Grounded

The car rental agent was not an NC native.  The agent assessed my disheveled, red-eyed, slightly crazed appearance and decided this could work to her advantage.  She gave me an incomprehensible speech about why I should upgrade to a mid-size car.  I said, "No thanks."   She continued to counter with reasons why I really wanted a mid-size car and I kept repeating I wanted the car I had reserved.  As I repeated, "no", she began to list what I did not have with my current compact: "You won't have electric windows: you will have to roll up the windows by hand," and "You won't have air-conditioning" until I got the impression I had actually somehow signed-up for a donkey and cart.

I caved and got the mid-size upgrade just to get away from her. She handed me a folder and said, "go pick whichever mid-size you want."  I looked out the window at roughly 4,000 cars.  I blinked.  "Which ones are mid-sized?"  She was already texting on her phone, "Whichever you want."  I felt Ass-Smacking Harry welling up from deep within:  "Point out my options."  She waved in the direction of the window, "Any."   I leaned across the counter, and gritted out, tears burning in my eyes, "Point to a car and tell me the color!  Like 'take the grey one right there or the red one over there."  She rolled her eyes and said, "Any of the cars in the middle."  I walked away thinking two things: 1) I would never rent from Alamo again and 2) I sure hoped the car I picked was actually better than mid-sized.

I tossed my purse into the front seat and then stared at my gigantic roller bag.  36 hours ago it seemed like a good idea to pack everything into one bag.  Horrified, I realized that Paul had been right:  I would have to deadlift something heavier than my purse.  There were no nice attendants around to help me.  I was going to have to wrestle that 50 pound bag into the back seat by myself.  I'm not going to describe the pathetic struggle that ensued (since I already know that Paul will get a lot of mileage out of this incident,) a struggle worsened by decaffeination, hunger and sleep-deprivation.

First stop:  Starbucks.   It was at this point that I knew I was in the South.  When I lurched into Starbucks, the woman behind the counter took one look at my frazzled-ass self and said kindly, "Honey, you have had one rough morning!"  I explained my story, and she shook her head and offered, "One double venti lattee extra fat foam coming up.  But you sit yourself down and I'll bring it over in a moment.  And take this muffin.  You need it."   The couple behind me talked about their travel experiences and watched my stuff while I went to the restroom to splash my face with water (I did not to look in the mirror.)

I then began my four hour roller coaster drive on a series of strangely empty Twilight Zone highways through the amazing Blue Ridge Mountains.  I managed to dominate both of the available lanes in my direction so the lack of traffic was quite fortuitous.

In the end, I parked in front of my Cupcake Girl's house, weaved a path to her porch, sank gratefully onto the swing and closed my eyes, my feet at last on the ground.