Prologue:


This began as a completion of Stranded. For a long time, I held off on doing Stranded because I couldn't think of a place I could get myself to that I couldn't walk back from just as easily. But when I saw the task four days before heading down to the San Diego Comic Con, and I had one of those "God Dammit, I'm going to do this task, aren't I?" moments (Familiar to anyone else? Or is that just me?).

A few moments later, I knew what to do.


Captain's Log:

~~~Tuesday~~~



1:11 PM- My first Idea was to buy some plastic easter eggs and bring them to the convention. As it turns out, however, plastic easter eggs are almost impossible to come by in July. If I wanted any, I was going to have to pay a company in Rhode Island 60 dollars in shipping alone just to get me a bag of cheap plastic eggs by the last day of the convention. Screw that.


5:02 PM – I go to home depot to buy some Great Stuff.


6:23 PM - I find seven almost expired eggs in my fridge, blow the insides out of them, and proceeded to fill them with Great Stuff. Since I am not well-versed in the use of Great Stuff, my attempts are of ... uneven quality.



Still, I have four eggs of passable quality, and I have filled half an egg shell with Great stuff to make a "special egg". I had planned to use the vaguely egg-shaped foam insides I had gotten out of the broken eggs as well, but it turns out that they shrivel as they dry.

~~~Wednesday~~~


10:13 AM - I cut the carton the eggs had come in in half, fill one half with the soon-to-be-secret eggs (I have to cut a special compartment for the special egg) and place both halves in the bottom of a shoebox. Then I cover the cartons with comic books from my collection. The eggs were shrouded in their first layer of secrecy.

6:30 PM - I am now at the convention. I signed up to volunteer all four days in order to get in free, and this also entitles me to a bonus "preview night" before the convention proper begins. Separated from my friends, I drift through the convention hall alone, wearing a joker mask and dragging an inflatible he-man sword behind me, enjoying the various carpets around the exhibit hall. As I turn down a random aisle, a voice to my right calls out "Don't do it, Skeletor!"


I turn, and am greeted by the jovial face of one of the exhibitors. I ask him if he would be willing to decorate a secret egg. He asks me what I mean. I tell him that I will return the next day, and that he will know what to do.


