Once Again, Miche-again!

by Cathy and Patti

We know, we know...we've bombarded you with so many Michigan stories this past week that you want to pull that unassuming, innocent little state off the map. But if you can indulge us in a follow-up post about how our recent trip up there this past weekend went, we promise you...it will be worth your time.

The comedy of errors that ensued before we even hit the road should have been a sign. We all agreed we would leave after our Saturday afternoon ballet lesson, where we would all be gathered, overnight bags and lunch coolers in tow. We decided to take two cars since we couldn't cram so many people, duffle bags, vats of cheeseballs, purses and winter gear all in one car. After class, we piled into our respective cars for the almost hour and-a-half drive.

What did that consist of on our part? Situating two adults, two girls, two bulbous ballet bags, coats, winter accessories, four overnight bags ("I want my bag IN the car!"), three separate trips back to the trunk, opening and sprawling out lunches (we agreed we would pack lunches to save time, which consisted of sandwiches, chips, pickles, sugar snap peas, apples, Doritos, pretzels, and cheese balls), opening water bottles, balancing coffee cups in broken cup holders, positioning our phones for easy access and GPS capabilities, deciding on music selection and interior climate control, and opening a box of Kleenex for Bella, who was sick and blowing her nose every second as opposed to her usual every minute.

Ahhh...there. All settled in. In our post-chaotic moment of stillness, we caught sight of Michelle waiting up ahead, her car sideways, eyes riveted in our direction. We busted out in laughter just thinking what was going through her mind as she was watching our clown car-ish circus act unfold before her very eyes. We drove up to her car, agreed on the quickest route and set out on our mini roadtrip.

Cathy
That quickest route decision turned out to be taking the Skyway instead of staying on 94 the whole way up. We've taken both routes before but for some reason, not only did we feel we spent $1,394 dollars on tolls this time around, but had to contend with some major traffic - which was partly to blame for those tolls. Ever take a ride up towards Indiana recently? Traffic in the toll lanes was virtually inching along. 'What the heck?' we mused aloud in our car, which was bogged down with so much stuff I swear I heard the back bumper scraping the ground.

When we finally got to the toll booth, I screamed, "NO WONDER! There's no person here! It's a machine!"
"HUH?" echoed Patti, just as baffled.
So obligingly, we stuffed the equivalent of our life savings down that money-sucker while bitching out loud that it's no wonder our economy is going to shit. So many jobs were eliminated to bring in these toll machines that take four times as long, cost more to justify the toll increases and snarl traffic to a halt. Nice job, government.

After going through two more of these, we were driving along quite comfortably, the kids content in the back seat, Patti and I gossiping and singing in the front seat. I casually mentioned that it seemed like it was taking forever and we thought nothing of it, until twenty minutes later, with a steady eye on my watch, announced more decisively that we must have missed the exit. "It's taking way too long," I said.

"Pull up our location on your phone," Patti agreed. After punching in some directional points, I declared out loud, "We are 22 miles out of our way...but good news! The next exit will take us back the way we need to go!" 

Patti was more than ecstatic to hear this news since she had to pee so bad; I told her to just do it old-school style on the side of the road between the opened up front and back doors. But, no. Instead, she preferred to go at a truck stop restroom. But not before we encountered the toll booth machine from hell.

That exit smacked us with yet another toll booth machine and by now, since Patti had been paying at all the toll booth stops with the cash she happened to have on hand, I felt bad and offered up my Mastercard debit, the only form of 'cash' I had on me. "Here! Pop that in. I insist!" I demanded in my Greek way.

In it went and there it got stuck. It wouldn't go in all the way but it wasn't far out enough to be grasped. Only then did we see a paper sign that was taped up top that read: Attention Mastercard debit card users. This machine does not accept that form of payment. "There's a button to press here for help. Hold on," offered a calm Patti, realizing the onset of my panic. Moments later, a woman's recorded voice came blaring through the maniacal toll booth machine:  "No one is available to take your call at this moment. Please hold until the next available representative." As Patti and I turned to stare at each other with our mouths agape, the clincher kicked in: Music. Not just any music, but a jacked up, static version of some Shania Twain song. Really? As cars behind us started backing up and poking into neighboring crawling lanes, I concluded then and there that not only would be stuck here for a while but that I would never get my debit card, my financial connection to the world, back.

Patti

Why didn't I use my debit card? Because I had lost it a few days before our Miche-Again! trip, OF COURSE, and the bank takes it sweet-ass time mailing replacement debit cards. So I was traveling old school style: WITH CASH. And that cash? Was about to disappear. So Cathy offered up her own debit card, which was now dangerously close to being eaten by the toll booth machine. 

