So Wednesday I took the kids on a little day trip to Sedona. In case you don't know anything about Sedona, it's a freakfest. A town full of weirdo's who believe in the power of crystals and psychics and UFO's and all that stuff. There are a few normal people who live there, like my parents. But even that is debatable.
Apparently there are vortexes all over Sedona that increase your psychic ability and help you communicate with other life forms and a bunch of other useless crap like that. I think we need to write a letter to the chamber of commerce, because there should be one that is useful. Like one that increases your ability to save money or improves your boobies. I would be kicking people out of the way to stand in one of those vortexes, am I right?
But this is not the point of my story... I left two of my babies at my parents house until the weekend, so it was just me and Junior on the drive home. When I left my house, I had more than a half a tank of gas. I figured that was plenty for the trip to and from. I mean it's only a little over a hundred miles. One way. I know. I had my head up my ass as usual. And being a complete moron, I also wasn't thinking that the way up is literally "up" a mountain. So 2o minutes after I left my mom's house, my gas light came on. Well, duh.
Ubes would KILL me if I ran out of gas. On the highway. With his firstborn child in the car. I figured I could probably make it to the outlets at Anthem. Most of the way home was down hill. I could totally coast, right? So for the next several miles I kept my eye on the gas needle and my foot off the pedal. As much as possible anyway. But it didn't take long for me to realize I probably wouldn't make it to Anthem.
As luck would have it, I passed a sign indicating gas could be purchased in Black Canyon City.
Have you been to Black Canyon City? No? And why would you? It's just a rinky dink hick town built on the side of I17. Unless you are from there and then I am sure it is lovely.
So I get off the freeway and follow the signs to the gas station. And it seemed like we were driving forever in the middle of nowhere before we finally started seeing signs of a town. (Come on Black Canyon City, I think we are stretching things a bit, don't you?) There were four gangly teenage boys walking along the main street, probably out looking to score some Oxy, and they literally stopped and stared at us as we drove by.
Junior and I looked at each other.
"Is it just me, or do you hear banjo music?" he asked.
"I know, right?" I said. "Let's find the gas station and get out of here. I'm pretty sure this is where they filmed Children of the Corn."
I pulled into the gas station ($3.79 a gallon?!?!) and stopped the car at the pump. There was a garage in the back, two service bays with the doors open. A man wearing dirty overalls walked slowly out of one of the bays and leaned against the doorway. He stood there, cleaning a dipstick with an oily, blue rag as he watched me.
"How do?" I said cheerfully, thinking maybe if I spoke his language he would let me and the boy go.
He just nodded once, turned his head to the side, and spit. I took a deep breath and stared at the gas pump, slowly ticking cent by cent. I put in just enough gas to get me almost 30 miles to Anthem and jumped back in the car.
"Check that guy out," Junior said, pointing his cell phone camera at Cooter, who was now picking his teeth with the dipstick. I grabbed his phone.
"Are you trying to get us killed?" I asked him.
Needless to say, we got the hell out of Dodge. And the moral of this story?
Those hippie, crystal worshipping, recycle freaks in Sedona suddenly didn't look so bad.