Before you ask, no, I’m not in Louisiana for Mardi Gras. Some of us have a little culture, and we like a little history and museums in our lives. So, I happened to take a trip to Baton Rouge, what of it?
Of course, I should have known better. The grass is always greener on the other side, and on closer inspection, this grass is scorched brown by the sun. It’s only April, so I was already not so sure about this trip.
Worse is the travel. You’d think, with all the Southern hospitality going around, there would be a courteous driver or two. Not so! In fact, you’re all in for a harrowing look at my first trip past the Mason-Dixon Line.
Rural Driving Rules
I should have known better to rent a car when I got to the airport, but really, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. With as little decent public transport as I found, you’d think everyone was just sitting around at home, twiddling their thumbs and staring at each other. I don’t know how anyone stands it.
Instead, it turned out that half of them were on the road and, I suspect, without a license. It seems like all it takes to be let loose on any Southern street is a Salt Life sticker and proof of a missing muffler.
It’s a miracle I got to the museum, and even that was tricky. As many big trucks as are on the road, you’d think there’d be a few more parking spots. You’d be wrong. I spent what felt like hours circling the block, white-knuckling the steering wheel and getting more than a little peeved at the sheer number of bad drivers.
Fortunately, I finally found a parking spot, right next to the door, with no meter.
Just kidding. I got rear-ended instead.
My Devastating Injuries
Really got you, didn’t I? No, of course nothing could possibly be so simple. Instead of getting to my museum visit, I got taken off the road by some good ol’ boy. He came out of the car with a spit bottle (which is perhaps worse than a weapon to show me how mad he was about the damage to his precious truck) and a mean gleam in his eye.
Of course, what am I supposed to say to him? He came apologizing, of course, but luckily, I have a Baton Rouge auto accident lawyer for situations just like this. Needless to say, I got that guy out of my face fast, and we exchanged insurance information.
Sure, there wasn’t a scratch on the rental, but I wasn’t about to back down so easily. I won’t be expected to cower to some country bumpkin, after all. Soon, though, the museum was closed, and I was so mad, I just went right back to my hotel room. At least they could be bothered to put on the fresh sheets.
A Trip Gone Bad
Needless to say, I don’t plan on making any big trips to Louisiana again any time soon. Really, it’s a wonder, as shameful as everyone and everything else acted, that a gator didn’t swim right up and take a chunk out of me. Besides, there are plenty of museums back home. Sometimes, I even find a few with real art and artifacts, none of that modern nonsense.
At least one good thing came out of this trip: I get to fly home and have a few hours of some kid kicking the back of my seat before I get back to my noisy, rowdy neighbors.
On second thought, maybe Baton Rouge isn’t so bad after all.