Vacuuming the Dog

Making it back to San Juan turned out to be its own adventure. After spending the better part of the morning suppressing vomit while riding the ferry from Vieques to the Main Island, I was desperate to get some food in my stomach. A glowing vending machine beckoned to me and I knew Gardettos would have to cut it. I’d be lucky to make it to my hostel by dusk. A line of vans with open doors were waiting to take ferry riders back to San Juan. I met up with some fellow gringos and we split the fare. The ferry ride was $7. The shuttle was $30. The hostel I booked was $20 per night. I’d spend two nights there and then back to Minneapolis. The flight was $150. All in all, my big decision, or rather the reversal of a different big decision, would cost less than $300. My stomach was queasy from the ferry and the thought of spending four hours in a hot van was almost unbearable. No one ever wants the front seat in ride share situations, so I snagged it and promised myself I wouldn’t stare at the...

The cop nearly lunged his entire body into the car as he leaned through the window bellowing “GIVE ME THOSE ZIGZAGS!” The glove compartment was wide open and I was nervously rummaging for my insurance card that the cop had already barked orders for me to retrieve. I frantically shot Alan a desperate look to do or say something while carefully avoiding revealing my bright red eyes to the cop. It was a Saturday morning and my very stoned boyfriend was driving me and three other very stoned friends around the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We were there on vacation, visiting Alan's hometown of Negaunee. In those days, Michigan had extreme anti-weed laws, so we were a bit on edge. Paranoia runs rampant among druggies but this was next level.  We were jammed into my 1994 Mazda sedan and I rode shotgun while Alan drove since the UP was his home turf. Me and Alan lived in Wisconsin at the time. It was one of those mini marriages where I look back in shock at the idea of cohabitating with an...