Hurricanes are not as much fun as I thought they would be.

That is a real thought I had the day after a hurricane hit campus my freshman year of college. I had this thought while lying on my bed in 100 degrees and 100 percent humidity with no AC, no fans and the windows sealed shut. I lay motionless, not so much because there wasn’t anything to do (there wasn’t), but because my skin was stuck to the vinyl mattress. I had no sheets because they’d touched things no sheets should have to touch during the hurricane, I had no shirt because, again, it was 100 degrees, and I had no way to get rid of the sweat because the showers didn’t work.

My door opened. It was my cousin Tim. He looked just as gross as I felt.

“Do you want to go to Aunt Mamie…?”

“YES,” I said, already grabbing my laundry.

Our Aunt Mamie Lee lives six hours away from Pensacola in Marietta, Georgia. We packed everything into Tim’s car and took off. This was the first time I’d been off campus since the hurricane, so I didn’t realize how bad the damage was outside of my little bubble until that moment. Trees lay across roofs. Streets were still flooded. National Guard trucks going one way passed National Guard trucks going the other way. Gas stations were boarded up.

This last part turned out to be kind of a big deal. Tim’s car was at a quarter tank when we took off (He probably would have filled it up the day before the hurricane, but did you see the lines at the gas stations? No thank you.)

We sat in silence as we passed closed gas station after closed gas station. Then miles and miles of nothing. Then another closed gas station. Then more miles of nothing.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” Tim finally said.

“We’ll make it,” I said, sharing an opinion I’d formed based on absolutely zero knowledge of how hurricanes, gasoline or internal combustion engines work.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Because there aren’t any gas stations for a while.”

More silence.

“How much gas does your car have?”

“Less than this one.”

Finally, 45 minutes into our trip and almost at the point of no return, we returned.

The rest of the way back to college, Tim was very, very angry, and I was very, very quiet.

Imagine digging out of prison for 17 years, finally escaping through a sewage pipe, then making it all the way to Zihuatanejo, before getting caught and thrown back into the clink. That’s what lying back down on that mattress felt like.

An hour later, Tim walked into my room again. “Want to try your car?”

As previously stated, my car had less gas than Tim’s. Also, neither of us had cell phones. Also, the driver’s side door was stuck closed, there was no AC and the car was, generally speaking, a piece of junk that didn’t belong on the road.

“YES.”

How could we have rationalized going back out? Well, you see, Tim had learned that some of our friends were also driving to Georgia. We’d just drive behind them so they could help us if we ran out of gas. It was never clear what kind of “help” they could offer. Maybe they could feel sad for us if we ran out of gas?

Maybe they could feel sad for us if we ran out of gas?

We got into the car – Tim through the passenger door and me through the driver-side window – and set off. We passed all the same closed gas stations again, then a bunch of nothing, then the point of no return. Then we prayed and prayed and prayed. The needle reached “E” then it went below “E.” Still no gas station.

Finally, as we were running out of prayers, we came across…a giant line of cars! Attached to a gas station! We made it!

We got in line at 5:30 and waited.

6:30. Still waiting. Still no AC.

7:30. Still waiting. Still no AC. Still no food.

8:30. Still waiting. Still no AC. Still no food. It was getting dark.

Neither of us would admit it, but this was much worse than staying in the dorm. But hope was on the horizon! We were next in line!

That’s when a police officer stepped in front of the gas station.

Wait.

Why is he standing there?

Why won’t he move??

Why is he waving his arm like that?!?!

“8:30 curfew! Gas station’s closed! Return to your homes!”

Tim lost his mind.

“No! NO! NOOOOOOOOooooo…” he said as he ran out of the car.

Our friends were the last ones allowed into the gas station. Against all odds, they actually did find a way to help us. They reached the police officer the same time that Tim did and convinced him to let us in because we were out of gas and an hour away from school and it would be very sad if we got stranded. The officer told us to wait, waved everybody else past the gas station, then opened up the line for us. We were only allowed $10 of gas (because nothing can ever be easy) and set off back down the road.

The remaining five-hour drive might have been the longest five hours of my life. I was hungry and tired and drained from surviving a hurricane. Plus it was foggy and there was junk all over the road. And we almost ran out of gas again. Sometime around midnight, a huge tree appeared right in front of me. I swerved at the last second and somehow missed it.

“Do you want me to drive?” Tim asked.

“Hmmmn ya I think so.”

At the next exit, I parked at the top of the off ramp and rolled over to the passenger seat. Tim ran around the car and tried to jump through driver’s window. While doing so, he banged his knee on the door, managing to hit some kind of knee funny bone in the process.

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I remember watching Tim jump around the car on one leg screaming at the very top of his lungs in the middle of a pitch black Georgia county road, thinking that college was turning out to be much different than expected.

At 2:30 a.m., we finally made it to Aunt Mamie Lee’s.

“Welcome to the Mayflower Motel!” she said.

We stumbled in, desperate to do two things – get clean and get some sleep. There was just one problem – the “Mayflower Motel” has no shower, just a tub. Tim went first. Twenty minutes later, he came out and smiled at me. “Enjoy.”

I walked into the bathroom, ready to savor every moment of washing two days of hurricane filth off me. In front of me was the old tub…

…Complete with an oily ring of Tim filth.

At that moment, nothing was more beautiful.

LIFE LESSON #86

The grass always seems greener on the other side of the hurricane.