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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

A Story About the Journey...Not to Be Confused With A Story About Journey, the Band. That Would Be a Much Better Tale Than What You're About to Read

Friends, family, teenage Canadian boys (all two of you who read this thing) - I've been horribly neglectful of this site recently on account of the fact that I've been pretending to be Carmen Sandiego (only without the awesome hat), jetsetting about to various parts of the country on a moment's notice. Whereas a blogger like Adventure Girl is able to both travel AND write something entertaining (AND include non-blurry pictures and probably juggle fire, build a space station, and save Africa all at the same time), I, on the other hand, barely have the mental capacities to tie my own shoes in the morning, so you'll have to forgive the lag time. In the words of Lil' Kim (and this will be the only time in my life I'll ever quote Lil Kim), "I was gone for a minute, now I'm back for the jumpoff." Being dangerously white, I don't know what the jumpoff is, but I do know that I'm back for it.

The past couple of weeks have been a blur. I was in Florida for a while, then a hurricane pushed us to Georgia, then up to Richmond, then I left for Chicago and got stuck again in Georgia and now I'm back in the former capital of the South. The best part of all the traveling was that the majority of it was free thanks to Airtran, Wendy's, and my boyfriend and I's (I's or me's?) total disregard for hygene and willingness to sift through other people's rotted meat. Last winter Airtran ran a special wherein those who collected 128 coupons (available on special Wendy's 12 and 16 oz drinks) would receive not one, but four free one-way tickets to anywhere Airtran flies. For cheapskates like me, this is the equivalent of winning the lottery, taking home Olympic gold, and being the first man on the moon all at the same time. From the minute we found out about this deal, it was on...it was so on.

The boyfriend and I called 2 friends, mapped out the 10 Wendy's nearest our house (this was a way serious map, there were push pins involved), got dressed up in stealthy/biker-gay outfits like this:

and it was off a dark, seedy parking lot where we sat in a minivan, listening to punk rock (the only music appropriate for sifting through other people's trash) until 2:30AM when the last employee left. Then it was into the dumpster where our proverbial cups ranneth over with literal cups and more! During that first dive, we found the following:

* 1 salt shaker
* 1 man's wallet, empty
* 1 paper hat!
* 1 live human

The kid we met while there was doing the same thing we were and he seemed pretty awesome, so we just took him along for the rest of the night. We hit 6 Wendy's that night in 4 hours and when we had cleaned and counted our sweet, sweet booty:

the XX and I had 400 cups between the two of us (and that was just our portion of the take), way over enough to fly anywhere our rotted meat and mayonnaise-covered hearts desired. As gross as it was, the situation was so completely absurd, there was no room for awkwardness or my usual sweaty, stuttery behavior. It's been a long time since I laughed as hard as I did that night and this past weekend when I flew home from Chicago, I wondered if anyone on my plane enjoyed getting there half as much as I did.

Actual stories from travel to come later. I'm still decompressing.


At 4:30 PM, Anonymous jag said...

OMG. That is freaking awesome.

At 1:07 AM, Blogger Kevin said...

Man, I wish those bitches at Air Canada would do something like that here...in Canada.

At 12:04 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...



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