE CAR. Totally not how most states roll, so Matt's a little on edge. I'm sitting in the car for a while, wondering what the hell is going. I can hear pieces of the conversation - Matt's FL license, but the WA tags on the car, etc. Eventually the trooper comes over and asks if it's my car. Snappishly I tell him it is, and I had over my license and registration. He didn't even bother looking at my license.
The conversation between Matt and the Douchewhore lasts a few more minutes and I'm wondering if they're swapping recipes or something. Matt comes back, finally, and is frustrated as all hell. Apparently the first thing the Dick with a Radar Gun said was, "I'm going to give you a citation," and then proceeded to ask Matt where he was from, as though Matt would have ANY interest in chatting at that point. Ugh.
We stopped in New Orleans for dinner. It was HELLA crowded there. I guess a Saturday evening isn't a great time to make a pit stop there, but whatever. I popped into some tourist trap store and picked up a zydeco CD for my stepfather and some other stuff. We walked around looking at the restaurants in the immediate vicinity. Here's the thing, I'm not an adventurous eater. Spicy foods hit my tongue and I immediately want to expel them from my system. Some of the restaurants looked intriguing, but I wasn't about to chance it. Fortunately, Matt's not into spicy or unfamiliar foods either, so I didn't have to feel like a tool for suggesting the Hard Rock Cafe. It were delicious.
We hit the road again and drove as quickly as possible through Mississippi and Alabama. Those are great states to cruise through at night, not much to see. The night really isn't my friend though. Somewhere in Alabama we had to get gas, so I pull off the highway and decide to go to the big TA Travel Center station. I wait for oncoming traffic to pass, and then I go. *I* think I'm going into the gas station. Turns out, I was actually to the left of the driveway, on some grass. Didn't realize it until my car is flying over a curb. We landed with a thud and I looked up to see that I was actually in a gas station designed for SEMIS. I pulled into the closest parking space to inspect the damage to my car. While I'm sure he was pissed off at me, William Christopher doesn't seem to be any worse for the wear (except for the tumbleweed I pulled out of the grill...). Matt's just shaking his head and I KNOW he's dying to tell me AGAIN how he's a better driver than I am. At that point, I would probably have had to admit he was right...
After getting gas, I kept driving. No idea how Matt didn't force me into the passenger sit. We hit the Florida state line, and I started to crumble a little bit. At that point, it became real to me that I was actually moving back to FL. I'm crossing the border, in my car that's loaded down with my stuff. Poor Matt had no idea what to do while I was crying. We stopped at a seriously sketchy Super 8, sure we'd be carrying bedbugs back to South Florida with us.
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