Marshalling in Greensboro

Greensboro. I've arrived at the terminal. After emptying out at the consignee last night, I went over to the truck stop in Mebane. Slept for a bit, then got up, as planned, took a shower and headed over here. I figure I'll get my things together, sleep a bit, then go find a way over to Enterprise to see if they'll give me the rental car I reserved (with them you never know).

Hopefully I'll be on my way around 13:00. If not, I'll either be hopping the 16:00 Greyhound bus to Gastonia (all day ordeal, anyone?), or waiting for someone in the family to come get me (all day ordeal, and never-ending debt, anyone?). I'd much rather just grab the rental car and go. Especially since not getting it means I'll be stuck sitting in Kings Mountain all week. No Asheville. No Battleground. Hell, I'm even looking forward to visiting my stuff in storage, consulting with a tax preparation company, and possibly even visiting the Social Security office to finally get their mistake fixed (my Social Security card reads “Wiscasta,” not “Wicasta” like it should).

Oh, well. We'll see. It may go flawlessly. I'm wearing my new black jeans today, with a rich, blue shirt. With my black jacket, I'll be color-coordinated in cool, muted colors. Surely that'll impress upon the people at Enterprise that I am a solid, trust-worthy fellow who will take the utmost care of whichever automobile they place in my care. And just in case that's not enough, I'm going to wear some of the cologne that I've been toting around in my bag. I'm told that this stuff drives women wild with desire.

But for now, we nap.