When I drive to Florida I see a lot of things I don't see in Chicago. Too many to list, so I'll just talk about one of them, OK? Recreational Vehicles, otherwise known as RVs.
You see a ton of these bad boys on the highway--enough to wonder whether there are fads in RV design, the way there are with automobiles and trucks and such. I mean, it stands to reason, right? Except that I wouldn't be able to tell a brand-spanking new RV from one that was 25 years old, unless the old one was all rusted out.
Yes, the sight of these behemoths fills the mind with many questions. Like: how many miles to the gallon can they possibly get? I'm betting seven or less. And: when someone else is driving the RV, can you just sit around normally inside it, or does it get really bumpy and unsafe, so you have to wear seat belts? And: do they have bathrooms? But the big question is: Where the hell do you keep them when you're not driving them?
Because I've heard there are people who camp out in Wal*Mart parking lots, but these people are already on the road. What I want to know is where do you keep them when you're at home? I mean, I can barely fit a minivan down my driveway. Where the hell would I put an RV?
Does everyone who has an RV live on a farm or something? No, wait a minute--that doesn't make sense, either. Farmers never get to go anywhere. They have to stay on the farm so they can milk the cows and chickens and stuff.
So basically, who buys these things? No one I know. So I'll probably never find the answer to any of these burning questions.
Still--and I'm sorry to report this, but it's the truth--pondering these and other road-trip inspired mysteries (which is better--Waffle House or Huddle House?) really makes me feel alive.