Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, I

This weekend I spent about two and half hours driving to Jackson, Mississippi, and about two and half hours sitting right outside of Jackson in an endless sea of parked cars. I was one of the lucky I-55 travelers who experienced Mississippi emergency personnel at their finest when a tractor trailer rig bound for Baton Rouge caught on fire in one lane of interstate traffic, thereby causing the afore mentioned personnel to block off the navigable lane and shoulders for the next five hours.

I managed to finally inch up to where people were cutting across the median, head back north and work my way over the U.S. 51, which winds its way into Jackson. I understand by that evening they finally got a lane of traffic open.

This experience did give me some nice bonding time with the guy behind me who had binoculars and with my dogs, who experienced the joy of peeing on the Interstate for the first time. Also I learned a good deal of Spanish (¿Tienes dollares? No, tengo un peso.) with my Pimsleurs tapes, borrowed from the company human resources department last month. (I have yet to figure out WHY human resources has these tapes when they have no other such learning aids, but they do. You might think that the company's library would be a more appropriate place for such items, but then you'd be as wrong as I was.)

It was a glorious weekend otherwise, filled with mucho café and beautiful weather. I even washed my truck at long last, which ensured that it would then rain Sunday evening. And it did...although rain would be too kind a term for the weather I encountered on my trip back north. Perhaps monsoon with a side of hail would be the most accurate description. Nonetheless, despite I-55's attempt to kill me, first with boredom and then with weather, I survived to type another story. (For those keeping up at home the restaurant story count is: no closings this week, one 35th anniversary, and one 30th anniversary. But it's only Tuesday. Give it time.)