It started with a fork

It is sometimes necessary to look beyond the gates of Retirement Acres for things I need.

And when I say “things I need”, I mean “things I absolutely do not need but boy howdy do I want them.” Just so we’re all clear.

In this case, dear readers, I was in search of an antique piece of silverware from the local antique hotel. Again, and to be clear, the hotel is also an antique. The research is fuzzy, but apparently the hotel just appeared here shortly before the first white settlers, and it’s been here ever since. Old pictures show that the town has rotated around the hotel, including the numerous railroad tracks the run in and out.

People come and go; the hotel remains the same.

A little backstory:

1. it’s possible you don’t know that I’m a part time mermaid, and I desperately want to be hired by Rock City (See Rock City? On the barns? I’ll wait if you want to google it. It’s the oldest tourist trap in Tennessee.) as their local hometown mermaid. I have been unsuccessful in this quest so far.

2. Don’t tell anyone, but I live in Chattanooga. It’s a Cherokee word for “bend in the River”, often just meaning “Riverbend”.

3. A very good tail maker makes a tail called the Riverbend. You see where this is all headed. Right?

In furtherance of my effort, I acquired a Riverbend tail and fancied it up. I painted “Sea Rock City” on my fluke. It’s outrageous. It’s hilarious. It’s my first volley in getting a summer job. It’s not working.

But a mermaid has to have accessories, right? Of course.

So I started a quest to find a fork from our local antique hotel. After…maybe an hour of searching eBay (I’m really good at finding things on eBay), I found a fish fork! With the name of the hotel engraved on it!

Score!

I ordered it, because of course I did. About 10 minutes later, I got an email from the seller.

“Are your parents the Autos of Retirement Acres? I swear this shipping address seems familiar.”

She was, in fact, a friend of my mother’s from the late 70s. I affirmed that I am Robin, first of my name, from the House of Auto, and put her in touch with my mother forthwith.

They emailed and called and squeeed and generally tried to catch up on nearly 50 years over email when one of them suggested they meet for lunch. Another suggested other old friends be included. A restaurant was chosen. Dates were settled.

I was elected to drive my mom.

So up the interstate we went, roughly an hour, to have lunch with friends past.

I’m a planner and a worrier (and an unremitting speed demon), so in my somewhat fast car, we got there early.

And then, friends, I was reminded that no matter how fast you are, there is always someone faster.

“Oh! I got a text,” my mom said as we were entering the restaurant.

There would be a delay, her friend who was not driving, had written. The contingent from marginally north had elected a driver as well.

Their driver was part of the friends group, so she is also in her 70s.

She was stopped for speeding.

Reader, she was stopped for doing 60 in a 35. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, that’s 5 mph *above* Reckless Driving. (Not that I would know. I just read it in the state driving manual.)

I can only bow to the new speed queen.

(If she starts a go fund me to help pay what’s sure to be a whopper of a ticket, I’ll let you know.)

Drive safely, readers. Drive safely.

Gratuitous mermaid video included. Enjoy my flippery nonsense.