6:50 PM – Meet friends, leave convention center, eat pizza, use bathroom.


~~~Thursday~~~~


5:19 AM – Show up at the convention center to sign up to volunteer at 11:30. Wait for 2 hours.


9:00 AM – Enter exhibit hall. Wander around enjoying more carpet and talking to friends.


11:30 AM – Go volunteer. This consists of standing around for 3 hours holding a signt hat says “Volunteer” on it. I steal the sign.


1:30 PM – Miss the end of the Spore panel to go get eggs from hotel room.


2:09 PM – Enter the convention, eggs in shoebox in hand. The man I talked to yesterday turns out to be the writer of a comic called "Here There Be Monsters". He's not an artist, but he directs me to the man who draws the comic. The artist is intrigued by my request, and tells me to give him an egg and return the next evening. As I walk away he says "Secret egg, right?" I nod.


2:35 PM - Dayfree press, a loose association of fantastic webcomics, had a booth set up nearby. After getting the guys who draw White Ninja to draw on my face with a sharpie, I convinced all of the webcomic artists to embellish the same secret egg. What I got was a collection of ninja drawings, a creepy face, and what the white ninja guys called "Some Hungarian shit."

3:40 PM - Having given my colored sharpies to the guy at the "Here There Be Giants" booth, I am on the lookout for artists with their own colored markers. One kind looking man has a whole spectrum of colored markers on his desk, and is teaching a little girl to draw Wonder Woman when I pass by. He seems like the kind of fellow I want to deal with. I make a note to talk to him later.


4:15 PM - I find a man who is surrounded by small, intricately painted, beautifully grotesque statues. I ask him to decorate a secret egg, and he obliges. He refuses, however, to let me leave the egg with him so that he could take his time with it, saying "I've gotta make money." The egg he gives back to me bears an interesting face, but seems rather bare.


4:30 PM – Return to the kind artist's booth, find him still busy. Resolve to come back later.


4:46 PM - Visit Munky King booth where an artist is busy doing free sketches for passers-by. He seems like the sort of person who would be willing to draw on a cracked egg, and cracked eggs are all I have left. He is more than happy to draw on mine.



He knows what to do almost instantly:



A friend of his, who I hadn't pegged as an artist, wants in on the action. All I have left is the special half-egg, half Great-Stuff monstrosity, which I only half expected to get drawn on. He gladly takes it and begins work on what will become the creepiest egg in the collection.

5:10 PM – Spot artist drawing an energetic-looking squid with a rainbow colored pencil. He gladly agrees to draw me a secret egg if I come back in a few minutes. I gave him the one with the interesting face.

5:37 PM - While waiting for the squid-guy to finish, I find two artists sitting next to each other. One of them adds a beautiful portrait of Venom to the Special egg, and the other adds some ambient color to the cracked one. I also get a quick sketch out of Gabe from Penny Arcade. The eggs are really starting to fill up.

5:54 PM - Return to Squid Guy and find that he has done the most spectacular drawing yet, a red and green Tiki Mask complete with a "Shh, it's a secret" speech bubble.

6:01 PM - Head once again for the kind artist with the full array of colored markers. He's finally free. I explain to him that I have a collection of secret eggs, and ask if he would mind decorating one in a way that highlights its secret-ness (I had my spiel down by this point). He happily agreed, but when I asked him to embellish the bare-looking face on the tiki egg, he expressed reservations about infringing on another artist's work. He was much happier when I found him an empty space on the special egg. I left him alone for a few minutes, and this is what he did:



I was shocked. He seemed so nice.


6:49 PM – Exhibit hall is about to close. Head to “Here There Be Monsters” Booth to check on final egg. The artist won’t let me see the egg. He tells me to come back tomorrow. As I leave, he asks me again, “Secret, right?”


7:04 PM – Leave convention center. Eat some pretzels and cheese. Use restroom.


~~~Friday~~~


4:02 PM – Acquire final egg. It is beautiful. The artist tells me that he did not know what a secret egg was, but then realized that a secret egg was an egg that was secret. This meant that it was an egg with mysterious contents. Thus he covered the egg with stitches,



padlocks,



tape,



and a keyhole.



The second layer of secrecy is complete.

Internal Dialog:

(Written in my head while working on the final portion of the task.)


Throughout the convention, I am silently preparing myself for the journey homeward. I supplement my sleeping bag with a pair of inflatable plastic He-Man swords I get for free at the Mattel booth. I volunteer to sleep on the balcony of our hotel room twice in order to accustom myself to sleeping outside. I wouldn't call myself prepared, but I'm ready.

The day has come. I accompany my friends to the train station before telling them that I have no return ticket. Everyone (with the exception of Waldo) thinks hitch-hiking back from San Diego is a bad idea. I am glad I didn't give them more time to talk me out of it. In one day, I've been offered more ways out than I thought possible. Pamda gives me a good-luck token, and tells me not to get molested. I will try to comply.

I watch the others get on the train, and stand there until the train leaves. No way out now.



I start by heading back to the convention center to try and pick up a couple of souvenirs before the convention closes, but I am 20 minutes too late. This leaves me with too much money in my wallet. I can still afford to buy a train ticket home. So I decide to pretend that 40 dollars of my money doesn't exist. That leaves 20. A ticket is 34.

I walk back to the hotel we stayed at and get a map of the surrounding area, showing me where the nearest freeway on-ramp is.



I sit down to look at it, and find the box of crackers Pamda had meant to give me for my journey, sitting on the seat next to me. The 5 North is only a few blocks away. I take inventory of my secret eggs, shoulder my bag and head out.



The freeway on-ramp is perfect for hitch-hiking. The street leading to the on-ramp is one-way, and cars have to turn left to get on. This means that all the cars trying to get onto the freeway are stopped a few feet from the sidewalk for a good minute or so. I can make eye contact with the drivers and try to communicate. I'm sure to get a ride.



Eventually.

Everyone from the convention has a full car, either because they car-pooled, or because they have filled all available car space with free swag from the convention. This guy's backseat is literally packed full.

