Making Jersey Proud...

You're welcome, Garden State.

Time and time again, proud inhabitants of NJ, we are subjected to stupid stereotypes that have to do with a so-called inferiority complex. Now I know I currently reside in Virginia, but regardless of current residence, I will ALWAYS have an allegience to the state gutsy enough to name a town Brick and a neighboring town Wall. (Read: don't mess with Jersey.)

Most of these stereotypes have to do with the fact that our state is "somewhere you have to go through to get where you're going." Yes, we have the finest turnpike EZPass can buy. Yes, we mess with out-of-state folks with out archaic exit number protocol. ("Let's see, I'm at Exit 2 and I am getting off on Exit 7 of the Turnpike - I'm five miles away, right?") Yes, we've got barriers named after us. Yes, reststops are named after famous New Jerseyans. Yes, we're awesome.

Well, I will take this state against the merits of any in the union in debate any time. And while I wait for other states to put their collective foot in their mouths, I figure I'll just wreak some havoc on the Interstates of the Otherstates. It's time to play "Mess with Rest Stop Employees." (Crowd goes wild!)

This is my version of Highway Punk'd. Every once in a while, I find myself on a road trip. On if this roadtrip takes me to new and unchartered lands, I know that in order to honor the traditions of N-to-the-J, I need to bring travel savvy and skills. For there are unsuspecting road trip personnel out there, and they're begging to be messed with. One such occurrence happened in the summer of 2002, when Katie and I were going to Ohio to pick up her sister and bring her back to DC (in time for a Coca-Cola Session Carbon Leaf concert, if I recall.) Did I take on the Buckeye State with my meddling? Nay, I went after the state playing the role of "somewhere you have to go through to get where you're going." That's right, I had my targets set squarely on the Keystone State:

Pennsylvania.

Now there's very little you can do from your vehicle. Other drivers can't hear you, most actions end up as mere distractions (to your own driver, no less.) Which means the setting of this Punk'd will have to be during a break in the action. Now I'm not a big fan of pit stops, but if I am allotted a situation where I can use the phrase "hilarity ensues" during said stop, then I'm all for stretching the ol' legs.

While Katie and Joanie went to use the rest stop facilities, I found myself standly idly in the center's food court. The typical staples were there: Roy Rogers, Nathan's Hot Dog, Starbucks, some crappy smoothie stand, and lo and behold - CINNABON!

Cinnabon is the one store that has managed to break the curve on the whole "Calories per Cubic Inch" scale, registering roughly at eleventy billion. Their product offering has a lot of sugar, a lot of cinnamon, a lot of icing, and a whole lot of secret ingredient "Goo." And they also have no idea that their about to get punk'd.

Cashier: "Hi, welcome to Cinnabon. What can I get for you today?"
Condon: "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
Cashier: "Can I get anything for you today?"
Condon: "No, what did you say the name of this place is? "SIN'-nuh-bun?"
Cashier: "Yes, that's correct."
Condon: "That's so weird!"
Cashier: "What is?"
Condon: "The way you said that name. SIN'-nuh-bun! Crazy!
Cashier: "What do you mean?
Condon: "Where I'm from, it's called "si-NOB'-bin.""
Cashier: "Really? I'd never head that before. Where are you from?
Condon: "New Jersey."
Cashier: "Wow, I never knew that's how you said it."
Condon: "I never know there was any other way to say it. (lies through teeth) I think that's where your HQ is, too. Anyways, I'll take one si-NOB'-bin, please."
Cashier: "Ok. (to her coworker) Kevin, one si-NOB'-bin, to go.
Condon: "Thanks, have a nice day."

I can't be trusted to wait patiently at rest stops.