Welcome To The Twilight Zone. Some Call It The Suburbs.

I believe that if you can’t laugh at yourself, you can’t laugh at anything. Fortunately I find myself laughing at me often. Last night was no exception.

Imagine if you will, a subdivision in the middle of basically nothing, where all the houses look the same. There is no on street parking, but one particular BMW with a custom plate doesn’t seem to know this rule. If you were to look at this place from above, it would look like a target, with parks and fields in the middle, little white buildings, and construction being done. There are dozens of streets, but only a handful of street names, and they all seem to go nowhere except to each other.

I entered the suburban labyrinth from a dark street, and knew almost immediately that I was caught. Seemingly in denial of my predicament, I drove on and turned right – right into a sticky track-home web.

Around and around I went, propelled by an unknown force, one that apparently didn’t see the need to stop me and make me turn around. Or at least compel me to call my friend whose house I was on my way to.

Everything looked the same. I was getting dizzy. I began to worry that my tires would bald unevenly from the constant right turning around the circle. Around and around I went. I passed the same huge flag pole three times, and the lone BMW twice.

Finally I broke down and called my friend, who proceeded to fall into hysterics, but eventually was able to regain his composure long enough to give me the escape route.

Finding the exit to freedom from subdivision hell felt like the moment after Thanksgiving dinner when your pants are so tight you know they’ll pop if you don’t unbutton them soon, then when you do, your stomach shoots out like it was holding its breath and is finally able to exhale.

It was the greatest feeling in the world.