Road to Nowhere

The volunteers here have been universally amazing – fun, cheery, conscientious, friendly, and dedicated. And in all I would love to buy them all a delicious frosty adult beverage coupled with a hearty back slap. “Here, here,” I’d say, “To the H2C volunteers to a tremendous job.” And then we’d all toast and laugh a hearty laugh knowing well that a good job had been done.

But on the way to the 18/19 exchange we encountered one dude that sure as shit isn’t going to be drinking from my frosty mug. Looking for the hand-off we came across a fork in the road. This was one of the few legs where you couldn’t just follow the runners the whole time which made it a lot more difficult. We asked the guy which way to go to which he dumbly grunted monosyllabically something to the effect of “eh”? Kind of like the end of the theme song for Tool Tim. So we asked again and he said Van 1 goes one way and Van 2 goes the other. So we again ask if he’s sure – another monosyllabic grunt later and we’re headed 40 minutes out of our F-ing way. Halfway to Jamaica we give up and turn back, later finding out that that guy had in fact gone full tard on us. Everyone knows you never go full tard.

Everything worked out in the end but honestly, during the toast I'm going to spit in that dude's beer.