Is it too late to go back to 49 states? I'm ready to expel Oklahoma (OK) from the union because it's too far away, it's too ridiculous, and they almost won't let you go to the bathroom after 11pm.
For starters, why does it have to be so far away from everything? You've heard the phrase 'the middle of nowhere'? Oklahoma is not in the middle of nowhere - it's out past the edge of nowhere. You can't even see the border of nowhere from Oklahoma - and trust me, there ain't much to get in the way of the view, not counting casinos. Driving through OK I listened to XM satellite radio. They have a channel that plays only songs from the 60s, and I heard every song twice. That's the equivalent two decades of music, all inside the Oklahoma borders. It's a heapin' helpin' of desolation and remoteness, surrounded by wilderness, and I drove from one side of it to the other. And drove, and drove, and drove, and drove....
As you enter the State of Oklahoma, the first sign you see, even before 'Welcome to OK, Spend All Your Money', is this one: Do Not Drive into Smoke. Huh? Do Not Drive into Smoke - I need a sign for that? Thanks, Captain Obvious. I told the Charming and Delightful, drat, I was so looking forward to driving into smoke, and now I can't.
I don't see how this works out well for OK. Do they think everyone else is so stupid they need a sign to tell them not to drive into smoke? Thanks for nothing, Okies. Do Not Drive into Smoke - smoke from where? Does Oklahoma not have fire prevention week like everyone else? Do they lead the nation in arson or something? Have they never heard of firemen, those guys in the shiny red trucks with flashing lights, sirens, and y'know, water, that come out and put out fires?
And adding insult to injury, they repeat the sign every thirty miles. Like I would need to be reminded. Hey Oklahoma, you ever hear of fog? It's thick, and gray, and reduces visibility like, well, like smoke! Slow Down in Smoke - I can see that. Turn On Headlights in Smoke - that makes sense. But Do Not Drive into Smoke? C'mon, man!
As if being too far away and thinking I'm such a moron that I can't drive with limited visibility, isn't enough, Oklahoma is a biological hazard after midnight.
We had been on the road for more than nine hours, stopping only to refuel the Land Ship, my brother's Suburban. It's one of the things I love about traveling with the Charming and Delightful - she's a very low maintenance travel companion. Even though it was after midnight, when she said she needed a bio break, I went on high alert for a place to stop. Luckily, we passed a sign advertising free rest rooms (free? they charge for pottying in Oklahoma??!!), and I pulled up to a dimly lit storefront. But the gas pumps were operational, so while the C&D went to use the bathroom, I fed the Land Ship. Wouldn't mind a little relief myself, I thought when I was gassed up. I passed the C&D on the way, and she said don't bother, they're locked. Huh, that doesn't sound very free, I thought.
Luckily, a lady came out of the men's room pushing a mop bucket. Great timing, I said, would you mind unlocking the woman's room so my wife can go to the bathroom? Sorry, she says, I can't. We're closed, and I can't unlock them. As she says this, she unlocks the woman's room, reaches in and turns out the light, and re-locks the door. C'mon, man, what's up with that?
Frustrated, we pull back onto the turnpike. One unpleasant side effect of traveling on a full bladder is a heightened awareness of every bump and ripple in the road. I was very conscious of and thankful for the Land Ship's smooth ride. Within fifteen miles, we rejoice at the sign pointing out a World Famous Restaurant (the one with the golden arches I used to work for), and happily pull up to the door.
One thing the World Famous Restaurant is world famous for is clean restrooms. Happiness and joy abound, except for one, teeny tiny little problem. Despite having dozens of people milling about inside the restaurant, the doors were locked. Say what? An employee unlocked the door to allow a couple to exit. I reached for the door, and she shut it in my face. Can my wife come in and use the restroom, please? I'm sorry, she says, we're closed. Closed? C'mon, man, you have dozens of people in there. I'm sorry, she repeats, I can't. We're closed.
Well now I'm getting mad. I thought about asking the people on the bus parked nearby if they would let my wife use their bathroom, but she was already heading for the gas station about a quarter mile away. She was not happy. She was less happy when she came out of the less than world famously clean restroom.
Perhaps it was the nearness of the hour to one o'clock in the morning. Perhaps it was the weariness of nine straight hours of travel. Perhaps it was the frustration of two people who said they were sorry but showed no remorse or sympathy at all for the plight of a fellow human being. Regardless, the net effect was we were not very happy with our introduction to Oklahoma. And it didn't help when the guy in the toll booth shut his door on me as I pulled up, forcing me to use an automated doohickey. Said automated doohickey, probably because it was almost two in the morning and I was really tired, caused me great consternation. I had to figure out how to select the right option for my vehicle, then dig up two bucks in exact change. Mr. Tool Booth finally peeks around the corner to see what the hold up is, at which point I used language inappropriate for younger chillrens. Or women. Or drunken sailors.
So, if I have the chance, I will gladly give Oklahoma and their closed restrooms and their stupid signs back to the Indians. But I doubt if I will get the chance. You see, my grandson now lives in Oklahoma, and he will for the next three years, which means I'll be back. And just how bad can anyplace be where the World's Best Boy is?
*with apologies to the Prewetts, our friends from Oklahoma. While Jeff had the good sense to leave, his brother still lives there, I think, and the one time I met him he came across as a very decent person.
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