I get bored and start tallying the number of people who run the red light in orange sharpie on my saltine cracker box. The number is pretty high by the time a guy pokes his head out the window of a beat-up Range Rover and says,

"You got gas money?"

"Yeah!" says I, expecting to be asked to pitch in.

These guys are a couple of tattoo artists whose surfboard just flew off the top of the car and then got run over by another car when they went to retrieve it. They're willing to take me all the way to Los Angeles if I pay for all of their gas to get there and back. Not a good deal. I give them 20 dollars (I would have given them less, but all I have is a 20). They fill up at the gas station, and then make a stop at the liquor store.

When they stop at the liquor store , I'm able to sneak the Secret Tiki Egg into one of their guitar cases. At first, I accidentally put it into my own bag, but I realize my mistake in time. The passenger notices the comics in my shoebox when he climbs back into the car, and we get into a short conversation about our favorite superheroes.



The passenger and the driver start sharing a beer when we get on the freeway, so I am glad I only gave them 20 dollars. I want to get out of the car as quickly as possible. They drop me off in Del Mar, which is a ripoff for the money I gave them, but I don't care.

In Del Mar, I am truly stranded. Near the convention center I had a high chance of getting a ride all the way home. In Del Mar, all I have is a high chance of getting hit by one of the cars speeding past me onto the freeway. It's completely dark by the time a car pulls over and offers me a ride.

"Normally I wouldn't pick up a hitchhiker, because I'm a woman," says the woman in the passenger seat, "But I've got my boyfriend here, so it's ok."

Once I'm in the car, I give the woman my phone so that she can connect it to her charger, and - while she's distracted - sneak the Dayfree press Secret Hungarian Ninja Egg out of the shoebox in my bag and into the cupholder attached to the door.



The couple only takes me a few more stops down the freeway, but they leave me in a much better spot than Del Mar.



An RV stops for me, but speeds away when I get close. Soon after, a man in a beat up Toyota Camry picks me up. Again, he can only take me a few exits down the freeway, but I'm tired of waiting.

After a few moments of silence on the freeway, the man takes a deep breath and says, "I got a booty call. That's where I'm headed." What follows is a conversation in which we struggle to estimate what percentage of people currently on the 5 North have just received booty calls. He estimates one 400,000th of a percent. During the conversation, I calmly produce my shoebox, take out the Secret Cracked Egg, and place it in the passenger door compartment without so much as a comment from my driver.



When I get out of the car a few more miles down the road, I realize that I've traveled 36 miles out of approximately 120, and have already given out three out of my five eggs. I need to economize. I resolve to only give eggs to people who take me more than half-way to my destination.

My next ride comes from a man with a long beard and a roomy Jeep, and alot of hitch-hiking experience. He can only take me a few miles, but he's willing to go a few exits out of his way in order to make sure I can get another ride soon. He tells me at least ten times not to accept a ride to anywhere closer than San Clemente. He specifically tells me to turn down any rides from people who are "just going to the base."

"If someone offers you a ride to the base, you're better off not getting a ride at all. It'll be impossible to get a ride from there."

The next few hours take me closer to insanity than I think I have ever been before.

I'm a very social person by nature. I need to have people to talk to. If I don't have people to talk to, then I need to be walking, or writing, or doing something. But when you are hitch-hiking, you can't walk, or you risk missing a ride. You can't write, because that would mean taking your eyes off the road. You can't even sit down, except for when there are no cars on the horizon whatsoever.

So here I am, standing by the side of the road for hours in the dark, sticking my thumb out as far as I can, and smiling so wide that my mouth is starting to hurt. And I need to find something to do.

I'd try singing, but every time I do I worry that passing cars will think I'm crazy.

I've been counting things. That works. I've got four separate tallies going on my cracker box in different colors. People who ran red lights, from earlier, people who have waved at me (or given me a thumbs up, or honked at me), people I've talked to but who haven't given me rides, (One person told me I was their new hero, and suggested that if I didn't have money to buy a train ticket, I should sell weed), and - in black - the number of people who have fucked with me.

