USA Email Series 21: Rusting knives, temper tantrums, the squirrel-o-meter and looking into the abyss‏

(First sent: 8th November 2009)

Greetings,

Like being stuck in a time warp, the summer is still clinging on grimly and refusing to segway into autumn. I know that one day I'm going to wake up to find 28 inches of deep set snow and the itch at the end of my nose turning out to be a gnawing frostbite that leaves the tip resembling a bears finger. Until that day, I'll content myself with sipping a cold glass of water whilst reading my book on the decking outside the hostel. Now if somebody would just go and get me a bloody sandwich, I might even be put in a good enough mood to start complimenting people on this email (but I wouldn't hold your breath).

Travelling from Memphis up into Nashville proceeded with no little stress, mainly because the wonders of the Greyhound bus transportation system once again leaving me searching for a rogue transient to insult, just so he would plunge a rusting knife into my cheek so as to distract me for one second from the awfulness of my plight.

I've ranted on this topic before, which is a shame really. Sometimes one should really save their pent up rage until they really need it. The first whiff of danger came early in the shape of our driver. He left us with literally no confidence whatsoever as we left Memphis late in the first place because he had neglected to park in the correct spot and the Greyhound staff had no idea the bus had arrived. He was dimly apologetic and as he made his sight and in no way convincing apology, I regarded his jowly features. His face was unusual and pockmarked by crags, so that he resembled a statue of a loaf of bread fashioned out of porous rock, sculpted by a blind alcoholic.

In total we were three hours late as our fearless driver decided to play 'chicken' with a large tyre that was abandoned in the middle of the road before realising, it seems only too late, that a tyre is an inanimate object (despite its intellect surpassing his own) and this was one battle he was unlikely to win. I seriously doubt if that man manages to win many of the daily battles in his life such as 'putting trousers on', 'making coffee' or 'not spending three hours head butting large pieces of concrete to see who cracks first'.

Sensing the whiff of danger and harnessing the extensive training delivered in both days of Greyhound Driver School, he pounced into evasive manoeuvres to avoid the tyre....

Oooh, no. Wait. I've got that wrong. He just drove over it. He then looked surprised that it had become lodged under the bus and was being pushed along the road by the axle of the vehicle. I would like to point out that this was an empty stretch of freeway, in case anyone wishes to leap to the defence of Greyhound drivers and suggest he could not have avoided it. This was a bloody large tyre too. God knows how it was on the freeway to start with. Probably some kind of 'Extreme sport' that will be appearing on ESPN 1354 in the new year.

After an initial scan by the bus driver and an attempt to push it clear with what I can only describe as a twig, he called for the mechanics who we were assured would be with us in thirty minutes. Two hours of waiting for them to show up and remove the tyre, (probably by throwing everything in his tool box at it until it popped) we were somewhat restless in the cheap seats (every seat) especially as our driver wasn't telling people with connections any information at all and just seemed very pleased that he would be collecting overtime money for his extended trip.

This feeling was made worse when one of the passengers approached the driver to ask what the hell was going on, only to be ordered to the back of the bus in the manner one might reprimand a 4 year old who demands a new Girl's World Head by throwing a tantrum in Toys R Us. Needless to say, when you patronise a mid forties, six foot four inch Amish guy, he ain't going to get up off the bloody floor and wait for Christmas.

As if to underline how ridiculous his response to our growing frustration was becoming, Mr Bus then proceeded to get on his mobile and loudly tell his superiors at the office that due to this childish altercation he no longer felt comfortable driving us and for them to send a new driver before we could continue.

I was watching with growing, wide eyed wonder at the escalating idiocy and trying to calculate how long that little changeover would take, only to see my amazement trumped once again, as the bus driver (still on his phone) walked to the back of the bus right through the middle of his irritated (and obviously not that intimidating) charges and do what a man has gotta do: lock himself in the toilet.

Yes, a man of approximately 50 years in age felt sufficiently threatened to lock himself in the toilet. Now. This wouldn't be so odd if we were seriously turning nasty and sharpening our teeth into fine points and breaking out the pitchforks and flaming torches. But trust me, this wasn't the set of a Biggie Smalls video, with people getting 'up in his grill' or preparing to 'pop da cap in his ass'. However, just to prove to you all just how docile we were, all I can say is this: I felt comfortable. I am the biggest coward ever and my built in 'run like a squirrel-o-meter' wasn't even on it's 'Code red-neck' setting.

