three mcdonald's iced teas, two blizzards, one dead squirrel

Walk with me.

It's Saturday afternoon. Holly and I are mid-GART, pit-stopped somewhere in Maryland to take a wee at the Shell station. We take a brief moment to admire the beauty of my parking job -- I considered getting the Chevy Silverado into just two spaces a total victory -- before hitting the bathrooms. The women's room is locked, so we check the men's room. Empty. Holly ventures in.

Not two seconds after she closes the door, the women's room door flings open. Out walks a toddler wearing nothing but her flower printed underoos and rockin' the gas station bathroom bare feet like a tiny Britney Spears, followed by her EXTREMELY pregnant mother and only slightly more clothed big brother. Mom has on white short-shorts, a bright green tube top and two-toned hair, and she is courteous enough to let me know that the toilet in the women's room is not flushing.

Just when I think things really cannot possibly get any better, and I am sending Holly silent subliminal best friend messages to HURRY UP AND COME OUT OF THE BATHROOM IN TIME TO SEE THIS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, the gas station attendant comes waddling out from behind her desk and if there ever was someone who qualified to be a contestant on Pregnant or Obese, it was this woman. Only she was clearly too old to be pregnant. And clearly just SO very unfortunately obese in all the VERY, very wrongest places. Yes, wrongest.

She tells Tina Tube Top that the reason the toilet is not flushing is because some lever has been pulled off the wall. She heavily insinuates that Naked Baby and her big brother did the lever pulling. Tina Tube Top seems distressed. So distressed, in fact, that she hangs around to follow the gas station attendant into the ladies' room to make sure the lever is fixed and THANK GOD she did because at that exact moment Holly emerges from the bathroom and is able to witness ALL the glory that is Maryland's very, very finest white trash.

We saw Tina et al again on our way out, after discovering that the drinks station in the Shell looked like someone had come in and stolen almost everything, leaving an empty swinging hot dog rotisserie and a fountain drink machine that only had Pepsi. Thankfully, the Golden Arches were next door and we picked up some $1 iced teas, took a final look at Tina and the kiddos and drove back out onto the highway. Somewhere between the McDonald's drive-through and the on-ramp of the highway, Holly said, "You know, I always thought of Maryland as a fairly educated place. Classy. Put together."

"You know, I did too," I said. "I guess that just goes to show no state is immune from white trash."

Not even Maryland, people. Not even Maryland.

More true tales from the GART coming soon, including a dispatch from Nutter Fort, West Virginia and the story of Greg C., subtitled "Reckless Driving And You: Getting There Faster Doesn't Help if You're A Road Pancake."

Thirty-five hours in a car will give you wicked back pain and major exhaustion, but it'll also bring you stories like these. And allow you to justify fast food, gas station snacks and a Blizzard-a-day diet.

cheers,
elizabeth