Atlanta. I hate Atlanta... Driving & Cops on I-95.

So... Friday.

Wait a sec. Let's go back and see the whys and wherefores...

One of our salesguys has a piece of equipment to be delivered to a National Sports Team. He asks if I'm "Doing Anything" at the end of this week.
Of course not- I have no life, right?

Could you deliver a system to Toronto in Atlanta? he asks.
Huh? Oh. I get it. Toronto is playing in Atlanta.
Sure- No wucking furries.

So... As days go by the task changes...
Deliver a system;
No, hardware/software isn't ready- just go collect data;
Wait- Yes, it's ready- take the machine- go.

So- the system gets the official "Susan Weber Stamp of Approval and Readiness" and I'm off to the races. Have a car rented and everything.
Did I mention they want it on Friday?
Friday is our annual fall All-Employee meeting, where the herd everyone into a meetingroom off-site and give a "state of the union" address...
I haven't made the October meeting in YEARS... Seems like I'm always somewhere else... Atlanta this year, China last year, Japan the year before...
So... I miss out on a free lunch and the company back-patting and general breast-beating. (Breaking my heart...)

So... I'm off to Atlanta. Driving.
(FYI- 2005 Toyota Camry will go 567 miles on a tank of gas.)

Now, the Smart Monkey is going to ask "So, Big Guy, why didn'y you fly..."
Because I hate Hartsfield Airport and the issues of Airport Math more than I hate driving to and in Atlanta. And the seat in the Toyota is 20 times more comfortable than a coach seat on a Delta flight. And I don't have a 350lb chinless, drooling, harelip giggling and farting in the seat next to me in the Camry. Well, at least, not unless I actually want one... But I don't want to bore you with my personal abberations.

I leave at 6:30a - a little behind schedule, but reasonable for the timetable.
I take I-95 to I-16 (Savannah) to I-75 (Macon). Others will argue I-10 to I-75, but I think it's a matter of personal preference.

So, outside Brunswick, I have the machine wound up to 78mph (128.8kph for you metric-heads out there... or 209,664 furlongs per fortnight for those of you who need a really obscure speed reference...)
And I notice a blue car pacing me, about 4 carlengths back.
After careful observation I detect a radarhead in the window and a low-profile light on the dash.
Nice. An unmarked GSP car is following me.
All of a sudden this trip has become more stressful.
Do I have something to hide? No...
Outstanding warrants? None that I know of...
So why worry? I'll give you two words: Rodney King.
I've had several experiences with the Highway Partol, and the worst ones were the sawed-off little shits with a Napoleon Complex. I spent a weekend in the Daytona Beach jail because the cop was a 5'5" pile of crap who actually said "I'm taking you to jail just because I can."
So... Unfortunately, guys (and some girls) with control issues, megalomania, and other mental aberrations often wind up in law enforcement...
This is not the rule- as some cops are fine upstanding people, but on the whole, you have to watch your ass...
Anyway... All of a sudden I am Joe Speed-Limit-Sign-Watcher.
I use my cruise control to stay exactly 8 mph over the limit... No sense in changing what I have been doing. Kind of an admission of guilt...
So... The &^%@#$ GSP follows me from Brunswick to Savannah... almost an hour.
I made up some time on I-16, and I got a nice lunch in Macon... (Hooters, go figure) and made it to the Phillips Arena right at 2:00pm.
I exchanged equipment, tested the new stuff and collected some data from the arena then I was back on the road...
Just in time for early rush hour in Atlanta.

Did I tell you I hate Atlanta?

The drive home was uneventful... No cops, no problems.
Dinner at Hooters (go figure) in Savannah, and back to the Humble Abode by 11:30.

Now, if only my tickets for Shanghai are at the office, the world will be spinning in greased grooves.

TBG out-