We knew this trip was going to be interesting the moment we hit construction on the drive down. “Detour ahead” would imply actual instructions, but that would require too much coordination for South Carolina roadwork apparently. Instead, we got a single man standing in the middle of the highway holding up a stop sign for absolutely no reason I could decipher.
Across from him? A cotton field.
Beyond him? A massive piece of construction machinery parked sideways across the road like it had simply given up and decided to spend its remaining days communing with nature.
There were no detour signs. No arrows. No cones. No driveways. Nothing. Just us, a blocked road, and a man doing traffic control in a location where no traffic could possibly go.
Meanwhile, Waze—using the spicy gingerbread man voice, because why wouldn’t it—remained silent, unhelpful, and completely unbothered. We were on a cosmic scavenger hunt with no clues, praying that whatever vague alternate route we found wouldn’t send us looping back into the same cotton field from a different angle.
By the time we reached the Hilton Myrtle Beach timeshare, I naïvely thought the worst was behind us.
Reader, I was wrong.
We pulled into the covered entryway and immediately got stuck behind a woman who could not, for reasons known only to her and possibly her luggage cart, move her vehicle forward even one inch. Jeremy parked close enough to the wall that I was wedged in place like a human doorstop—and, of course, I had to pee. It was the perfect trifecta: trapped, immobilized, and acutely aware of my bladder. If divine intervention had shown up in the form of a forklift, I would not have asked questions.
Dinner that night came with a bonus feature: a front-row seat to the world’s most painfully self-impressed job interview at the table in front of us. The candidate was the sort of man who speaks like he’s narrating a documentary about his own greatness.
“We had to let go of a lot of smart people,” he announced with the confidence of someone who absolutely did not make the cut himself.
He went on to explain how much he loves working—sixty, seventy, maybe eighty hours a week if the moment calls for it. He loves small companies. He loves big companies. He loves work. He just really, really loves to work.
The woman sitting across from him—presumably part of the hiring team—looked like her soul had slipped quietly out of her body and was waiting in the car. If I’d run into her in the restroom, I would have whispered, “Please don’t hire that guy—he sounds like a real asshole.” Of course, with my luck, she would have been his wife. Honestly? Even then, I think she would’ve agreed with me.
We didn’t get to see the ocean from our table—the glare on the windows was so intense we might as well have been sitting in a dentist’s office—but we did get a live-action National Geographic moment when a cat launched itself at what I’m fairly sure was a rat darting underneath the restaurant.
Nature is healing, I guess.
After escaping dinner theater, we headed to the hot tub back at our timeshare, which was—mercifully—lovely. Both tubs supposedly overlook the ocean, though it was pitch-black, so we had to take Hilton’s word for it. Still, it was warm, peaceful, and blissfully free of corporate interviews, cats, rats, or roadside construction personnel holding signs for no reason.
The true highlight so far, though? This morning’s breakfast.
A mimosa, a Starbucks gingerbread latte, eggs, bacon, and toast with Kerrygold butter—all made by Jeremy for thirty dollars instead of the seventy-five Myrtle Beach restaurants believe eggs are worth. It was calm. Warm. Sane. A rare oasis in this swirling coastal fever dream.
And then—because the universe enjoys contrast—it started raining. The “partially indoor” hot tub now contains shards of glass because workmen broke a window trying to replace it. The concierge would love to “give us a gift,” which is Hilton for “please spend three hours letting us sell you points.” And Forensic Files II is looking more and more like a respectable afternoon plan.
And the best part?
We’re only on Day 2.
Stay tuned. Something else is absolutely going to happen—it’s just a matter of when.
Absurdities and Fires 