When Tara and I were in high school, we were in the National Honor Society, so every so often we had to do community service. Sometimes this was rewarding, but more often than not, it was simply uncomfortable. Like the time we volunteered at the movie theater, and the only other guy there was The Uber Hottie. Since the cash registers were far above our skill level, we basically stepped aside and let him run the show. The people in charge delegated me to kicking people out of the handicap seats while people were filing into the theater. (My actual job was running around and firmly telling people they couldn’t sit in the designated aisle seats. My stern admonishments were not always warmly received.)
Anyway, so one winter we volunteered to work at this marathon thing. I can’t, with any certainty, tell you what this marathon thing was. I want to say they were running, but I remember it being freezing and snowy. Snowmobiling? BMX racing? I can’t recall. Anyway, there were at least a hundred booth things. Long story short, Tara and I got off the shuttle, looked around, and realized we had no idea where we were supposed to be. We proceeded to walk around the entire area for an hour or two. We called our friend, who was the NHS president, and she assured us that the NHS group was there somewhere (even if she herself wasn’t). So we continued to look. We ran into both of our fathers (hers owns a restaurant and he was there serving food. Mine was just there for fun because he likes that type of thing). We never found the NHS booth. Finally, we looked at each other, shrugged, sheepishly got back onto the shuttle, and left.
I tell you this to exemplify how our plans usually go. And in a few days we are going to the Apocalyptour show.
“So what time should we leave?” she said over dinner. “How much time should we give us?”
“Well,” I said, counting on my fingers, “we need time to get turned around twice, we need time to take at least four wrong exits, and we need time to get lost looking for a place to eat lunch and dinner.”
“Seven hours?” she suggested.
“Seven hours,” I said, nodding.
I’ll keep you informed.