Directions

My grandpa was a semi-truck driver for his entire life.  Even after he retired, he drove a little delivery truck around for a small company "just to keep busy."


My mom was determined to raise me with the same directional wisdom that her father had passed down to her, often taking me on drives in the country, telling me to watch the country road signs and guess where we'd end up.  We spent a lot of time "cruising", as she would call it, around different areas, traveling via Atlas and CB radio to out of state destinations and teaching me everything she knew about the roads.  She never wanted me to end up stranded and lost.  Ever.


With the exception of getting 'pseudo-lost' in a few suburban neighborhoods that all look alike, I've never really gotten lost anywhere that it "counts".  I've never been scared of how I was going to get home from a certain location nor anxious about driving anywhere.  I just typically get in the car...


..and go.


But this weekend, proved to be not only amusing, but also humbling and slightly embarrassing.


It was like any other Friday night without kids, Joe and I were hanging out, when at about 11:00 pm, I decided that I was hungry for "Stinney's Pizza".  I'd had it a couple of times before and remembered that it was a bit different than "the norm" and knew of a few people that absolutely love it.


So, I looked up the number via Google search and called.


I still haven't decided if my life changed for the better or worse after that initial call, but it provided many "omg-i'm about to pee my pants-kind of laughs".






....


"Stinney's Pizza... this is Stinney"


-Are you guys still open?


"Well, it depends on how much money you're going to spend."


-Well, I just want like, a small or medium pizza. 


"Ok, well I can open back up and make it for ya!"






(While I should've taken it as some sort of divine intervention... the phone lost signal and I had to call back.  After 2 attempts at calling back and having a conversation about this pizza, I made Joe go get the home phone so I could call from a land line.)


This time a young girl answered.


"Hello"


- I just called about the pizza and I was wondering how much a small sausage pizza is.


(Hearing "stinney" in the background...) "A small is $13.95"


-ok, how many pieces are in a small?


(Again, hearing the slurred speech of "Stinney" in the background) - "well, how many pieces do you want?  I can make 2 pieces, 10 pieces, I'll cut it however you want it!"


-Alright, I'll take a medium sausage pizza.


"Ok, we'll have that ready in about 20 minutes"






.....


Perfect!  We jump in the truck and head to Markleville.  The beautiful Metropolis of Markle-tucky as some would call it.


Once we arrive on the "stip" in Markleville, I realize... I have no idea where Stinney's Pizza is.


So, we "drive around" Markleville for about 20 seconds, get to just past Vail's parents house and realize that it's probably not "This far out" in the country.


What am I to do, but call "Stinney" back and ask him where the pizza place is located.


i'm pretty sure they were dying laughing at this point, because it's about 11:25 and we're LOST in MARKLEVILLE.  


They tell me it's on Cottage avenue, in a little while garagte.  So we drive around looking for Cottage Ave.  I'll spare you the details, but let me just tell you that we finally found the "white garage" on Cottage Ave and Joe was a bit scared to walk in.


I don't even remember what kind of awesome outfit I was wearing, but I will go ahead and tell you that he was wearing "Fern Shirt" and plaid shorts.  It's not a pretty sight.  In fact, "Fern Shirt" deserves its own blog entry. 


But for now, understand, that we looked like people that would...


...get lost in Markleville.


As we were leaving with our pizza, laughing with the obviously intoxicated and infamous "stinney", he hands Joe a beer to drink.  I told JOe he was NOT taking the beer in the truck, as there are open container laws and I am SURE not getting arrested in Markleville.


"STinney authoritatively told us that he is the "ex-mayor" of Markleville and taking the open beer in the truck was not a problem.


We drove away laughing, and quickly looking for a trash can to ditch the can of beer before we were thrown in the slammer without tasting the pizza that we were longing for.


We ended up really liking the pizza, and will definitely be back - and this time we'll know how to get there.