My latest trip to the future - I'm scared!

A tree grows in Turkey Plaza

(After a long week, I like to relax with a trip through time. Last weekend I visited the year 2014 to check out the expansion of the Turkey Creek shopping district. Stepping out of my machine at the corner of Lovell Road and Parkside Drive, I was greeted by a “guide” who introduced himself as Ben Paving.)

“The ‘g’ is silent,” he said, “like the ‘q’ in billiards.”

I groaned.

“Didn’t that joke die with vaudeville?”

“Yeah, but we like to hold on to tradition at Turkey Plaza,” Ben said.

“Turkey Plaza? What happened to Turkey Creek?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve heard rumors that a creek used to flow somewhere around here,” Ben said, scratching his chin. “But, you can’t let a little water stand in the way of progress, can you?”

Before I could answer, Ben hustled me into his “guide vehicle,” a stretch version of a Cadillac Escalade.

“Big car, Ben,” I allowed. “Must cost you a fortune to keep it in gas.”

“Traffic can be brutal here, my friend,” Ben replied. “You need a car that means business to get around. Besides, it only takes one tank to go from one end of the plaza and back.”

Ben plowed into the bumper-to-bumper traffic, clipping the grille and both headlights from an unwary Prius.

“Ben, you just …”

“Ah, she should have known better than to come out here in that toy car.”

We inched forward through a river of SUVs.

“So, how long does this tour take, Ben? Traffic looks pretty heavy.”

“This? This is nothing,” Ben said, gesturing at the divided 12-lane thoroughfare. “You should see it when it’s really busy. We’ll breeze through this in less than four hours.”

“Four hours? To go a couple of miles?”

“Yeah, at this time of day.”

I looked at my watch. Until then I hadn’t noticed it was only 7:15 a.m. and the sun was barely above the horizon.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get this guide gig?”

Ben smiled. “It’s strictly volunteer,” he said. “They call me the Mayor of Turkey Plaza. I own six of the nine Belk stores in the plaza, four of the seven Talbots stores and three Holiday Inns.”

“Holiday Inns?”

“Sure, lots of folks vacation here. And once you get used to the SCOBA – and they come in kids’ sizes – it’s a great place for a family to relax and shop.”

“SCOBA?”

Ben jerked his thumb toward the second row seats in the huge Escalade. Turning, I saw two small metal cylinders with hoses linked to a rubber face mask.

“Self Contained Outdoor Breathing Apparatus,” Ben explained. “Mandatory if you’re going to be outside longer than five minutes in the plaza.”

We crept forward in silence for a few minutes. The sky was a hazy brown through the front windows of the Escalade.

“Overcast today,” I ventured.

“Not really. We’ve got our own smog. Hey, Los Angeles, Mexico City, Beijing – they got nothing on us,” he said and playfully punched my arm.

That’s when I saw it. A distressed-looking maple tree on “lingerie row” between a Victoria’s Secret and a Victoria’s Secret for Kids.

“Ben! A tree!”

He frowned. “I know, I know. That tree is eating up several parking spaces. It must go and it will go.”

We reached the massive roundabout three hours later and began to reverse our course.

“I think I’ll walk back, Ben. I need the exercise.”

Ben bulled into the far right lane. Two Mormon missionaries in SCOBA gear tumbled from their bikes as he brushed by them.

“You sure you want to walk?”

“I’m sure. Thanks for the tour.”

“Any time.”

I hadn’t taken two steps before something clanked at my feet. I looked to my left and saw Ben grinning through the open passenger door window.

“Damned near forgot your SCOBA,” he said.

I strapped it on and headed for the nearest oxygen bar. There had to be one around here somewhere.