Glory Ho

I was half-watching a terribly cheesy movie the other night while cooking dinner. The heroine was in the backseat of a taxi as the driver swerved across one of New York’s bridges. And at that moment, this woman realized that the man on the motorcycle in the next lane was in love with her and that she was in love with him and that without a doubt, she needed the taxi to stop immediately so she could tell him about this epiphany and so they could then begin their life together, right then and there.

It was the crescendo of the film.

But you know what came to MY mind at this moment? I thought: You know what? They’re on a bridge. The taxi’s never going to stop for her because she’s never going to be able to explain what’s going on.

But then, ha, ha, I remembered. They both speak English.

I went on a US road trip a few weeks ago—I call it my No Fiance Left Behind Tour. Remarkably, in the not-quite-two-years I’ve been gone, three of my best friends have found their life partners.

But I was a little worried about navigating Chicago traffic and lanes and exits at 4:00 PM on a Friday, as I had to go from O’Hare to Madison. With no mobile phone. I was actually thinking: couldn’t I just take a bus? (I’m pretty sure there’s something called Greyhound, right?) Suddenly this driving thing seemed so much more isolated. I would be trapped! Forced to exit on god-knows-what overpass or highway or Kennedy Expressway, stop at a gas station and get OUT of my car and walk inside to ask anyone a question. I needed strangers! Even unfriendly ones! Toll booth operators were my only hope!

But of course, what was I thinking. My drive was easy.

And you wanna know why? Because some big shot at the tourism department talked to some big shot at the construction department and decided to inform the American public. Because they knew that the American public is a bunch of trusting people looking for information. And they succeeded. America is a master at the art of road signage.

I am told not only about Exit 22 to Paw Paw via Highway 10, five miles before, two miles before, a half-mile before and a quarter mile before I have to turn. But I am told what lane is best for this exit. How there may not be any rest areas for several miles after this exit. How construction just might slow me down if I take this exit. The number of minutes it is estimated to take, in the current traffic, to reach major cities, monuments or destinations if I take this exit. How much I will pay on the toll if I decide to exit at this very spot, which, by the way, is denoted not just by a destination, but by a number, which handily indicates the distance left in this particular state.

Our country is amazing. But I suppose I don’t need to tell you that. Most of you live there.