Near Death Experience

Now that I am safely re-nestled in the Catskill Mountains, ~926 miles away from Atlanta, I can detail the only funny thing that happened during the 19 hour drive. Funny in retrospect but at the time, potentially hazardous to my life.

North Carolina. How bad can it be? It has "North" in its name, so surely we've left behind the drawling alcoholic gun-owning grits-enjoying slow-walking folks of the True South. Even those traits we had begun to see in ourselves after 10 months of Southern Exposure were begining to melt away with every mile travelled in the opposite direction [for reference, "alcoholic" is the only one of the aforementioned traits I willingly ushered into my ATLien lifestyle-- grits are okay, but not nearly as good as vodka].

We stopped for gas in North Carolina, and I had just finished 3/4 of a serving of Yoplait brand custard style blackberry harvest yogurt. Not wanting to leave traces of something perishable in the car, I asked my mother to pull up alongside a garbage can next to the gas pumps. Because my cat was also in the car, I didn't want to open the door and risk her escape so with one arm wrapped around my panicked orange cat I rolled the window down and tossed the container.

The container hit the rim, and with no chance for a rebound, splattered my formerly delicious lilac-colored snack all over the side of a shiny red pickup truck. Adrenaline surged through my veins and a brief montage flashed through my mind:




Then I screamed "DRIVE" and clung to my cat as we peeled out of the gas station. I never saw the owner of the truck, as they were hidden by the gas pump, but I know they had a gun. And I bet they'd shot people for less.

The Moral: North Carolina is still The South so be nice.