The Wrong Turn

Good evening bloggers! I hope everyone is trying not to go crazy in self-isolation and keeping themselves occupied ― more importantly, staying home while remaining safe and healthy. 

It’s been quite some time since I wrote on my blog last, and I figured that during a time when you’re not supposed to leave your house (which I wished for many times, and am now beginning to regret it) it would be a good idea to write something to keep my brain active. Currently, I am studying English Literature and Creative Writing at university which has been moved online. This is my last week of classes for the semester, and then final exams, which are also going to be happening online. 

Last summer, I was involved in a slightly humiliating situation, but one that makes for a good story nonetheless. Jacob and I were going to McDonald’s for a late night snack and I was the driver. The next thing I knew, we were driving along the border and going into a different country. Yup, I am the only person I know that can attempt to go down the street for a burger and somehow end up in the United States.

This story was submitted to a creative writing class at the university I attend and received an A, so I figured it’d be good enough to make a blog post out of. Enjoy my ridiculousness! 

That was how a drive to McDonald’s went terribly, horribly wrong. It was a hot midsummer’s night, and somehow a trip to McDonald’s turned into an adventure to another country. Jacob (my boyfriend) and I’s hunger had grown pernicious, and the only way to rectify this uncontrollable hunger was to embark on the five-minute drive to the nearest McDonald’s for burgers and fries. I was the driver, and the only possible excuse I can muster in this case is that my eyesight isn’t particularly excellent in the dark. I had both hands on the steering wheel, my eyes on the road ahead and my mind on the food that awaited me, when I made the fatally wrong left turn. As I cranked the wheel to what I thought was the correct street, I realized I was bolting down a one-way street — and I was not going the right way down it. Quickly, I swerved down another street that allowed vehicles to travel southbound. Unfortunately for me, this road had no exit as far as I could see — in fact, there was only one way out, and it was not the way I wanted to take. It was an anxiety-ridden moment. Full of panic, I looked over towards Jacob and asked him what we should do. Together, we searched to see if there was someone, anyone at all that could help and direct us to the right path. Albeit, there was no one around, and I cruised across the border that led from our homeland of Canada into the unknown and somewhat frightening territory of the United States. In hindsight, I could have handled that differently. Perhaps I should have took a deep breath and thought things through a little rather than acting on the first thing that came to mind. I drove and drove and drove and drove across that seemingly never-ending bridge alongside trucks and cars who were driving with a purpose, while I was there, driving encumbered with regret. Approaching the border patrol, I took a deep breath of relief. We were saved. We would be turned around back to Canada, we could go to McDonald’s, and we could forget this whole night ever happened. As I told the man what had happened, he looked quizzical. I understand — after all, I’m not entirely sure they have many crossers who simply were trying to go to McDonald’s. He said it would be more work to turn us around than let us through (even though we were not equipped with passports), so we were headed into Detroit, Michigan. I had never driven in the United States before, so to say I was unnerved would be undermining how I had felt in that moment. Hours after searching for the bridge (but not before arriving to the tunnel to discover it was closed due to maintenance) and driving back onto Canadian soil with a dead GPS and frazzled energies, Jacob and I were at the border customs yet again. This time, we were hassled by the border police, who asked us multiple times how one can end up in the United States when going to get a Big Mac. So multiple times I had to reply, that yes, I know — I’m an idiot. Eventually, we did get to McDonald’s. A greasy cheeseburger had never tasted so good and rewarding. This may be an odd and slightly humiliating story to recount, but it did teach me a valuable lesson — be careful when driving to McDonald’s, because you may end up in another country.

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Rest In Peace Jasper

It feels so weird having to write one of these again. As my readers know, my hamster Hammie passed away on Friday the 13th in February due to illness. Jasper, my skinny pig that I got a week later, had to go to the vets two weeks after I got him because he had a head tilt. The vets were highly uneducated in small animals (I didn’t know at the time there was a small vet animal hospital in my city) so they weren’t able to tell what was wrong with him. They gave him medicine and the tilt seemed to go away. But I stayed the night away from home a few days ago, only to come home and find Jasper dead in his cage. I read online that an unhealthy skinny pig’s rips, spine, and hind legs are visible and Jasper’s were completely visible but it was on Wikipedia and I figured you can’t believe everything you read on the internet. I took a picture and was going to upload to a vet website and see what was the matter, but by the time I had time to do so, it was too late. I had a slight suspicion that maybe Jasper had something wrong with him but he was eating [a lot] just fine so I figured he was okay, and he seemed happy and was of course adorable. When I went to the pet store the day he died to get a new one, they told me that he was probably sick from the day I got him. I just didn’t know anything about skinny pigs so was unable to tell the difference between a healthy one, and unhealthy one. But when I first found Jasper dead, I went into shock, my whole body tensed up and I felt unbelievably sore for the rest of the day. I didn’t know what could’ve happened. I felt terrible. I was going to come home that night too but stayed late at Jacob’s to finish our animation. Of course I know it wasn’t my fault but I feel a bit guilty at times. And guess what? Jasper passed on Friday the 13th of March. Both pets died on Friday the 13th. My new skinny pig, named Pinkie, will be with me at all times on the next Friday the 13th which is in November of this year. That day won’t mess with my pets again. 

Even though I only had Jasper for three weeks, and I thought I’d have him for at least five years, I became attached to him quick. I wrote blogs about him, essays even, and talked about him non-stop and thought about him constantly. I got a locket that says “I Love You” and I will be putting Jasper and Hammie’s pictures inside. 

I miss him already and he will remain in my memories and heart forever. R.I.P Jasper ❤

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Here’s my new skinny pig named Pinkie:

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He likes to nibble at pretty much anything, including noses, lips, eyelashes, and anything with fabric or zippers.

 

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See you soon,

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