
OK, so you’ve been expecting the sanitized version of events – you know, the “gee we’re all having such a freakin’ great time” experience.
You’re not getting it.
No, today, I’m dishing out the cold, hard truth:
I wish I had never come on this road trip.
I mean. What the hell was I thinking? Three weeks in a car with three total strangers, leaving my wife and son on the other side of the world, living out of a suitcase.
No. I didn’t think this through.
It would be OK if the guys in the car were better company, but they’re not.
Here’s the skinny:
Lauren Rains
Don’t believe the “nice girl next door” image. This girl can cuss. In fact, I don’t think there’s a five minute break between one expletive-ridden tirade and the next.
I’m no prude. I like to think I can curse and swear like the rest of them. But this girl is HIGHLY offensive. I don’t even know half the words that come out of her mouth.
And she’s RUDE. You should see how she treats the servers. Just the other day she emptied a whole plate of spaghetti and meatballs over some poor dude’s head, just because he asked her if she needed any more water.
“DON’T F***ING INTERRUPT ME WHEN I’M TALKING,” she screamed, before punching him in the nuts for good measure.
I’m terrified of her.
Nick Laborde
Eighty percent of Nick’s luggage is made up of various weapons. He made us pull over in the middle of the Arizona desert so that he could “shoot me some darn critters.”
We sat by the side of the car, Rains cussing to high heavens for the entire two hour stretch, before Laborde came back, drunk on whiskey and covered in blood.
“Did you get anything?” I asked.
“I can’t say I did,” he replied, enigmatically.
He spent the next three hours on the phone to somebody called “Clyde”, talking in whispers.
Amy Schmittauer
Amy is the worst of the lot.
She refuses to speak. She hasn’t yet said a single word to anybody.
The only time you hear her speak is when she fires up her video camera.
The minute the camera is off, she doesn’t open her mouth again. She recently scribbled a note to us, in her own blood, that said “I hate you all.”
Other than that note, she’s communicated only by eyebrow signals. Whenever we try to put anything up to the vote, Amy turns up the volume on the ghettoblaster that she carries everywhere on her shoulder (mainly Britney), sighs audibly and raises her eyebrow.
I haven’t worked it out yet, but I think it’s left eyebrow for yes and right eyebrow for no.
Me, I spend my days hiding in the room. When we’re in the car I sit in the trunk. I’m terrified and perplexed.
I want to go home.
***
Matthew Kimberley is the author of How To Get A Grip. Please send help. You can follow his experience of the Road Trip over at Matt Is In …