From One Great Lake to Another

Sandusky, OH—There was a three-mile stretch on I-90 today where, according to signs, we entered Ottawa County, then entered Sandusky County, then entered Ottawa County again. Rather than focusing on the apprehension of this hoax’s perpetrators, state troopers preferred to make an example of the least reckless speeder Ohio has ever seen. The fact that we got pulled over on the day we chose to rock the Police box set cannot possibly be a coincidence.

Earlier, Indiana charged us seven cents per mile to drive through it.

I will found a town on the border of Ohio and Indiana which will be recognized as a part of both states. It will be home to a spectacular tourist attraction yet to be determined that will draw millions each year. I will name the town Fuck You, and each visitor’s declaration of destination—whether Fuck You, Indiana or Fuck You, Ohio—will be a cheerful, unassuming vessel for my simple message, a temporarily lucrative but ultimately damaging tourist Trojan horse. And justice will be restored to the land.

Tonight’s hotel is on the shore of Lake Erie and attached to the amusement park that will occupy our day tomorrow. It is officially a resort, which is funny to us, and getting funnier. After a double ration of Top Shelf Long Island Iced Teas from the T.G.I.Friday’s in the hotel, pretty much everything is funny, including wifi access relegated to the lobby while sobering to a muzak soundtrack of mid-90s alternarock hits (which is what I’m doing now).

In a past life, I spent six years working at Friday’s during and after my time at college, and on the rare occasion that I visit a franchise now, the poor sap serving me is unwittingly subjected to severe scrutiny. They can’t possibly live up to the expectations set forth by the training I received and still remember well, and tonight’s halfwit was no exception. But these things matter less when you’re marveling at the latest episode in the bizarre potpourri of the exceptionally American month you’ve constructed for yourself. Add a bit of booze, and you’ll wonder if you aren’t dreaming.