Sandbag Vacation in Austin Texas - Blog 88

Alright, folks, buckle up, because we're about to dive into the truly bizarre. We're talking about Sandy, a 25-pound black sandbag, and his wild, wacky vacation to Austin, Texas. Yes, you read that right. A sandbag. On vacation. I know, I know, I need a nap too.

Sandy, bless his burlap heart, is your typical no-nonsense sandbag. He's spent his life anchoring tarps and being generally heavy, so the idea of a vacation was like telling a brick wall it's going to a spa. "Thrilling and disorienting" was his official review.

First stop: the airport. Sandy got the full "luggage experience," which, for him, meant being crammed into a suitcase like a sardine in a tin can. "It's cozy," he muttered, trying to ignore the questionable stains on the lining. The baggage handlers gave him a spin on the conveyor belt that he described as "a rollercoaster designed by a caffeinated squirrel." He did, however, enjoy the feeling of being important, like he was the VIP of the luggage pile. "I'm grounding this operation!" he thought, puffing out his non-existent chest.

The plane ride? Imagine being a sandbag in a dark, vibrating metal tube. That's Sandy's in-flight experience. He missed the clouds, the sky, and the tiny pretzels, but he did enjoy the "heavy squat" sensation during takeoff. "This is living," he mumbled, as the plane roared towards Austin.

Landing was a jolt-fest. Sandy bounced around like a bag of… well, sand, as the plane hit the tarmac. Then, sweet, sweet Texas air! "It's like a warm hug," he thought, forgetting he can't actually feel anything. But hey, let's go with it.

Austin hit Sandy like a double shot of espresso. Live music, BBQ smells (he imagined it was delicious, because, again, sandbag), and the sheer, unadulterated weirdness of South Congress. He sat in the backseat of the rental car, staring out the window like a tourist who'd just discovered the meaning of "funky."

At the hotel, Sandy got the VIP treatment: a window view. He spent his days "basking" in the sun, which, for a sandbag, means existing in a warm spot. His human even took him to Zilker Park, where he weighed down a picnic blanket. "I'm contributing!" he thought, feeling a surge of sandbag pride.

The highlight? The Continental Club. Sandy couldn't tap his feet (because, sandbag), but the bass thrummed through him like a tiny earthquake. "I feel… alive?" he wondered, questioning his own existence.

By the end of the trip, Sandy was a little dusty, a little grass-stained, and a whole lot more "traveled." He flew home with a story to tell, or at least, a story we're telling for him. Austin had treated him well, and he was already planning his next adventure. Maybe Vegas? Or a cruise? Who knows, the world is a sandbag's oyster... or something.

Thank you for reading. Leave a comment.