My new friends Grey and Marta graciously offered to pick me up at 3:30 am to drive me to the airport, and I definitely owe them. I had a nice ride to the Columbia airport, which, despite its small size, is clean and efficient. The first flight went to Atlanta where I had a layover for a few hours, then I flew to Albany, NY.
Atlanta being Atlanta, their airport certainly had some...interesting people. While riding the escalator, I saw a young kid--he had to be no older than 20 or 21--wearing a sweatshirt that read "Virginity Rocks." I stared at him, thinking at first that SURELY his shirt really read "Virginia Rocks"--I could understand that shirt--but no, it did indeed read "Virginity Rocks." He was riding the escalator on the opposite side of me, and I know he saw my face when he rode past me. Let's just hope my sleep-deprived face did not reveal too baldly what I was thinking (that's probably a wasted hope, though).
I did look this up, certain the kid must be part of some kind of Christian fundamentalist group, but apparently there is a whole line of merchandise from some Youtube star I've never heard of, Danny Duncan. Evidently, he makes prank videos that have "gone viral," then decided to make a line of clothing with "Virginity Rocks" in order to send a "positive" message. Seriously! You can't make this shit up! This dude has a whole website devoted to this stuff, and he's even going on tour. Considering he's neither a stand-up comedian nor a musician, I have no idea what this tour will entail. And I'm assuming the "69" part of his web address is meant to be some kind of crude joke, but I don't get it. I don't even try to pretend to be "down with the kids" these days, and I can't even imagine people wearing a "Virginity Rocks" shirt when I was in college. But, hey, if escalator boy wants to ensure a prank video guy gets rich by wearing clothes that scream to the world he's a virgin, who am I to judge?
Anyway, once I flew out of my nice, clean South, I entered Albany's airport--where the people are rude and smell bad, and there's garbage on every corner. There was this nasty brown carpet all over their airport, but they did have classical music playing very loudly over their speakers. (Atlanta had the kind of tinkle music I associate with medication time in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, which did not fill me with confidence in the flight.)
I rode the city bus to a Chili's, which was an adventure, too. A man with one hell of a thick New York accent rode with me. He was probably about my dad's age, but had a huge earring and a giant lump protruding from the back of his baseball cap that could only be a man-bun. He looked like he'd been rolling dirt, but he was pleasant enough--although my conversation with him was the first indication that I wasn't in South Carolina any more, Toto.
He asked me, "So, you from here or you just gettin' in?"
"I'm just getting in," I said, and before I could say anything else, he continued talking.
"Yeah," he said, "this place is a shit hole. I mean, a shit hole. There's garbage all over the place--I never seen so much garbage in my life. I mean, it's a shit hole."
He continued elaborating on the "shit hole"-ness of Albany, and I listened, more intrigued by how he spoke to me than the said shit hole details. I can't speak for other regions, but in the South, I would not expect a guy to just start using an expression like "shit hole" with me during the first conversation. I like to cuss as much as anyone, but I certainly don't talk like that as soon as I exchange pleasantries. The man was friendly, though, and it turns out he wasn't wrong about the dirtiness, which I'll get to momentarily.
Once I got to Chili's, I ate a massive hamburger. It was so greasy, but I was hungry. The bun was way too little or the patty was way too wide; I'm not sure which.
The upside was I got to watch Wimbledon, specifically, the mixed doubles match in which Serena Williams and Andy Murray played together--and won!
From there, I took Lyft to the Albany bus station, which was a study in dirtiness. Look at the debris all over the road; the man on the bus was indeed correct.
Eventually, my bus arrived, which entailed a scenic ride through the Berkshires. I listened to the Hamilton soundtrack--the man did live in Albany--while riding through the lush countryside. Truly, this ride was the most satisfying part of the journey. The bus was clean and comfortable, the view was lovely, and the bus driver was all business. When I arrived in Lenox, I felt excited and happy, so I decided to return to their gorgeous public library.
The cell service here is sometimes spotty, and I had a mini-freak out when I could not reach Uber or Lyft. Thankfully, the request eventually went through, and I arrived at my hotel.
Whoever designed the website for the Seven Hills Inn is a genius in advertising. Look at that website! They made the inn look like the most glorious, regal hotel in the world--as if it were a Biltmore of the North.
Well, reality has a way of biting you in the ass. This hotel is nice, but don't think for a moment that this is in any way a world class resort. My hotel room was described as a Queen's suite with a "deep-soaking" tub. Ahem, let's look at that tub:
Not exactly the magnificent hot tub I was expecting. The room is quite small, and there is no refrigerator or microwave. Clearly, they expect you to spend as much money as possible. The view is great, though.
Clearly, after running on only two hours of sleep, I needed something more substantial than a cheese and hummus plate. So, after searching and searching and searching and searching online, I FINALLY found somewhere that would deliver: Papa John's Pizza.
I called and ordered myself a medium pizza, and I gave them my address. The pizza guy promised me he would be there in 30-35 minutes. When almost an hour had passed, I got a call asking me if I was in Pittsfield or Lenox. When I said Lenox, the pizza guy said he went to the wrong town. About 40 minutes later, I finally got my pizza...and I saw that, although I had ordered a medium and the guy on the phone had said I was getting a medium, the dumb asses had apparently made me and charged me for a large! I no longer had the strength to complain, even though my pizza was...warm-ish.
The final indignity came this morning when I began writing this post. I got a text from my bank saying my freaking debit card had to be cancelled because someone evil had decided to compromise the hell out of it. It's straightened out now (I'll spare you the details), but suffice it to say this trip can only go up from here.
As I said, this journey has been a morass of bullshit, but it's certainly been a test of my strength and creativity. I'll end this post with one of my favorite Hamilton songs and one that captures how I feel right now: "Ten Duel Commandments." Oh, if it were only the 1790's...
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