It's Weird Everywhere

I wrapped up my Twilight Zone tour of Asia ten days ago with my return from the sessions in Shenzhen. It was the toughest engagement by far. The language and cultural barriers were enormous. I might as well have been communicating with two cans and a piece of string. So when I got home we felt this enormous sense of elation. I had done it! It was like winning the Boston Marathon. From here on out it was all cruising down hill. My last out of town gig was in Austin just three and a half hours away by plane, and right here in the good old USA: Piece of cake, right? What’s more I now had my headphones.

Anticipating the challenges of that last China trip I finally broke down and parted with the $300 bucks for the Bose Quiet 15 headphones. I’ve coveted them for years, but couldn’t see spending that much money, and was sure if I waited long enough the price would come down. They out-waited me. Turns out it’s the best investment I ever made. I pop them on as soon as I check-in, start listening to the full four hour performance of the Brandenburg Concerto, and I am in a world of my own, indifferent to the lines, the waiting, and the grueling all night flights.

I’m still in headphone bliss as I walk to the cabstand at the Austin airport, give the grizzled little cabbie the address for the La Quinta Inn & Suites, and climb into the back seat. The traffic is awful. It’s 4:30 p.m. right at the peak of rush hour, but I could care less. I’m listening to my music, reading David Suzuki’s “The Legacy,” and don’t have a care in the world. But that’s because I’m not up against a deadline. That won’t be the case however two days from now when I head back to the airport to catch my 6:50 p.m. return flight. My class is supposed to end at five. This could be tight. The anxiety starts seeping in.

The headphones come off. I ask the driver how long it will take to get to the airport on a Friday at 4:30 (I’ve already decided I’ll need to end the class a half hour early)? He tells me the traffic will not be this bad coming the other way, and that it will probably take about forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes is fine. I feel relieved. I’m about to retreat back into my sonic cocoon when he asks me if I’d like to have him pick me up on Friday for the return trip.

“That would be great!” I say with real enthusiasm. I can now check another rather important detail off my to-do list. We exchange phone numbers. I give him the address of the company I will be at, and he mentions that he is actually going to be looking at an apartment in that area right after he drops me off. If all goes well he hopes to move in this weekend.

“Boy, moving: that’s a big undertaking,” I say to be polite.

He really doesn’t have any choice. Turns out he’s been living with his son and daughter in-law for the past six and a half years. When they first bought the house they asked him to live with them because they needed help paying the bills, but after six and a half years he’s worn out his welcome. She doesn’t like the relationship he has with his son, so she gets on the son’s case, and the son then starts fighting with dad. Clearly it’s time to go.

“Young couples need their space,” I say sympathetically. Then I give myself a little pat on the back. I feel like I’m getting quite good at this small talk thing. That’s two appropriate responses in a row.

He agrees, but admits he feels torn because he knows they still need the money, and he doesn’t want his son to be under any more stress having almost just died.

“What do you mean he almost just died?”

Apparently he had to go into the hospital for a sphincterechtomy. He had a fistula that wouldn’t close, and so they needed to go in and snip the muscle wall so that it would stop spasming, and hopefully that would then give the wound a chance to heal. But they screwed up when they closed him up, and he got an infection that almost killed him.

“Is he alright now?”

He’s fine now, but the last thing he needed, when he’s barely back on his feet, was to get hit with this whole nightmare about the kids.

“You mean your grandkids?” Exactly!

Seems the wife took the kids to her cousins so she could spend more time at the hospital while he’s recovering. Well, the cousin takes the kids to her ex-mother-in-laws place in the country, and one thing led to another, and now the police are involved investigating accusations about some inappropriate stuff.

“That’s awful!” It’s the best I can do. I don’t even know where to come in on this story anymore. I can barely keep up.

“Then wouldn’t you know, they drag me into it.” He laughs bitterly.

Evidently when the cops are questioning the little girl she says something about him touching her pee pee. He has no idea what this is even about. Maybe one time when he’s playing with her, his hand accidentally brushes her there or as she’s wriggling around she brushes him. You know, these things happen.

I’m starting to feel like Woody Allen driving with Christopher Walken in Annie Hall. Lesson learned: never take off the headphones.

We pull up in front of the hotel.

“Boy, this is out in the middle of nowhere,” he says echoing my thoughts exactly.

I’ve heard so many glowing stories about Austin: the fabulous river walk, the really hip music scene, and the great nightlife. I’ve been here several times on business, and never seen any of it. I get to stay in places like this:

With that little pale moon, and the ominous clouds it reminds of a southwestern version of the Bates Motel.

The guy at the reservations desk is really nice (but then so was Tony Perkins.) He checks me in, and hands me the little paper slipcase with my electronic key card, and tells me I’m in room 321, the top floor. I get on the elevator, and go to push the button. Here’s what I see:

I’m not superstitious, but having my floor blacked out feels troubling to me, especially after the cab ride. I get to my room. It’s nice, normal. The free Wi-Fi works. Yay! I look out my window. There’s an empty parking lot backing up onto a large overgrown field. I hear what I can only imagine to be a coyote howl. A large, round tumbleweed blows across the parking lot. It’s like I’m staying at a slightly sinister Texas theme park.

I’m starving (haven’t eaten since 10:30 this morning), and call down to the front desk. They don’t have food at the hotel, but just across the road there’s a little mall with a very good Vietnamese place. As I approach the restaurant I notice there’s a rather large cautionary sign stuck inside the front window:

I can’t read it at first, but given it’s an eating establishment I imagine it says something like “no smoking,” or “no shoes, no shirt, no service,” but that is incorrect. I am in Texas, and in Texas they have other concerns. Here’s what you need to worry about when you want to grab a bite in this part of the country:

Just as I’m about to go into my little internal rant about Texas, and guns, and how this would never happen in the civilized world (meaning the Bay Area) I remember a sound bite I heard on the radio driving to the airport.

The San Francisco board of supervisors was passing an ordinance to close a loophole in an ordinance they passed last year banning the open carry of pistols and revolvers in public. Since the measure only specified pistols and revolvers the feisty fourth amendment crowd had taken to walking into their local Starbucks with shotguns, hunting rifles, and assault weapons (unloaded of course.) It seems the police, and many of their fellow latte sippers had no way of knowing if they were really unloaded, which made them a tad nervous: Hence the new ordinance.

I walk in, sit down, and immediately the owner comes over, tosses a one-page menu sheathed in clear plastic on the table, and in almost incomprehensible English asks me if I’m ready to order. I say no that I need to look at the menu first, and he walks away quickly, which makes it seem like he is irritated with me. The menu is a little confusing. When I try to order he asks me questions that I don’t really understand through the thick accent. I smile and nod. He takes my order, and leaves. I feel relieved. I wish I had my headphones. My great insight from my world travels: it’s weird everywhere.