I Got This Shirt At Traitor Joe’s Re-Education Camp Shirt, hoodie

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I Got This Shirt At Traitor Joe’s Re-Education Camp Shirt, hoodie

Meandering through the post Derby wasteland, between Churchill and the Watterson, everything, and nothing, seemed familiar. Accepting I was lost, definitely not heading east, despair set in. Then, like an oasis in the desert, I saw it. The Watterson Expressway. Like explorers following the river home, if I could make it to the expressway, I could follow it back to Bardstown Road, and safety.

As I cut through backyards, inching closer to salvation, I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach. Rising from the earth, like the Great Wall of China, my biggest obstacle lay before me. A pinkish peach colored sound wall stood between me and freedom. I was determined to scale the beast.

I found a lower section and began my ascent. After numerous failed attempts a man appeared at the backdoor of the house whose yard I was in. He yelled, “Hey you drunk idiot, get the fuck outta my yard.” His words cut through me like a warm knife through butter. I then heard the unforgettable sound of a shotgun racking.

As he contemplated evacuating the shells from his shotgun, I contemplated evacuating my bowels.

I was able to scamper away with a shirt ripped to shreds and some formidable concrete abrasions on my chest and stomach. Defeated but not deterred, I continued my quest.

Eventually I found myself at the Holiday Inn (now Best Western) on Dixie Highway and formulated a plan C. Entering the lobby, I could feel the stares, and sensed people’s uneasiness as they gazed upon a young man who appeared to have just escaped an encounter with Freddy Krueger. I asked the front desk attendant if I could use the phone, she reluctantly obliged. I called a taxi, provided the extraction point coordinates, and they informed me the current wait time was three hours. Not ideal, but I felt my predicament was improving.

Hanging up the phone the lady behind the desk informed me I would need to wait outside… away from the front door. In desperate need of provisions, I spotted a store on the outskirts of the hotel parking lot. Procuring a Natural Light tall boy, a Gatorade, and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos I was feeling anything but cool. Bruised, battered, and tattered I felt more like an order of Waffle House hash browns.

My rations secured, I settled in on the curb behind the hotel shuttle. Roughly an hour into my wait I felt the need to lay down. The thought of an overly firm vinyl seat, inside the shuttle, sounded slightly better than the earth and concrete of my current surroundings.

 

I Got This Shirt At Traitor Joe’s Re-Education Camp Shirt, hoodie
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