The Great Unwinding

I feel compelled to apologize for any profanities in my posts, as I still ascribe (on some level) to the notion that it is unladylike. However, I am comfortable with a certain amount of hypocrisy; I recognize that it doesn't sound “nice” yet nothing quite “emphasizes” things quite like it. Just pretend I'm related to Eddie Murphy.

I say "The Great Unwinding" because that's what last night consisted of after The Great F*cking, in which I tried to follow computerized directions to the county fair. 

Everything was fine until I got off the highway and tried to merge according to the map. I’d never seen a sudden traffic clusterf*ck of such epic proportions (and yes, I have driven in NY, LA, Boston, Baltimore, Philly, and DC). It seemed everyone was trying to get over into the same lane and turn right.

They must all be going to the fair, I thought!

I squeezed in, unsuspecting of my (and everyone else’s) soon-to-be grave mistake and promptly found myself in a small, crowded parking lot along with everyone else on the road.

Everyone there could be broken down into four groups:

  • People like me who just entered and realized The Great Fucking had begun,

  • Those who were desperately trying to exit but could not due to the sheer amount of vehicles in various stages of maneuvering,

  • Those pouring OUT of the narrow exit with ferocity and rage at being duped,

  • And people buying cheap pizza.

At this point, I wasn’t upset, I just assessed what happened and course-corrected. No big deal. I managed to get out of the shopping center and back onto the main drag.

The map kept insisting I revisit the parking lot but I was smarter now and knew to avoid it. But traffic was getting even worse and my GPS was useless. I snaked up and down several streets with all the other poor slobs in the same boat, lost af as we tried to find the fucking fair.

At one point I tried to see if anyone had posted tips online to finding it — someone had to have mentioned this!— but instead all I found were fair-related questions:

  • “How much does it cost?”

  • “Are they hiring?”

  • "Can I bring my chicken?"

This was not helpful.

My story is just one saga, but picture about 500 cars all doing this. Going in and out of that fucking parking lot (TWICE: the second time mistakenly guided there by fair crossing guards who must’ve thought I was inquiring about pizza when I asked, “which way to the fair?”) and up and down every street within a two-mile radius of the fairground.

If I had at least known the general direction, I probably could have walked there but where would I have left the car. Every available inch of space in every parking lot, side street and parking lane was occupied by frantic drivers raging and turning around. I noticed one line of cars waiting patiently behind another line of parked cars, not realizing they were parked because NONE of us were moving.

I finally pulled over and texted my hubby, who’d been waiting at the fair for me with one of his kids. It had been 1.5 hours at this point that I was trying to find the fair and I gave up.

He was wonderfully sympathetic and vowed to eat several funnel cakes on my behalf. In marriage, you must sacrifice for each other in extreme circumstances.

Then I texted a sick girlfriend.

“I’ve been meaning to check in with you today but I’ve been involved in The Great Fucking of 2019.” I proceeded to describe the traffic nightmare. “I hope you are not sympathy retching on my behalf!”

“OMG that sucks. Go home! The funnel cake isn’t even good anymore!” she replied. “You should be driving home, cursing under your breath.”

“Oh, that will happen in about two minutes, don’t worry. I get to make up for the stressful evening tomorrow though, when I get to relax at a funeral.”

I drove home highly irritated and loud music didn’t help.

I fantasized about doing some minor ape-like destructive thing, like shredding the book on my front seat and throwing it out the window, or somehow obtaining a large sledgehammer which I could employ on a random sidewalk and leave in a satisfied heap of rubble.

The problem with my brain is that it follows too many lines of thought to realistic conclusions. Imagining ripping up the sidewalk felt great until I got to the part where I injured myself and needed to go to the hospital (and then jail). Or picturing ruining some wheelchair-bound person’s life because they couldn’t make it to the bus stop and lost the one job that allowed them to buy food, so they died. Or imagining trees weeping at the sight of their processed brethren carelessly flung into the street.

That's the problem with having a fucking conscience, is thinking things through.

Anyway so I did none of these things, but I did rev the car up to 80mph for a good 7 seconds before I sympathized with the engine straining, my trusty old steed about to buckle under my angry demands for speed. Back to old-lady driving I went.

So I came home, lifted some fucking weights for the first time in a decade, applied a hair treatment, and proceeded with The Great Unf*cking to continue unwinding.

The whole evening trying to get to a fun fair made me feel like the comedian Jim Gaffigan said on his 1.5 hour wait in Disney to see Dumbo the Elephant. “Wait a minute... I’m the dumbo!”

If you make it out, please comment on Google maps what sorcery you used to finally find the place. I would have but as I never made it there, I still have no idea where it is!