There was the RV earlier...

There was the kid who cruised by while flipping me off ...

There were the girls who offered me a ride and then sped away ...

And then there were the two guys in the pickup. I don't understand the two guys in the pickup. I thought I did, but I don't. Let me explain.

Two men in a pickup truck rolled down their window and asked where I was going. I told them I was going to LA, and they yelled, "Hop in!" But they were in the wrong lane to get onto the freeway. I figured they must be joking with me, and so I waved them away, but they stayed.

"We're going to TJ!" They said.

"I don't want to go to TJ. I'm trying to get to LA."

"LA! Yeah! Come on!"

I picked up my bag and started walking over to them to figure out what the hell was going on, and then the light turned green and they sped away laughing. I figured they were just messing with me.

But they returned an hour later and did THE EXACT SAME THING. At first I didn’t know it was them. They drove by in the wrong direction, hooted at me, and parked in a nearby Ralph’s parking lot for a while. But sure enough, a few minutes later they were back in front of me, hooting and offering rides to LA.

I don't know whether they waited near the south entrance to the freeway to give me an actual ride, or whether they drove someplace and came back. Either way I'm confused. And I'm going a little crazy.

I go to the McDonald's across the street and ask people in the drive-thru for rides. Well, actually I only ask one guy in a Honda Element if he can give me a ride, and I feel so sleazy walking up to his window at a drive thru that I sort of slink back behind him and stand there sheepishly until he leaves. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m stalking him.



Then I walk up to the window and ask for a cup of water. I try to start a conversation with the guy on duty, but he doesn't want to talk to me. I head back to my corner. At least I have some water now. But I still don't have a ride and I still don't have anyone to talk to.

(At this point the internal dialogue becomes an external dialogue)

I think I will eat some crackers. What the hell is wrong with people? Do they not trust me? I guess not. I mean who does what I'm doing? Some homicidal assholes ruined hitchhiking for the rest of us... Ooh. Are you going to pick me up? You're not slowing down. Nope, you're passing me. 19 more people like you and I'm going to try my luck on the freeway ... (wild gestures are starting to be incorporated into my external dialogue) So how do you get people to stop being so goddamn paranoid? You can’t just tell them to ... The people who can really change attitudes … those are the writers. In order for there to be a revolution, there has to be a writer to prepare people for the revolution …

(And so on.)

Okay, that's 20 cars. Onto the freeway. Damn this onramp is long on foot. Nope. No one's going to pick me up here. Ok. Back down. Is this guy stopping for me? He is! He's horrified that I'm stuck out here this late. He can offer me a place to stay. He's not going very far. He's going to the base.

He's going to the base ...

Fuck it. I can barely stand. I'm going to the base. The marine asks me if I'm going to try anything stupid. I'm not. He's happy to take a package of saltine crackers in exchange for letting me stay the night at Pendleton Marine Base.

His name is Alex, and we both agree that he and his friends could rip me in half if I tried anything stupid. With that out of the way, he’s pretty pleasant. He plays “Cherry Pie” on the radio while pointing out a parking lot containing hundreds of Humvees, an old APC, and a bombed out SUV. He seems very proud of them.

I get a thin mattress on the floor that the marines use for field missions. It's better than sleeping outside. I'm asleep at 1 AM...

And Alex kicks me awake at 5:30. He needs to get to some kind of training exercise. He gives me a ride to a nearby gas station and drops me off. How the hell am I going to get a ride now?

Apparently the base is actually a really great place to get a ride. The only better spot I've seen so far was back in San Diego. I can make eye contact and communicate with the drivers.



That is, those drivers who don't refuse to make eye contact with me. This guy isn't even looking at me. I'm standing two feet from him! Oh wait, he glanced at me.

(external dialogue) He knows I'm here. He can see me. But no matter what I say or do he's not going to respond to me, because it's easier for his conscience if he pretends that I don't exist. Man, once I'm done with this I'm never going to ignore beggars again. Ooh, you looked at me again. Better hope the light turns green soon. There you go.

