View from the cop: Crime & punishment
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AJC.com > Metro > View from the cop > Archives > 2009 > January > 22
Thursday, January 22, 2009
When the chili gods speak, you’ll listen
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Nothing says fun like driving eight hours to Cincinnati on a Friday and then back on a Sunday—in with the winter storms chasing you.
Why? Surprise birthday party for Detective Sandy’s dad, and the fact the whole thing was taking place in a bar. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Arriving at Detective Sandy’s grandmother’s house around midnight, we slept for a bit and then it was up and at ‘em.
BBy 2 p.m. we were at Gold Star Chili where Sandy praised the chili gods and ordered everything on page one. She really likes Gold Star, as do I, but she takes it to a new and not necessarily healthy level. She thanked the staff, had pictures made with them, put some chili in her scrap book, chanted something about the upcoming kidney bean crop and then, just as she began to speak in tongue, we drug her out and drove to the hotel on the other side of town where we checked in and waited for the party. Sandy spent the time reciting the Gold Star menu she swiped from the restaurant and I thumbed through the Yellow Pages under “Psychological Counseling.”
By 7 p.m. we gathered with other members of the family at one of the local pubs her dad frequents and waited for him to arrive.
While we waited, we began to partake in the sprits and eatables consisting of a variety of bar foods. For some reason, the term “Nuclear” seemed appetizing so I ordered things like “Nuclear Wings” and “Nuclear Jalapeno Mushrooms” and “Nuclear Sauce for Nuclear Wings and Jalapeno Mushrooms.” I should have known it was too hot when the server looked at me, sadly, as if to say “goodbye.”
Not to worry! We Nuked-Out for a while and then headed for the Karaoke stage. I discovered that even in a nuclear state, we couldn’t sing—or, as we found out a short time later, dance.
Well, our arms were flying all around and heads were bouncing left and right and none of it to any rhythm to the music. My zig and my zag were so out of whack I looked like Joe Cocker being tasered.
We enjoyed the evening, seeing folks we hadn’t in a while and eating nuclear food.
The next morning we met for breakfast before heading back to Ball Ground, Georgia.
It was here where the trouble began.
Somewhere between the third cup of coffee and the second sausage patty I began to hear rumblings of, let’s say, an awakening of a potentially nuclear nature. I had concerns about my ability to effectively navigate an eight-hour drive in such condition. Detective Sandy, oblivious to my flushed face, increased perspiration, and disturbing sounds coming from my stomach, began to plan our next trip to Gold Star Chili. The most southern location for Gold Star Chili on I-75 going south is in Lexington, KY at the Man O’ War Boulevard. She was so excited, calling ahead and introducing herself to the staff.
The weather was calling for some snow showers.
From Cincinnati to Lexington, we made a total of about 64 stops of nuclear proportions, visiting every gas station-store bathroom along the way. At one point I felt so combustible that I ordered people not to smoke as I awkwardly did that run-walk thing to the bathroom.
I was running and sweating and the truckers were swatting dream catchers all over the parking lot. Detective Sandy somehow interpreted this as some sort of pre Gold-Star ritual so she jumped out of the truck and started dancing around in little circles, babbling something about the Gods of the Coney Dogs. The whole thing looked like a badly choreographed version of West Side Story.
Eventually, slowly, but eventually, I started to feel like I might actually survive. I stopped pulling over at every exit and eventually made it out of Kentucky.
It was at that very moment, the moment when the pain was going away, when I realized that I wasn’t going to die, when I realized that I would someday eat again, I raised my hands in the air and closed my eyes and began to sing because I felt good—but not good enough for Gold Star. I’m fairly certain that Detective Sandy will someday speak to me again and never will I eat anything labeled “Nuclear” the night before travel day.
Please, learn from this experience. I did.
