Bad Trip Down The H Corridor

I’m guessing that, at one time, most Americans have had one of those road trips that turns out so bad it becomes the butt of jokes, and a moniker for where you don’t want to go.

Bad trips I’ve had a few.

It serves the memory as a place holder for trips best not taken, for any reason. “Don’t do it.” And so it goes. I’ve had a few of them myself even if I have not been an avid traveler. Some of them were not a destination but a curse. I couldn’t wait to get out of there vowing to never to repeat the mistake of however I wound up there. Was it a wrong turn or a vortex I got sucked into?

I even took my wife on a few of them. Sure, they were usually good for a few laughs much later though there were valuable lessons learned, namely to never repeat it.  “The swamp, who knew that was there?” At least on some occasions I had bad vibes about the trip beforehand but said maybe it won’t be that bad? Get it over with.

I realize now that the proverbial bad road trip has become an apt metaphor for the Joe Biden presidency. You were somehow roped into going, or held hostage in the vehicle, and away you went on Joey’s spiteful adventure — destination unknown.

So you buckle up and try to make the most of the passage of time, which hopefully should bring an end to this stupid road tour. A barf bag would be helpful though it was never included in the package. So an ability to improvise was always a helpful asset.

The only nostalgia it has is to make you appreciate your departure point all the more. Oh, if one could only roll back the clock like it never happened? But no, it was too late for that now. You are at the mercy, or torture, of Joe Biden’s travel agency from hell. All you want to do is leave but you can’t, as if locked into a serial nightmare with your eyes glued shut. So there you are a hostage to his crazy itinerary, whatever the hell it actually leads to.

So complaining doesn’t do any good. In fact, it only incites determined perpetrators.

There is no amount of safety equipment that could prevent the inevitable calamity awaiting you ahead. Nothing can stop it. So this little metaphor goes on and on. It doesn’t seem to have an end like that nightmare. New plots keep rolling out as you try to thwart them to no avail. Disgust builds. You almost feel will being torn away.

Until suddenly you realize it is not just a real bad road trip but probably your last trip, anywhere. And there doesn’t appear to be anything you can do about it. No hotline or 911 to call for rescue. But that is just how you feel.

I hesitate to say there is no good end. Lessons learned are pointless because you should never have been there in the first place. It should not have happened, period.

Since we are here on the cusp of Memorial Day, when typical trips normally get started, it is worth considering the trip we are already on. Dragged kicking and screaming, against our moral will to somewhere dark and more uninviting than even the host.

Whatever our own plans were don’t seem to matter now, or are buried in the rear view.

 

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