Happiness is Lubbock, Texas in my Rear-View Mirror

Like the novel "On the Road," by Jack Kerouac, you may believe this to be a fantastical tale of road travel, believing it must be a work of fiction, as grandiose as it may be in scope. Nay, I submit to you, it is indeed a record of true occurances, of things that happened to me in and around Lubbock, Texas.
So, mom and I drove out to Lubbock for Big Mere's birthday. My little sister is 23 years old now and married. It freaks me out if for no other reason than that it means I am old... or older, anyway. (25, again and forever!)
We had fun. We ate at Abuelo's (which had good food, despite its ugly name) for Mere's birthday. We looked at furniture (mom, Mere, and I pointing out to each other the exact items the others were coveting inwardly--we have identical, amazing taste) whilst Jared (Mere's husband) silently suffered. Mere and Jared's place is cute inside, and she is working on making it even better. The weather was beautiful, I was surprised. Aside from it being out in the middle of nowhere, I liked Lubbock.
Just a few antidotes from the road, which is where the crazy happened.
First, we were passing what appeared to be a gasoline tanker, and the back had a sign that read "inedible." Do you think that is as weird as we did? Sure, I can see "toxic," or "flammable." But "inedible?" Well, I guess my first thought when I see a big-rig with a big metal tank on it often is, "hmm... I should climb up that ladder with a big straw and syphen some of that out. Bet it's delicious!"
Second, and this is more dumb than funny. Trying to leave Lubbock, we got on the loop. Somehow, we missed our exit (the sign for the big highway we were looking for was small.) Anyway, we drive for like, 30 minutes, and I'm like, "Frankford Ave, isn't that Mere's street?" And mom is like, "No, don't freak me out, we saw that sign when we were coming into town..." Only she was wrong. It was Mere's street. We had just wasted a half hour taking a not-so-scenic loop around the city. It was great.
Third, we grabbed some trail mix for the car. The back of the bag said: "Trail mix product of U.S.A. May contain ingredients from Mexico and/or China and/or India and/or Brazil and/or Chile and/or Argentina." Exactly how is that a product of the U.S.A. again?
Fourth, we were disturbed to see a giant steakhouse right next door to a cattle-trading place, with tons of cows loitering right outside the steakhouse windows. Like picking your won lobster, "Yes, I think I'd like to eat that black cow, the one with the white spots in the shape of a teddy-bear, thanks."
Fifth, mom tends to drive a little too close to the person in front of her, and a little too fast, if you ask me. ("You're wild!" -Dirty Dancing) She was tailing this eighteen-wheeler with all these metal tubes on the back. I kept picturing those tubes flying off and impaling me, before I ever got to see Europe, or skydive. I'm too young to go. So, I said, "hey, you should get a little further back, I keep picturing in scary movies how those things come flying off, killing people." And Mom, so reassuringly, said, "It's not just in scary movies, people die all the time from things falling off trucks." Thanks, mom. Here I thought it was a little far-fetched. Something new for me to actually worry about.
Sixth, we dined at a filling station/Subway restaurant. The front window was had a long bench that backed up to it, with little tables dotted down it, and a chair in front of each table. Behind each table, in front of the window, was a telephone. It totally looked like prison. Not to mention the other diners looked like prisoners. So, there ya go. Mom wanted to take a picture of me on the phone and some random guy on the outside with his hand on the glass. Would have been classic.
Seventh, (we're almost there!) we passed a truck with a bunch of smashed up porta-potties on it. Boy, did the car start to stink! So, Mom sped past, in fine form, and once we were a good deal ahead, we opened the windows to air out the car. But the smell was the air outside, not the porta-potties. It was so disgusting, I grabbed my scented hand lotion out of my purse, and squirted a bunch in my hands, holding a hand out to mom, and sputtering, "don't breathe through your mouth!" Mom was like, "put the lotion under your nose!" She took a gob of it and smeared it under her nose, like Vick's vapo-rub, and said, "look! A lotion mustache! Got milk?" I am dying laughing, trying not to breathe, and holding my lotion-covered hands to my face like Mary-Catherine Galleger ("When I get nervous, I put my hands in my arm-pits, and then I smell them, like this!") I took a picture of my mom's lotion mustache, but sadly, it's on my phone, so I can't post it here. So funny!
Second to last, we stopped at a gas station in Post, TX, to get gas and use the ladies' room. Signs (plural) on the walls explained that the "Manger requests that you don't put paper in the toilet." First of all, what? There was a trash can for used toilet paper. Gag reflex... now! So disgusting. And also, I didn't know that mangers could talk. I thought they were kind of like barns.
And last, I saw a car with a sticker on the back window that said "Ain't [something]" I couldn't read the second word. No like it really matters. Just had to see the "ain't" to determine how I felt about it. "Ain't" what? "Ain't educated?" "Ain't smart?" "Ain't trying to make a good impression?"