Do as the Tiftonites. I’d fit right in here, where we stopped at midnight in order to split up the drive to Port Canaveral – The bride sent me for a McDonald’s happy meal on arrival, which I also took as an opportunity to fill up the gas tank, and hilarity ensued.
At Flash Foods, where I gassed up, a “homeless veteran”, completely missing my 2/11 ACR polo shirt told such long, full of inaccuracies tales of the “hell he underwent” during Operation Desert Storm that I was amused – My unit, of which he claimed to have been a trooper, never saw action in Iraq, we were the security force at Camp Doha in Kuwait after the war (see Doha Dash, the). The stories, while entirely composed of lies, were such detailed lies that I gave him $10, my only cruelty to point to the Blackhorse logo on my shirt and inform him I’d been assistant S-3 (plans & operations, but mostly training and showing my a** at USAREUR HQ and V Corps HQ on TDY).
He left in haste.
As for the 24-hour McDonald’s drive through, it was the first one I’ve seen with twenty cars in line at that hour. I arrived back at the hotel to find my wife asleep, but she woke to eat her happy meal.
As for me, I woke as usual at 5AM, and am now drinking coffee and blogging while the bride finishes her slumber. Vacation, absent liquor, seems no different than normal life, but then we don’t board the Cruise liner until tomorrow.
Until then, my friends.