Maybe it was the box spring that took flight. That might have been the moment. It had been strapped to the roof of a car driving down one of Tampa’s endless roads. They used dental floss and shoe knots to tie it down. Must have because it leaped to its feet and took to the air like a kite.
Yippeee! Fly away little box spring!
Straight up, and then straight into traffic.
Life will teach you a lot of things, but it won’t prepare you for flying box springs. Surprisingly, that’s never been a question on the DMV’s driving test: What do you do when bedding races toward you?
For those wondering, the answer is: Gasp. Swerve. Curse. Change underpants.
Cross another off the list of “things I never thought I would have to survive.”
And just another day on the roads of Tampa.
I was there with my family last weekend, running the Gasparilla 15K and visiting my dad and aunt. Tampa used to be home — the city where I grew up. Going back always made me nostalgic. Driving down bayshore. Passing my old high school. The soccer fields where I used to collect sandspurs in my rear end. The train tracks I walked with my brother. How the 150 percent humidity can drown you while standing up.
There’s plenty of time to think about it as you drive. And drive. And drive.
Or should I say, sit. And sit. And sit.
Roads are crowded parking lots. Cars lurch and swerve and frantically change lanes, all to gain an inch. Then everyone hops out, fires up the grill and tailgates. An hour later you’ll get another chance to lurch and swerve and gain another inch.
It’s exhausting. It tries the patience. It makes you want to go home. Back to St. Augustine. Back to your small town.
“I needed this,” my wife said at one point. “I was beginning to get really frustrated with St. Augustine traffic. But I’ll be fine now.”
Amen!
Nothing is fast in Tampa. Nothing moves. By city code, red lights are placed every 22 feet to prevent traffic from getting into second gear. Is second gear bad?!?
And if you ever find a stretch of open asphalt, a box spring is sure to take flight.
I just want to get home, I remember thinking to myself while imprisoned on the interstate. I was teaching my daughter words that made her eyes bulge. She wrote them down to ask her teacher what they meant. It will be an interesting parent teacher conference this week.
I’ll blame Tampa’s traffic. And flying box springs. And desperately wanting to get back to our small little town. Home! Where a traffic jam is three cars and a dog crossing the street, and where bedding never learns to fly.