Finally! A real, live, non-Shania Twain voice came crackling out of the speaker. "How may I help you?" it slurred. So, wait - the state cut all the toll booth worker jobs, but hired at-home drunks to answer emergency toll booth calls? I explained to the at-home drunk that the machine had eaten Cathy's debit card, and she put me on hold while she "worked" on the problem (aka, grabbed herself another beer). Within seconds, the card came mercifully spitting out of the machine, and we all cheered. I once again dug into my rapidly emptying wallet, and pulled out two singles. I leaned out of the car window to start feeding the machine, and a sudden gust of wind snatched the money from my hands and carried it away. "MY  MONEY!" I screamed. Yes, it was only a couple of dollars, but all of the tolls had eaten up my reserves, and I NEEDED those dollars. Cathy, never one to waste a precious penny, gallantly threw open her door and started galloping after my flying dollars. Yes. She was literally CHASING MONEY. She sprinted across the toll booth lanes and was able to rescue a dollar, which she then held triumphantly above her head while doing a victory jig. Right there. At the top of the expressway. 

We finally arrived to Miche's, whereupon Miche and our friend Enza, who had arrived a full hour before, came bouncing out of the house. "You made it! You made it!" they sang as they danced around us, and then offered to help bring our stuff in. I was traveling with Gaucho, who we had just brought home the weekend before, and I have to make a confession right here, right now: When S was a baby, I only traveled with diapers and my boobs. For Gaucho? My 8.5 week old puppy? I traveled with a crate, a pen, a bag of chew toys, a bag of food, medication, potty pads, a harness, a leash, a collar, two blankets, Desitin for a face rash, two stainless steel bowls, baby wipes.... Miche and Enza made trip after trip lugging all the crap I had brought - FOR A DOG. Cathy, Bella, S and I? Had one bag each. Oh! And of course, there was the food, and the star of that food was the TUB-O-CHEESE BALLS Cathy had brought along for the car ride. Those balls could have fed an entire country, and there still would have been leftovers. So. Many. Balls!

After a tedious shuffle back and forth to and from the car into the house, and the pandemonium of setting up Gaucho's crate and pen, I finally flopped down on the couch and looked out the window to see this:

Yes, there was a lone roll of toilet paper under my car. Because that's how we "roll". 

We hung out the rest of the day, and then went out for dinner that night. By the time we got home, we realized just how exhausted we all were, and hit the hay around midnight. Since I had a "newborn" with me (Gaucho), I offered to sleep on the couch in the living room so that I could hear him whine and take him out without disturbing anybody else. Cathy claimed she had a hacking cough that attacked at night, and was granted the guest room so that she could cough in isolation. Miche shared her bed with Enza, and the four girls made a cozy slumber-party  style set-up upstairs. Then, all lights were out.

1 am: The girls are still making noise upstairs --  I call from my cell phone to them and tell them to keep it quiet. Then I hear Enza and Miche giggling like ten-year olds themselves, and I march down the hallway and ask them to keep it down. I am killing the joy left and right. 

2 am: The girls are still being annoying, I call them again.

3 am: I am tossing and turning on the couch, amazed that the girls upstairs are STILL making noise. I am also nervous that Gaucho will begin his antics of crying all night, as he had been doing all week since we brought him home, and, though he is actually completely quiet, I am anxious waiting for it to happen. 

3:30 am: I am still awake, now thoroughly convinced that Gaucho is likely in a coma in his crate - why else the utter quiet?

4:00 am: A shadowy figure comes darting down the stairs and into the hallway. I hear a little commotion by Miche's room, then another commotion by Cathy's room, and then, within minutes, all is quiet again.

4:15 am: Hear coughing coming from upstairs.

4:20 am: Hear coughing coming from Michelle's room.

4:25 am: Don't hear any coughing coming from Cathy's room and wonder if she made up whole "coughing attack" thing just to get the guest room to herself.

4:30 am: Begin Googling "puppy coma" on my cell phone. Part of me wants to wake Gaucho to make sure he is, well, ALIVE; the other part of me is terrified to wake him and then have him become a yowling monster and wake up the whole house. 

6 am: Wake Gaucho. He stares at me grumpily, as if to say, "I cry, you complain. I sleep, you complain. What do you WANT for me, lady?" I force-feed him in the case he actually is suffering from hypoglycemia, wait for him to do his business outside, and then put him back in his crate at 6:30 am. 

7 am: Finally fall asleep.

9:30 am: The girls wake up.

Yes, that night was a complete and total nightmare, but you know what? I can't wait 'til next year to do Miche-again!all over again. Because the memories we have created on these trips for our daughters, for ourselves, are worth every missed exit, every lost dollar, every sleepless night.