Now, while Georgia can be an "exciting" (isn't that a nice friendly word for the satan's taste of hell traffic we have?) adventure where you might hit a cow, or a chicken, or a deer, or a bear, or yes, an escaped Zebra from the zoo, Jah has some pretty incredible stories from the seat of her Toyota outside of your classic redneck soup du jour ingredient.
When you work an eternity plus a day from your place of employment, it is no wonder that you wish to get home quickly. Yet, inevitably, there is someone who sits at their desk job, waiting for their secret mission telephone call to leave exactly 30 seconds before you do to make you consider hitting that telephone pole to end it all because that guy is totally going 5 in a 40.
Enter Jah, coming home from work on a back roads, one-lane state route in the afternoon, before rush hour, mind you, and it was, the perfect storm...okay, not so much, but the guy was doing 20 in a 45. Being that she wrote the book on driver's etiquette [insert sarcasm], she maintains a very safe distance from the old truck that is pulling what seems to be an uncovered wagon, carbon dated to the 1800s when the western frontier was being populated. As you can imagine (if you are an imaginarian), this fine, roadway approved trailer is fishtailing in front of her. I can imagine her concern, seeing as she had just had her car (which is 2-ish years old, and finally able to speak some and eat solid food) repaired after the aggravated assault a giant log did to her windshield and mirror. But, a fishtailing trailer was not all...
In the trailer was a stack of white somethings. These were uncovered and not secured to the trailer, which was causing more anxiety for my friend. To make matters worse, some of these white somethings were falling out of the trailer, flying everywhere...and then it happened.
Bam! One hit the newly repaired windshield...and flopped down to the windshield wipers. Maneuvering to grab the something, once she had it, all she could hear were the crickets inside her brain as it tried computing. There was a two second delay, as there is anytime the brain cannot compute the absurdity of what it beholds to interpret, for her to know what was in her hand. (When I heard, this story, I gasped as she said it hit the windshield)...
It was a tortilla. You know, a corn tortilla? Delicious and tasty with fajitas or frijoles, tomales or guacamoles. Warmed in a little packet...and here, there was not even the soft serenade of mariachis in the distance to indicate what on God's green earth this was, until the brain finally understood. So, our pioneer man, one can only assume moving west to reclaim what had once been part of the Mexican empire, now a vast land ranchers, casinos, and movie stars, known as Paulding County, was taking a stack of uncovered tortillas in a stage coach to who knows where. All we are missing is the horse...moral of the story? Don't drive on Route 20....and beware of the floppy white things...and get away from people who pull horse-drawn carts behind their '54 Ford pickup...and listen to Mariachi music, it's actually good.
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