Trip Report, Part 4

Trip Report, Part 3 A New Adventure: RT Booklovers Conven...

Trip Report, Part 4

Last one, I promise. If you’ve made it through all three previous installments, plus my husband’s recap, thank you for sticking around. If you’re just joining us and you’re interested, here’s a list:

Trip Report, Part 1
Trip Report, Part 2
Trip Report, Part 3
Strange Lights and Missing Time in Branson, Missouri

How in the hell can anybody spend so long writing about a trip that only took a day and a half? Beats me. Go with it.

If you’ve read this in order, then you already know about the four-hour time warp in the clutches of a time-share presentation. I just want to add a few things before we move on.

The room where we waited for forty-five minutes was tastefully decorated and quiet, very much resembling a doctor’s office waiting room. When our guy came to get us, he walked us down a nice hall with office doors on either side. I expected to go into an office for the spiel. No. The quiet hall dumped us into an enormous, buzzing room filled with fifty or more tables.

At least half those tables were occupied by people like us, listening to people like our guy. Every time somebody actually made a sale, a champagne bottle popped, and the room exploded in applause. It happened far more often than you would think, and there were a lot of champagne bottles lined up waiting. It was disconcerting as hell. I cannot make this up.

Four hours is far longer than certain feminine products can hold up. Too much info, I know, but I need you to understand how terribly uncomfortable the whole thing was.

Complaining about your kids being monsters in public is a really weird sales technique.

Obligatory fridge magnet.

When we said no after that long, long spiel, he called his manager over. Yes, he called him Bud, but he also called him by his full name. I swear, I thought if your first name was Boudreaux, they didn’t let you leave the bayou. Side note: I’m totally using that name in book four, so keep an eye out for it.

By the end of the tour, our sales guy asked if we would still be on vacation the next day. My husband said yes, but I said that no, I had to get back to work, since I have a book due in August. He asked what the next book was about.

“You,” I said. “I’m writing a book about the last four hours of my life.”

He laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. Another side note: I’m pretty sure I’m actually going to use the experience in the next book. If I can use it to make Zoey and Riley go on a similar adventure, the time wasn’t totally wasted.

Last thought before we move on: Yes. I know we were stupid for going. Honestly, we were curious, and the whole trip was about doing goofy things. We just didn’t expect it to take four hours.

So. With a four hour drive ahead of us and psychologically worn out, we almost went home. The things we had planned to do held little charm for us now. But Kevin insisted we not let the whole day get wasted, so we hit Ripley’s Believe It or Not Odditorium.

Totally worth it. I saw things, man. Awesome things. Creepy things. Wondrous things.

The world’s biggest ball of string–not to be mistaken for the world’s biggest ball of twine, which is kept elsewhere.

Dude. I saw the worlds biggest ball of string. I’ve been hoping for that my whole life!

Reproductions of deformed animals, a wax model of a lizard man, the Roman Coliseum built out of playing cards, real shrunken heads, a life-sized cowboy made out of matchsticks, and a million other crazy things. If you’re ever in a town that has one of these, go. It’s insanely fun.

We bought a fridge magnet, of course, to commemorate our trip, but by then it was nearly dinner time. We needed to go home.

Every food place in Branson was suspect at this point, since breakfast had done its best to kill us. We hadn’t eaten anything since then, but decided to get something later. We’d had our fill of Branson. We would grab something in Springfield.

Last side note: My grease levels were still not at normal range yet. I couldn’t eat more than a few fries before feeling queasy. It was days before I felt myself again.