The
self-proclaimed Head of Household entered the kitchen where the rest of the
family had been at their various activities: a declaration needed to be made.
Addressing
each in turn, Head of Household stated: “Life Partner; Mother; 2.5 Children – ”
“Woof!” Child 0.5 replied.
“
– since none of you can agree upon the very important decision of where we
should go on our summer vacation, I am pulling rank and telling you all where
we are going to have the time of our lives this year.”
Child
1 whined, “But Mom, I really wanted – ”
“For
the last time, we are not going to the
North Pole! Now, considering the
multiple factors of logistics, projected return on investment of entertainment
value, and budgetary restraints due to the seven weddings we are obligated to
attend this year, I have decided that it would be in all our best interest to
use an old stand-by: we are going to The Shore.”
Everyone
else, including Child 0.5, gasped.
“And
not just any The Shore: The Jersey Shore.”
The
same all screamed (or howled) in terror.
“What
are you thinking?! Do you hate us?!” Life Partner stood to make his point. “Do you have any idea of the traffic
that we’re going to hit going down there?
And back?!”
Head
of Household shifted her feet slightly.
“I am well aware of all that; my calculations demonstrate that the final
destination is more than worth it.”
“Oh
really?” Life Partner countered. “And what are we going to do about Grammy, hm?”
Grammy
chimed in: “What are you talking about?
My father used to drive us in worse conditions every single
weekend. Now those were
vacations, let me tell you.”
Child
2 decided to throw his hat into the ring: “Why would we want to go to The
Jersey Shore anyway – we’re in the middle of Canada!”
“And?” Head of Household rejoined. “You want to go to The Shore here?” Silence answered. “That’s what I thought. All right, start packing: we’re leaving in
six months.”
SIX MONTHS LATER
Standing
outside their caravan, Head of Household had reached the end of her 20-page
checklist: “Last but nowhere in the least – does anyone need to use the
bathroom before we leave?”
“Woof!”
“You
already had walkies. And we’re off!”
They
made good time, then threw it out the window upon the last leg of the journey:
that sluggish morass, that generator of curse words, that
bottleneck-rubberneck-steaming neck of trapped souls, sunburned hopes, and
dehydrated dreams that is the Garden State Parkway. [It really only is like that between Memorial
and Labor Days – the rest of the year, outside of rush hours and holidays, it’s
not that bad.]
The
caravan was one of the thousands of ovens literally inching forward as all processed
to the mythical Shore, that wonderful place that included the paradisiac lands
of The Beach, The Boardwalk, and The Tiki Bar.
Head of Household refused to allow Life Partner to take over the wheel,
not when they were a mere 117 miles from their destination.
Grammy
was buying some new songs for her player and decided to head off the so-called
argument she was hearing up front: “You know, this still doesn’t beat the
Traffic Jam of `65. Took two days to
advance half a mile, and we had to refuel about four times.”
Child
1 was curious: “Was there a gas station close enough so you could pull over?”
“Heck
no! And lose our place in line? Nope, me and your great-aunt and great-uncle
took turns finding one. On the last
go-round when I went, by the time I came back the car was gone: met them at the
hotel the next day. Probably was scared
to death at the time, but it makes for a good story of how tough and
indifferent we all were way back when.
Anyways, Dad started carrying extra fuel ever since.”
“That
was on the checklist, Mother!” Head of
Household was beginning to crack but could not lose face.
Child
2 got an idea. “Mom, want me to walk
ahead and see how far this goes?”
“Absolutely
not!”
“Why
not?” Life Partner countered on
principle. “He’ll probably get there
before we do.”
Head
of Household quickly calculated the risk and benefits of continuing what would ultimately
be a losing argument and grabbed Child 0.5’s leash. “Here, go walk the dog to that hill and you
can confirm for us that this continues all the way to Exit 0.”
“Yes!” Child 2 walked Child 0.5 across the six lanes
of stationary traffic to the grassy side of the parkway. He and the dog breathed the fresh air and
took their time getting back.
Head of Household released the brake for two
seconds before settling in again for the next hour.
Life
Partner was skimming the newspaper: “Huh.
I guess if we lived here we would’ve remembered that this was 4th
of July weekend.”
“I
remembered,” Head of Household said in a strained voice. “It was the only weekend this summer I could
get off from work.”
“Oh. Still.”
“Not
another word, I’m begging you.”
Child
2 re-entered the caravan: “There’s a huge accident up ahead, looks like
about 10 cars all crashed into each other and everyone’s being diverted to the
shoulder.”
“Oh,
thank goodness,” Head of Household sighed.
“Not for them, I mean – it clears up a little after all that, right?”
“Nope;
piles right up again.”
“Dammit!”
“You
know,” Grammy said while mixing a cocktail, “back in the Traffic Jam of `61,
about 20 cars crashed one right into the other, all because somebody wanted to
make a left turn where a left turn could not physically be made. Your Great-Aunt Peggy was born during the
times of that Jam – our neighbor car was driven by a veteran Army medic, so
that all worked out. I learned a lot
that day.”
Head
of Household started to slump on the steering wheel, then saw the brake lights
of the car ahead go out; she quickly advanced the precious centimeter.
Child
1 felt compelled to ask: “Is it too late to turn around and do a
staycation? It’ll be cooler.”
Head
of Household responded with all her restraint: “We are staying the course to
the wondrous, glorious, pristine, all-roads-lead-to-The Shore where all is
bright and happy and nothing bad ever happens, ever!”
“What
Shore are you talking about?”
Grammy asked, then settled back to take a nap. This may become the Traffic Jam of `17, she
thought, but she had lived through worse back in her day. This one was amateur.
