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Are you familiar with the illusion of frequency?
I don’t mean to be fancy, but folks also call it the Baader-Meinhof effect.
It’s when you learn about an obscure thing for the first time, and then very soon afterward, you encounter that same dang thing repeatedly.
It’s wild how that happens.
I only know about it because of a crossword puzzle clue.
I learn all kinds of things because of crossword puzzles.
It so happens that the Baader-Meinhof effect is messing with me right now, all within the same 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift at Toll Plaza C on the West Virginia Turnpike.
Usually, this shift is pleasant and uneventful. I prefer these slightly cooler witching hours, especially in summer. Even with fans and air conditioning, West Virginia is as humid as Lucifer’s jockstrap in the summertime, and tonight is no exception. But the best part about the graveyard shift is I see people at their realest.
The vacation season is winding down now that it’s mid-September, and traffic is not what it was back in July.
Most motorists have been cordial tonight. Many people are distracted by their phones, which is unnerving. One man was shouting at his kids, and I waved and smiled at the little ones in the back seat as they pulled away from my booth.
The job is a steady one, and I like my coworkers. My boss, Sylvie, is nice enough, but she keeps bugging me to take a vacation. I keep reminding her I took plenty of days off to care for my mama after my daddy died, but Sylvie has it in her head that I need to get away and do something for myself.
Do what, though? And go where? I’m up for anything, but money is tight. I may not have to pay rent anymore now that I moved back with Mama to help out. But what I don’t pay in rent disappears pretty quickly between medical bills and occasionally slipping cash to the people my daddy borrowed money from.
As you can see, I have a lot on my plate. So it’s a good thing I have a job that I can leave at work. None of this answering emails and whatnot on my day off. Sylvie would never.
The work itself is strangely satisfying and not mentally taxing for me, which gives me time to do my crossword puzzles and dream about adventures I can’t afford to take.
This morning around 3 a.m., I’m staring at a particularly vexing clue. I am a born and bred West Virginian, so some people look at me funny when I use words like vexing; I admit that. If I’m too big for my britches for liking fancy words, so be it.
This particularly vexing clue is a proper name.
“Nicknamed the Favored Prince of Gravenland.”
Graven…land? I laugh out loud. That is not a real place. Maybe it’s a show on HBO.
I could Google it, but I try not to. It feels like cheating to me.
Traffic is picking up again, anyway, so I set it aside.
I forget about the vexing clue until my friend April texts me.
April: Hey babe, where’d they put you today?
Me: Plaza C, by Dry Creek.
April: Nice. Busy?
Me: On and off. What are you up to today?
April: Ugh. I’m on late gift-shop duty at the welcome center, watching some Michiganders fall in love with overpriced moonshine jugs.
I laugh because I know April’s backyard is full of that shit for free.
Me: Now, April, you be friendly to the tourists.
April: Always! But you know Drunkle Eli turns those jugs out in his sleep.
Me: Drunkle?
