My latest reason for losing faith in my fellow man came today when I decided to make my way to the quaint little town of Zillah, WA.

I don’t even know if it is a “quaint little town”. It could be Gomorrah for all I know. It certainly has its own little band of religious zealots just like Gomorrah did.  And, they are the reason I turned around 17 miles short.  Well, that, and a dashboard warning light illuminated to let me know there is a problem with the alternator.   I pointed the EM-50 Phantom Rambler due east and crossed my fingers.

The reason I was going to Zillah, was to see the Teapot Gas Station. Click on that if you want to see what it looks like.

The reason I got disgusted and turned around is the local religious fellowship.  They’re Christians.  Manipulative judgemental hatred aside, I have no problem with Christians. But, how ate up with a dogma do you have to be when you name your congregation, “Church of God – Zillah” and then proceed to worship anything other than a 150′ nuclear mutant lizard monster that terrorizes big cities? Enough is enough. The God I grew up believing in would have understood and waived the 1st Commandment to green-light the project.

So there I am, 3,000 miles from home and my battery isn’t charging. Not good.

I took advantage of the daylight and drove to Spokane. I parked at a Wal-Mart and went inside to buy a portable jump start kit thing in case that will come in handy later.

Of course, while I was inside, little did I know that these mechanical problems would soon take a back seat to more pressing issues. Namely,  I had locked my keys in the EM-50 Phantom Rambler.

But, as yet, unknowing, I was happy as a lark. I didn’t realize I was happy as a lark. In fact, I thought I was kind of bummed. But, in a few minutes, I would look back on my little shopping trip as carefree good times.

The portable charger I bought weighs about 20 lbs, so I had it propped on a shoulder while I gave myself a one-handed pat down to determine which pocket my keys were in.  I switched shoulders several times before ultimately cussing like Trixie.

I peered through the window at the wire coat hanger I carry just in case I have to bail out some dipshit who manages to lock his keys in his car… (pic related)…

I actually formulated the thought, “if only I could get in there, I would have the coat hanger and this would be so much easier.”

I’m at a Wal-Mart. Retail joints abound – including a dry cleaner. Getting a wire coat hanger would not be a problem…except, of course, that I would have to admit to another person that I had locked my keys in my car.  I wasn’t about to do that lightly.

I walked around the Rambler.  I discovered a back window was partially open…

I yanked out the screen, then discovered it would have slid to the side. Reached into the back door and lifted up the knob. Success!

Sort of

The only items that come out are the microwave and the cooler. That table and rack are bolted and glued in, respectively.

If you know anything about black holes and compressing matter to a singularity, then you will see that I could fit. I would have to buck and wriggle and tear my flesh in the process. Fortunately, I just spent a week in Vegas with Trixie, so it was like I had been in training for this moment.

I managed to snake my way in and recover my keys. Ta da.

After the day I had had, most people would say I needed a drink but, hell, I was gonna do that anyway.  The treat I gave myself came in the form of a no sugar added raspberry frozen yogurt.

Now, I had never been in one of these places. This was new for me. You all probably have, but I will walk you through it anyway.

I entered. The place is empty. They have a couple of beat-the-hell-up mismatched couches like it is Central Perk or something.

Alerted by the chime of the door, a college-age girl comes out, pretending to be friendly, and greets me. Clearly she was in the back doing homework or social media or whatever.

I say hi, then read the chalk board. It instructs me to take a cup, select a flavor, pull the handle to dispense froyo, go to the fixins bar to add toppings, place my cup on the scale, swipe my card to pay then leave.

Ok. I can do all that. What got me was the tip jar. Seriously. I’m doing all the godzilladamn work here. Why the hell am I tipping her?

But, somehow I look like the Jerk if I stiff her.  Alright. I’ll tip. But, she is gonna earn it.

While I was still reading the chalk board she asks, “Do you have any questions?”

In my best deadpan I say, “Why do you never see orange pie?”

She said, “We have orange sherbet.”

I said, “Yes. But, I’m talking about pie. You see all kinds of fruit pies…apples, bananas, pumpkin…coconut. Why no orange?”

She said, “Uhm, maybe because it is citrus…”

“But, there is lemon and key lime.” I counter.

She didn’t give up, she was earning whatever coins I had on me. “Maybe it is too sweet?” She inflected upward.

Me…”I dunno. You ever have Shoo-Fly pie? It is so sweet that it wasn’t really meant for human consumption. People eat it anyway.”

She said, “In that case, I don’t know. I had never really thought about it.”

That was good enough for me.