The Impromptu Road Trip

It wasn't my idea; I was just the driver.

A friend reached out asking for help with a childhood friend of hers. The childhood friend, we'll call her Valerie, was stuck in South Dakota with no ID, no car, and nobody near to help. She had escaped a situation of sexual exploitation and was trying to make her way home to Michigan.

Given the information I was privy to, it didn't seem like I had any business asking clarifying questions. I would either help and drive to pick her up, or I wouldn't.

So I did. Mark, a friend of hers, joined me, so I didn't have to perform the task alone.

This arduous twenty-four-hours with stops in Iowa and Illinois for Dairy Queen, gas, and donuts, taught me a few things:

1. I'm so fucking "lucky."
2. Downtown Chicago is no place to cruise... or double park.

and

3. Beautiful things happen between. They are everywhere, not just in big moments but in the mundane.

***

Let's start by defining the first point: privilege. I saw my privilege as a cis-passing white man in action quite a bit on this trip, traveling with an Arab man and a Black woman. From avoiding the potential threat of escalation posed by scathing looks from withering men or the outright conflict with a manager and staff at a Dairy Queen in Iowa over a hundred-dollar bill, my privilege was shown to be alive, well, and quite abundant.

The first issue we encountered was at the hotel when Valerie tried to check out. She had stolen the ID of the man exploiting her to secure the hotel room for herself, which she paid a deposit on in cash upon arrival. The unmatching ID somehow caused no problem for the hotel staff when taking Valerie's money. However, it was suddenly a barrier when it came to giving her the deposit back. The hotel would keep her hundred dollars until "John" could pick it up in person, likely knowing that John would never show.

"Enjoy your hundred bucks!" Valerie shouted at the staff person as we pulled her out the front door. Yes, he would probably pocket the cash for himself, but we didn't have a leg to stand on and didn't need him to call the police on us, too.

Valerie paid for everything in cash on the way home: gas, food, silly toys at rest stops, everything. This wasn't an issue except for at a Dairy Queen in Iowa, just over the state line from South Dakota. It had some staff that didn't believe a Black woman could pay for a fifty-seven dollar meal with a hundred dollar bill.

"We don't have change for that." Said the cashier. Valerie's head turned slowly. She looked at the man, her face contorting.

"You don't have forty-three dollars in your register?" She asked with a slight edge to her otherwise even tone.

"No. Do you have a card?"

"No, I don't have a card. I have cash. You're telling me you don't have forty-three dollars anywhere in this store? Man, you're just lazy."

"I could have a manager check the safe."

"Yeah, have a manager check the fuckin' safe. Lazy ass."

By this time, I had returned to the counter and asked Valerie if she was okay and needed anything. She reassured me she was fine as the manager approached, asking what was happening.

"Ya'll don't have forty-three dollars in your drawer, and I'm trying to pay for our food."

"Ma'am, we can't break that. It'll empty our register."

"It's forty-three dollars," I echoed Valerie's sentiments.

"Well, if she wants ones and fives, be my guest." The manager muttered as she walked away.

"Yes!" Valerie and I said nearly in unison. The cashier took her hundred, swiped it with the counterfeit detector pen, held it to the light, and ran it through a machine attached to the counter. A green light registered, and he tucked the bill under the drawer before removing her cash. He grabbed a twenty, a ten, two fives, and three ones. He counted them on the counter a second time, slower than the first. Valerie sighed audibly. I couldn't help but notice the presence of larger bills in the register before he closed it.

She quickly snatched the cash from his hands and gave him one last piece of advice before departing.

"You're slow, man. Get a different job; you're too fuckin' lazy."

***

It was hour eight or so of driving, and we were getting close to Chicago.

"I've never been." Said Mark.

"Oh shit, we have to stop." Valerie declared. "We just gotta get some desserts or something; they have the best food in Chicago."

"Yeah, I guess we could just stop at a pastry shop really quick." I concede.

I had them search for a few options on the route we could try to catch before they closed. We took a beautiful, if not stressful (for me), driving tour of the city and downtown before discovering that only one place was still open. I pulled onto what I thought was a relatively unused side street, parked, and put on my hazards.

"Go get those donuts!" I shouted as they got out of the car. After the first few vehicles slowed and passed, I started to look closer at my surroundings.

I was double parked in a valet lane.

I pulled out my phone and texted the group chat with Valerie, Mark, and my friend who had asked me on this mission.

Hurry, please. I just realized I'm illegally parked.

I caught a glimpse of a shadow moving in my rear-view mirror and looked behind me to see just as a man knocked on my passenger window.

"Could you move your car, sir? This is valet only."

"Oh, yes. Of course, sorry. I'm just lost." I lied.

"It's okay. You can pull up and figure out where you are."

I pulled up and waited another minute before slowly starting to leave. Valerie and Mark rounded the corner as I turned my hazards off and changed lanes to meet them.

"Sorry, we got turned around, so by the time we got there, they had closed," Valerie said as they got in the car.

"Okay, well, I need gas, so we can stop for Little Debbie's while I fill up. Let's just get back on the route." I reasoned with them while fumbling with my GPS. It was ten o'clock at night, and I wanted to be home before two. Ideally, I would go to work the next day.

***

The image I chose is the only picture I could take on the trip. I drove seventeen of the twenty-four hours round-trip and only took my phone out for a picture when I woke up from a nap. I saw the morning light crossing the fields, the golden sheen contrasting the sky and patches of green on the earth so vividly. South Dakota was more beautiful than I had imagined. So was Iowa. Farmland and wheat for hours, but striking colors, ones I imagine inspired so many before me.

The scenery was gorgeous, yes, but so was the companionship, conversation, and camaraderie between the three of us. For the first twelve hours, Mark and I had nothing to do but talk, and we did. I had never met this man before, but we went in with the same goal of helping and came out as friends.

There's something sacred about getting to know somebody. Something divine in the building of connections. A magic. I was reminded of that on this trip–given a chance to be consumed by the sanctity of dialogue. Hours on end, leaving no stone unturned kind of discourse. I hadn't had that sort of prolonged conversation since school. I was reminded how much I missed it and wanted to integrate it into my life again.

This picture can help me remember to always seek deeper connections and see the beauty in the ordinary. This lesson is often presented in life, and I would like to hold it dear, especially in the coming years.