Two weeks ago, Crockett and I were driving to New York. Did I mention that we drove? We did, in his big cushy Audi allroad, with cruise control and tinted windows. We were stylin', yo.
Instead of taking the most direct route:
we went through Kentucky.
They have bourbon in Kentucky, you see.
So somewhere around the S in Kansas, I was driving, and I started to smell something. I asked Crockett if he smelled it - nothing.
He asked me to describe it and the closest I could come was someone painting grass. He couldn't smell it at all.
(The part about painting grass is not the part where my nose wins.)
We thought maybe it was the little town we were driving through, but it didn't go away when we were back out in the beautiful Kansas plains. Then we thought that perhaps (and damn we didn't want to be right) that the air conditioning was having issues. (It's possible Crockett was also considering that I was full of crap, because he still couldn't smell it.) We stuck our noses up in the vent and got nothing.
It didn't go away.
By Missouri, Crockett could smell it too.
We finally concluded that maybe when he took the car in for it's 100,000 mile service, some kind of fluid got onto the exterior of the engine, and we were smelling it burning off. Like someone spilled oil or something.
I don't actually know if that can even happen, but we had no other ideas.
So we get to St. Louis. We drive through, stop at the lovely little highway hotel that I found, get our room, and start to haul our stuff out of the backseat of the car.
Our stuff is really warm.
Gosh, we think to ourselves, the air conditioning wasn't particularly effective back here, was it?
Then Crockett lifts up his (super nice) briefcase (that I got him because I'm super), and it's got black stuff on it. I thought a pen busted.
Crockett thought one of his laptop batteries melted.
We were both wrong.
On that same seat, he had a backpack - and the backpack melted.
Ok, just the back and one of the straps. The whole thing didn't turn into a molten puddle o' backpack - the padded back part browned and puckered, and the straps melted.
Why, you ask?
Because the rear seat heaters were on.
And apparently Audi thinks that the appropriate level to which butts need to be heated is somewhere around the melting point of vinyl.
As Crockett pointed out, what if we had a sleeping grandma in the backseat and she was wearing vinyl pants?
Did you THINK OF THAT?