(/external dialogue)


Finally, a ride! I have to sit on top of his folded down back seats, which makes my head press against the ceiling, but I don't care. Anyway, we pull over at the earliest opportunity and I get in the front seat. While he's busy moving things from the front to the back, I slip the Secret Special Venom Egg into his glove compartment. Given the state of his car, it may be years before he finds it. It'll survive, though.




This guy, whose name is Glen, turns out to be an Irish immigrant who paints school mascots on gymnasium walls. He's on his way to paint one right now, but the design he's been hired to paint isn't the design he would like to paint. The students at the school he’s going to designed the mascot, which he describes as “part Filipino, part Mongolian, and they picked this skin tone that makes him look Mexican.”



He shows me a mockup of what he would have liked to have painted, an epic scene assembled out of his collection of fantasy artwork.



He explains why he picked me up while we move junk out of his car. When he was younger, he hitch-hiked across Ireland, only he ended up walking the whole way because no one wanted to pick him up.

He’s the first guy to actively assure me he doesn’t have drugs in his car. He says “The only time I had weed in the car, I got pulled over. Luckily it was under some dirty clothes.”

Glen clearly has to do a lot of driving alone. He’s been itching for someone to talk to. As we drive, he tells me about how he keeps a photocopy of his green card instead of the real thing, praises the miraculous effects of Emu Oil (Literally, oil extracted from a special gland on an Emu), and shows me his portfolio, which includes a bitchin mural of the ninja turtles he did as part of a movie promotion back in the day.

We listen to George Carlin, and laugh together at his expert comedy stylings. We get on the wrong freeway for a while, and have to turn around. He’s going to be shamefully late for work, but he doesn’t really care. He hands me a bottle of water to go with my crackers. By the time we get close to the end of our journey, I can barely stay awake, I’m so exhausted. He sympathizes. He was at a concert last night until 2:30 AM. He likes Linkin Park.

He seems reluctant to drop me off. He gives me another bottle of water and his business card, plus an offer to give me a ride to LA if I'm still here when he gets off work. We’ve traveled over 70 miles. I’ll miss him, but I hope I’m not still here when he comes back.



I'm so close to LA now that I can almost see it. Almost. Damn smog.

Two hours and I'm still here. I'm hungry. I'll have some crackers. Oh shit someone's pulling over! They hand me a complete McDonald's pancake breakfast out the window and then speed off. It's even got a sausage patty. Mm.



Finally, a minivan with no empty seats pulls up and offers me a spot in the trunk. Who am I to refuse? This is it. They're going to LA. They get the Secret Magnificent Quadruple-Sealed Egg of Mystery in their cupholder. The eggs have now been given their third coating of secrecy. The thrice-secret eggs are distributed. I'm tired.



I am hallucinating as we approach union station. I can't tell whether I'm asleep or awake. A man with spiky hair and pink and yellow suit invites me to spin the Wheel of Fortune. A man in the back seat is talking to me about comic con. I answer as coherently as possible. I am fully aware that I keep slipping into dreams without realizing it, but that doesn't stop me from doing it.



We are at Union Station. I get out of the car exactly where I was dropped off five days ago, before getting on the train to San Diego. I thank my hosts and turn happily towards the trains. I am no longer stranded, and I my eggs are secreted in cars all over California.



I get on the Metro Goldline, paying with spare change, and ride it to the end, where my car is waiting.



I say hello to Pamda Bhaer, who has watched over my car in my absence,



and then collapse into my car. I have made it. The eggs have been smothered in secrecy, and injected into real life.



I think I will go to my brother's birthday party now.

Epilogue

On this journey I helped create art that I REALLY wanted to keep, and then gave it away. I gained some insight into the minds of talented artists from all over the country. I hitch-hiked, which many people see as dangerous and insane. I battled madness, weathered insults, and ate saltine crackers. All in all, I think I've gained a very balanced view of the people driving up and down the coast: Some are jerks, many are oblivious, and a glorious few make the rest worth it. I'm now more confident than ever in my ability to traverse great distances, and I now amuse myself imaging the reactions of my gracious hosts when they discover thrice-secret-eggs in their cars.

Also, during the ten-minute drive home, my tire blew out.