We all looked at each other. We all, first, wondered if he just needed the loo. We waited. Messages that people could hear him arguing with his office filtered to the front of the bus. The suggestion of a hijack was made (Squirrel-o-meter upgrades to 'Amber'). Suggestion laughed off as the bloke who made it only had one foot and felt he needed the brake to ensure some safety (probably would go for that guy over our driver anyway - at least he would be alert). It became clear that unless he was really scared it was unlikely he needed forty five minutes to clear his bowel.

Eventually, he reappeared, obviously having had to describe exactly why he felt threatened and unable to continue to Nashville and being laughed at by his office and told to get the hell on with it, walked calmly to the front of the bus and off we went. The rest of the drive passed off with little incident, other than the fella sitting next to me continuously blithering on the whole way about how the world will end in 2012.

This theory he could support. It may come also as a surprise to you all that the devil is already among us. His theory was that as Mr. Obama is neither fully white, nor fully black this is evidence sufficient for him to believe he is the anti-Christ, here early to presumably check out the wine and cheese section of the menu before his 2012 feast of souls (Funny, my squirrel-o-meter seems to have burnt itself out from beeping repeatedly).

Well, after all of this giddiness, who wouldn't need a cake? Lucky for me that this hostel in Nash Vegas has a resident baker called Phil who prepares a minimum of 4 baked items per day (today: Cinnamon rolls and two apple pies). This has two advantages: 1. I don't have to spend so much on food, and 2. I get some natural, fruit based goodness inside me to delay colon cancer for another week.

Since being in Nash, I've had salad 3 times, fruit, fresh orange juice every day and not one single burger. My body has practically fallen in love with me, and I can't feel the throb in my kidneys anymore, like they were about to pop like a water balloon thrown by a bully at point blank range into the weakling child's weeping eye. Poor Mr. Liver has had a pretty easy time of it as late as well, so he might need some punishment before Music city is all played out.

So, with that in mind, you can take a closer look at my antics over the last few days in Memphis, as we ponder anew the week that was in my roundup of risible roamings. Come look into the abyss - and remember if you look into it, the abyss looks back at you... then kicks you in the goolies and runs away.

1. Went to visit the king in Gracelands and was slightly humbled by it. It's a large house but homely. You could actually see a real family living there, and it was a sweet and lovely place - a little bit tacky but a home. If you have a desire to feel like the apocalypse wouldn't be a bad thing, you can watch 'Cribs' on MTV and compare this homely feeling to the grotesque homage to commercial frippery that modern celebrities call their homes. Graceland isn't stylish (carpeted ceilings; nice) but it certainly isn't anything other than someones home.
2. Got a picture with Elvis. Even though he's under a bit of concrete he's looking good, all things considered. Actually, it felt a tiny bit weird to have a picture by a grave, but when will I get another chance? I don't think he'd mind, but it's not his problem anymore.
3. On Beale street I ate the kind of pork topped nachos that I could see myself marrying.
4. Had lots of fun just wondering the street and just diving into any bar that seemed to be playing good stuff
5. Had a very odd feeling at the Civil Rights Museum which is also the site of the murder of Martin Luther King. Being that close to history is disorientating.
6. Noticed that the man on the front desk of the hostel in Memphis was there 24/7. The man never sleeps, silently keeping watch over us, being a bit gruff, having limited English.
7. Most of my old counterparts at the Hostel I worked at in San Diego bid a fond farewell to the US. It's official now - I can never go back there. It just wouldn't be the same.
8. Noticed that I have yet to purchase a cowboy had. Not sure if this is something that can or should be rectified, but I fear it would be a shame not to.
9 Third night in Nashville and a campfire was lit. Obviously, marshmallows, beer pong and country tunes followed swiftly behind, before the whisky and flatulence were brought out (If you haven't seen Blazing Saddles, you've probably never lived).
10. Noticed that a full rack of ribs probably isn't very good for me, but does wonders for cultivating extra chins.
11. I'm getting quite a lot of wide eyed and respectful looks from people, when they ask me how long I've been out in the US. People are either in awe, or can't believe someone would be stupid enough to sleep in hostel beds for 5 months.
12. Watched a duck parade. A parade. Of ducks. Now that's big screen entertainment.
13. Saw some pudgy faced, knuckle eyed, absolute grunting hole of a man insult some street performers in Memphis, for no reason that I could figure. He did this right up until the point when they came over and he realised they were much bigger than him. I'd have given them an extra dollar for hitting him.

So there we are my lovelies. That's you almost up to date. I'll have a few more days larking about in Nashville before I move on. If anybody has any suggestions for places to head to before I depart these shores in a month, then give me a yell. Failing that, I might head to Portland and Salt Lake City. For no good reason at all. One month to go before I'm right back in your face, gettin all up in yo grill and dat.

Keep it real homeprides,

Byeloveyoubye xx

...how quickly a month passes...