Last week began the first week of many travels for the year. I started off my trails by heading to Iowa, a new concept, for those of you following my travel tails from last year. Iowa, over all was relatively uneventful, but there was one good story to come of it:
Traveling in Iowa can make a girl very hungry. Around lunchtime I found myself in the fun little town of Tripoli, Iowa. Now, if you've eve been to Tripoli, you are fully aware of the dining options available to a hungry person: a Casey's and a local grocery store. Not wanting to seem unusual in my out-of-town-ness, I stopped in at the gas station for quick entry and exit. They had three dried up pieces of pizza and some other fried assortments of things. I grabbed a bag of chips, a bottled soda, and some potato wedges that were about the only thing that didn't look like they would kill me. Actually, they looked pretty darn good. Not only were they potato wedges, but they were wedges covered in cheese and bacon. Mmmm. I get out to the car and unlock the door. As I'm sliding into the vehicle with all the grace of a drunken ostrich, the potatoes began to slip with the paper boat that they were housed in. I saw them going, but what's an uncoordinated girl to do? So I just watched them. Lap....car door....ground....Crap.
For a few seconds, I debated what to do. Do I leave them on the ground? They are, after all, on the ground, cheese side down, no good to anyone anymore as a decent meal. But it is a small town. They'll know the strange girl in the blue car dropped them and went lunchless. So, I quickly picked them all up, making sure to do the look-around-hoping-nobody-noticed-thing as I did it. I drove away sulking, knowing the potatoes now sitting back in their boat on the floor of my car were in an uneatable state. I found a nice little area park with lots of trees and a little stream running through it is a perfect spot to eat my chips-and-soda lunch.
But something was overwhelming my senses, making my mouth water and my mind wander. Man those potatoes smelled sooooo good. It was uncontrollable. I kept looking at them out of the corner of my eye....desiring to enjoy them. I reasoned with myself, "You cannot possibly eat those. They were on the ground...at a gas station. They could kill you. They are gross." "Yes, but they could not all have possibly hit the ground...and wouldn't all the dirt and deadly chemicals have stayed on the ground with the sticky cheese?" My split personalities decided that it would be ok to try just one...one that for sure did not actually hit the ground. Mistake. They tasted better than they smelled. Absolutely divine.
Needless to say, for those of you who know me well, they were gone in about five minutes. The mental battle of whether or not to eat them raged on with every bite, but they sure did end up gone.
Oh, and the barefoot mailman, you ask? Well, shortly after lunch, I went to the high school in Tripoli, and a huge panel van pulls up behind my car...you know the type, more rust than paint, scary shaggy-haired man behind the wheel...Well, he got out, grabbed piles of newspapers and a mail bag an proceeded to the school entrance. It wasn't until he was almost there that I noticed he was wearing no shoes, cut-off acid-wash jean-shorts, and his USPS uniform shirt mostly unbuttoned. The whole scene screamed, "WELCOME TO IOWA!"
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