I know, I know, all I write about are my road adventures.  I have nothing else to write about.  This is my life right now.  I mean I go home for three days a week, but so far those have been spent cleaning, doing laundry and taking care of a sick husband (men are not good sick people, by the way).

Last week I finished out the week in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  Before I reached Myrtle Beach though, I had to stop (and stay) in Goose Creek, South Carolina.  The name says it all, doesn’t it?  Up to that point all of my lodging accommodations had been decent.  The streak had to end somewhere though, and it did in good ol’ Goose Creek.  The first sign that you might be staying in the ghetto is when you have to access your room from the outside.  I’m telling you; this is never a good sign.  The second indication would be a sign like this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the politically correct way of saying, “Don’t steal our shit.”  It’s also a very good indication you are staying in the hood.  The third indication is a shower head that feels like a fire hose.  I kid you not.  I was almost positive I would have welts afterwards.  I have never wanted a shower to end more in my life.

I made it out of there alive, but just barely.  I nearly died again when I was forced to run through the Atlanta airport (busiest airport in the United States) to catch my connecting flight.  Why in the hell would Delta book you on a flight in which you have a total of 36 minutes between flights… in Atlanta?!  Luckily I made it just in time to see the pilot boarding the plane looking really pissed.  This will make even the most frequent flyers nervous.

I realized why he was pissed later when he announced that it would be some time before we could take off as, “they were making them take a different route, adding time to the flight and requiring that more fuel be added to the plane.”  So there we sat for an hour while the dude behind me threw up into a garbage sack.  Yep, that really happened.  He spent most of the flight in the bathroom, but when he wasn’t in the bathroom, he was shaking and dry heaving directly behind me.  I did a lot of breathing into my neck pillow.  Listen, I felt bad for the guy.  I’ve been on the verge of vomiting on a number of occasions flying, but none of them were because I had the flu.  Motion sickness isn’t contagious.

Right now I’m in Columbus, Ohio, but I’ll be ending my day in Buckhannon, West Virginia.  Who wouldn’t want to go to a place called Buckhannon?  I know, don’t be jealous.