On The Lonely Road

 One of the things I told my daughter when she began attending Clemson University was that daddy would fly up there whenever she wanted to come home for the weekend. That she didn't need any real reason for wanting to come home. I would go get her and take her back up when she was ready. I truly meant it and when my daughter and her friend with a car who she usually rides with back down to Columbia, had conflicting schedules last weekend, I had to put my promise into action. 

So last Friday I returned home from work just long enough to pick up my wife and then we hauled tail to the Upstate region of South Carolina. I was pretty tired from the stuff that occurred at work that day but the drive was easy and we made it to Clemson with no issues.

I'm still don't know the details of the traffic patterns going to Clemson but I've heard nightmarish horror stories about how badly those roads can become overwhelmed. Yes, that mostly occurs during football season, and during non-pandemic years, but given my luck I figure I'm bound to get tied up on those roads sooner or later. That being said, my daughter was waiting for us as we pulled into her dorm parking lot and we immediately hit the road for home.

The drive back to Columbia wasn't as easy. Fatigue was really setting in and neither my wife nor my daughter wanted to drive. My daughter does have her driver's license but is unsure of herself driving on the interstate while my wife was nursing allergies. Something that also made her unwilling to listen to either Jimmy Buffett, my old but true musical friend for long drives, or the various horror podcasts I have come to enjoy. As far as my wife was concerned, Lovecraftian audio melodrama just wasn't going to work for her.

Being the “captain” of the road ship, I could have pulled rank but I didn't feel the need to poke a semi-sleeping bear dealing with excessive sinus pressure. Whatever the case, we got home safely and ordered pizza after my daughter dumped what turned out to be all her dirty laundry next the washer and dryer. Yeah, my daughter primarily wanted to come home because of her dirty clothes. Yes, they have plenty of washer and dryers at Clemson but she doesn't like to use those machines. My daughter claims they do not get her clothe clean.

Sunday afternoon came all too soon and it was just me taking my daughter back up to Clemson. Given that I'm usually in bed around 7:00pm on Sundays, I carried my daughter's stuff up to her dorm room, gave her a hug and hit the road for home.

One of the National Guard units I served is in the neighboring town of Easley so I have a certain route that I'm use to taking on the drives going into the Upstate region and back home. The addition of the segment going to Clemson being the one I'm uncertain about. Truthfully, going to Clemson by way of Easley it's not the most logical route, but after driving it for years I know it by heart.

Last Sunday I decided to take a different road, Interstate-185, going back down to Columbia, in fact it's one of the only two toll roads I know about in South Carolina. The benefit of taking I-185 was that it bypassed all of Greenville, South Carolina, which cut off a nice chunk of mileage.

After a few miles on I-185, I was struck at how empty both sets of lanes were. Simply put, that Sunday afternoon I didn't see another car my entire time on I-185. My usual Greenville/Easley route the traffic could always be called moderate at least, with some days being worse.

I-185 though was deserted that afternoon and when you throw in the lack of development on the land it runs through you could almost say I was a little lonely. Then came the first of the two toll booths I had to pass through.

As toll plazas good the good state of South Carolina didn't think out of the box. On my side of I-185 was three different toll booths. One was automated where you either flash a prepaid pass at a sensor or throw two bucks worth of quarters into a big funnel mounted on the side of a rectangular box. The other two were the type where some poor soul sits inside and takes the driver's money and makes change.

Except last Sunday only one of the manned booths was open on the south bound lanes. The other was blocked off and dark inside. A quick glance over at the north bound lane showed a similar situation.

I naturally pulled up to the open booth and handed the attendant a ten dollar bill. The guy was an older gentleman who moved slowly, almost like he was new to the job and still wasn't sure how it went.

“How you doing young fella?” The attendant asked in a pleasant almost jovial voice.

First of all, I'm 56 and someone calling me “young” either has vision issues or is trying to shit me. But instead the impression I got was that the attendant wanted someone to talk to, even for a short time. I had noticed pulling up to the toll plaza that there was only one car in the parking lot next the small building where the attendants almost certainly used for breaks. Again, my first impression was that this poor guy was manning the south bound lanes all by his lonesome.

“Not to badly,” I answered as I watched him organize the smaller bills in his hand. “How's things on your end, sir?”

“Quiet,” he replied. “You're the first person I've seen since the start of my shift.”

I actually shivered a little at the idea of being stuck out in the middle of nowhere, essentially alone. But to make matters worse, that cold Sunday afternoon, the sky was dark and gray with clouds suggesting rain or even snow was possible. My overactive imagination being its usual a-hole self, I thought about one of the horror podcasts I had recently listened. The story had a deserted highway with a single individual driving alone in his car in similar weather conditions.

“Yeah, had to take my daughter back up to Clemson.” I said still watching him play with the money.

“They grow up in a flash,” he replied while finally handing me my change. “Mine are long married and have their own teenagers in high school,” he added leading me to believe I might actually look “young” to him.

As the attendant talked about his grand kids, I felt a strange need to ask him why he took the toll booth job. Was it strictly monetary, or did did he just want something to do? It was almost a certainty the guy was retired from his primary career. But to end up alone in a shelter in the middle of the road not much bigger than an old fashioned but now extinct telephone booth couldn't have been an improvement.

I don't exactly remember what the guy said about his grand kids, but it was usual lightweight stuff all people say about their offspring.

“Well, sir, take it easy,” I said laying my change in the seat next me.

“You too young man,” he replied with a big smile as I drove away.

Got to admit, I felt better after that short but friendly exchange. I think the toll attendant felt the same.

During that short conversation no other car passed me heading south and I saw no car heading north. About seven miles down I-185, I hit the second toll with that attendant not needing anything in the way of conversation. I paid my money and sped off without saying two words to the guy.