As we drove out of Ohio, Nick and I talked about countries and how when you travel you see what you love and what should be changed about America. In Uncle Sam's residence, you can usually count on punctuality. Trains, planes, buses show up on time, and when they don't, so many people complain that they get their shit together pretty quick. In America, or at least in major cities and especially in Maryland, if you're in a jam, if you are just shit out of luck, if you're half naked and plastered and standing lost on a dark highway somewhere, you can always find your way home. In Turkey, my family and I ended up traveling to Cappodocia several hours late because the staff didn't know how to use their computer. In Spain, my train was delayed 2 hours because someone jumped in front of it, and I had to hop on to other trains with seven others like a refugee. I'm not saying it wasn't fun, I'm just saying it's not likely to happen in the U.S. We're stricter about being somewhere on time. We're nuts about it, actually.
I mentioned to Nick that Americans, unlike many Europeans, have serious personal space, like a bubble, yet we also constantly involve ourselves in other people's business. Kinda odd. Our drinking age is absurd and worthless, but I could discuss that for pages so I won't.
We drove through Indianapolis and decided to stop and walk around. We drank at two bars, the second one being modeled after the movie Escape From Alcatraz. There, I had two drinks, each a brilliant blue, and our waiter was a guy named Deon who is exactly the fun yet chill kind of fellow you want at a party.
Everyone, meaning 50% of anyone we passed or saw, was wearing a Colts jersey. Everyone, closer to 75% this time, was white, and fat, and unfortunate looking.
We went on a wild goose chase trying to find a Walmart where I bought underwear (out of anything I could have forgot to bring, I forgot that. Nick forgot toothpaste but brought his brush) and a Colts jersey.
Showing up at St. Louis, we found the sketchiest place called the EconoLodge. Rows of rooms, dim lightning, flaking paint and the closeness of a nearby, dark highway, we approached and got a price. It was over a hundred bucks but it was so close to a strip that contained bars open till 3 AM we couldn't resist. He told us that there were three smoking rooms available and we took one. As we were paying, two black guys, stumbling and slurring a bit, came into the room. The hotel clerk instantly calls out to them and tells them that we took the last room. Looking back it was pretty funny, just at how blatantly shameless people can be, but at the time I couldn't look anyone there in the eye.
We checked into the room, reeling at the smell. I went into the bathroom, which had an equally terrible stench. "I wish this smelled like poop," I thought honestly.
We found the strip of bars and clubs and were delighted to find that they were indeed open till 3 AM, unlike Maryland and DC. I know for a fact we were at one bar and one club, but the details of what else happened are hazy with the rum and cokes, $1 Coors Lights, and jagerbombs I ingested. I do recall a blue-shirted girl come up to me and asking if I knew Rhianna. I had no idea how to answer that question, so I said no. Her name was Britney and told me not to call her Britney Spears, so I told her not to call me Clay Aiken. I don't know if we talked about anything else. But why do conversations like this only happen when people drink? Try going up to someone in a grocery store and ask them if they know a famous singer and see if they'll respond or just throw up their hands and walk away, maybe leaving their cart behind as an obstacle.
Nick and I came back separately, neither of us trusting the bedsheets of the Econolodge, and slept on top of our sheets. I used my leather jacket as a blanket.
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