Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Aluminum Falcon makes the White Castle run in less than 12 Parsecs.

On Sunday I took oldest son back to College. It was a tumultuous packing up and leave session so he left a few things at home including his dorm room keys and laptop power supply.

On Monday morning I knew about the keys and was about to fed ex them to him when I got call about the power supply. It was home. That meant either two fed-exs or one really late one.

At this point I should have just Fed-exed both as soon as possible. But I didn't do that because I continue my quest for chooch of the year. I drove back up to Seton Hall, one and a half hours in the rain on the Jersey Turnpike in my 12 year old Civic.

Now the poor Civic doesn't get out much. Its my drive to the train station beater. It's old. It's tired. It panics like a fish out of water on an Interstate. It's meant for around town.

I had my wife leave the GPS and EZPass so I could at least take those.

It really wasn't that bad on the way up. It vacillated between a steady rain and drizzle as I stayed away from the big trucks in my tiny vehicle. I was up there by 7:15 and dropped the missing items off and took off as quickly as possible. I didn't want to get home late.

I was starving by this time though. I must have been because I went to the White Castle drive through. I'm fifty and sober. I had no business being anywhere near a White Castle.

I was lured in by the whole "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle" thing. I'm from Philly. We had one White Castle and it was in bad neighborhood. We didn't go there.

I was experiencing an intense need of getting back on the road as quickly as possible and severe hunger. I did something I never do and that was get back on behind the wheel and wolf down 4 sliders at the same time.

I also now fully understood the term slider. I picked the first one out of it's minature cardboard box and it nearly slid out of my hand. Onions went every where. I put it near my mouth in the dark and a greasy ketchupy mixture slid out form the pressure on the bun, around my mouth and out. It went somewhere. I have no idea where.

Luckily I was wearing my rain coat. I wiped my mouth with napkin and did the best I could for the remaining three.

I had done it. I had made my way through the maze of off ramps through I-78 north of Newark and back onto the Turnpike.

It was a quintessential Jersey moment. The stench of White Castle, the rain, the turnpike. All that was missing was some Bruce or Bon Jovi but the Civic only has a radio.

That was when the worst case of the McGurgles in my inward parts began and lasted the remainder of the trip home past the Airport, through the refineries and into the vast wasteland of endless warehouses. The sliders were doing their magic. I was looking forward to a cleansing moment.

I quickly figured out that to enjoy White Castle you have to be really, really drunk, stoned or both.

The next morning I woke up craving fruit. Any kind of fruit. A pineapple especially.

Then I went out to the car and opened the door. The stink was unbearable. Onions. Grease. There was giant ketchup/grease mixture on my seat belt.

I held my nose and drove off to work. I may have to sell the car or give it to Kumar there at Seton Hall. It's ruined for life.

I should have just used Fed-ex.

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