moar storeez
Covington, Tennessee. 04/11/08 and 04/12/08.
Visiting my cousin, Andrew, and his father, Sean. Now, I was in Kentucky before it occurred to me that Sean, who I haven't seen since I was maybe nine and of whom I have 0.01 memories of, might be a bigot. But it was too late to worry about it at that point, and Andrew hadn't said anything, and I knew Mo could take care of himself. So I kept my mouth shut.
Well!
I suppose when I told Andrew Moses was "dark" he translated that as "black", because when we walked through the door, tired and dirty from having traveled FOREVER, the first thing my erstwhile "uncle" said to us was, "Whoa, you have to be a lot darker than that to pass for black around here! Go on over to the neighbor's house, now THEY are black. But they're doctors."
Other memorable quotes included Sean asking me, "Do you want a Scot....oh wait, you're a woman," then turning to Moses (who doesn't drink) and asking, "Do you want a Scotch on the rocks?" Over the dinner table he told Mo, "Don't worry, we bought the chicken before we knew you were black". And when he found out our travel plans, he offered us a handgun and some ammunition. We chuckled at his joke, but he was serious. Something about, "You know how Memphis is." I didn't, so I asked Moses later. His answer? "Black."
Hammond, Louisiana. 04/12/08 and 04/13/08.
In the bayou, no one can hear you scream. That's how it felt when we got "lost" between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. We had just blown through Mississippi in one go, and it was time to make camp. Except we couldn't find the campsite. And all the gas stations we found were closed. And us two rural Vermont kids were scared shitless of rural Louisiana. It was around 2am - maybe later - and we had been driving on this nowhere country road for miles and miles. We "knew" where we were on the map, but it was doing us little to no good. I reminded myself of my #1 Travel Rule (everywhere is somebody's hometown), but the somebodies I was conjuring up in my mind at 2am were shotgun-wielding, toothless, inbred, cannibalistic rednecks, raping me while Mo turned on a spit over a fire. Do I think this would really happen? Of course not. But you drive all the way through Mississippi - the long way - and have rational thoughts while lost in the bayou. Especially after two "lawn statues" turn out to be dogs that proceeded to violently attack the car. On a more logical note, I realized that there were animals down there that I had no idea how to deal with (alligators, etc.), and that we were in direct violation of two travel rules given to us by both my boyfriend and my parents (who all know the area quite well):
1. Stay north of Route 10.
2. If something feels wrong, get out.
So Mo and I are freaking out, and finally find Route 10 and bang for Baton Rouge. At this point we have no intention of pitching a tent anywhere in Louisiana ever. We find a La Quinta that was "fully booked" as soon as the angry white receptionist lady saw Mo. The Motel 6 was similarly plagued by a white night manager, but they were "undergoing renovations". I said, "I don't wanna be a douche, but we gotta find a place with a black person behind the desk." And sure enough, a nice lady named Deborah at the Best Western didn't look at Mo twice. She even called us after 30 minutes to make sure we'd found our room okay. I wrote her manager an e-mail about her. I hope she gets a raise, promotion, and all-expenses-paid vacation in Maui.
Visiting my cousin, Andrew, and his father, Sean. Now, I was in Kentucky before it occurred to me that Sean, who I haven't seen since I was maybe nine and of whom I have 0.01 memories of, might be a bigot. But it was too late to worry about it at that point, and Andrew hadn't said anything, and I knew Mo could take care of himself. So I kept my mouth shut.
Well!
I suppose when I told Andrew Moses was "dark" he translated that as "black", because when we walked through the door, tired and dirty from having traveled FOREVER, the first thing my erstwhile "uncle" said to us was, "Whoa, you have to be a lot darker than that to pass for black around here! Go on over to the neighbor's house, now THEY are black. But they're doctors."
Other memorable quotes included Sean asking me, "Do you want a Scot....oh wait, you're a woman," then turning to Moses (who doesn't drink) and asking, "Do you want a Scotch on the rocks?" Over the dinner table he told Mo, "Don't worry, we bought the chicken before we knew you were black". And when he found out our travel plans, he offered us a handgun and some ammunition. We chuckled at his joke, but he was serious. Something about, "You know how Memphis is." I didn't, so I asked Moses later. His answer? "Black."
Hammond, Louisiana. 04/12/08 and 04/13/08.
In the bayou, no one can hear you scream. That's how it felt when we got "lost" between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. We had just blown through Mississippi in one go, and it was time to make camp. Except we couldn't find the campsite. And all the gas stations we found were closed. And us two rural Vermont kids were scared shitless of rural Louisiana. It was around 2am - maybe later - and we had been driving on this nowhere country road for miles and miles. We "knew" where we were on the map, but it was doing us little to no good. I reminded myself of my #1 Travel Rule (everywhere is somebody's hometown), but the somebodies I was conjuring up in my mind at 2am were shotgun-wielding, toothless, inbred, cannibalistic rednecks, raping me while Mo turned on a spit over a fire. Do I think this would really happen? Of course not. But you drive all the way through Mississippi - the long way - and have rational thoughts while lost in the bayou. Especially after two "lawn statues" turn out to be dogs that proceeded to violently attack the car. On a more logical note, I realized that there were animals down there that I had no idea how to deal with (alligators, etc.), and that we were in direct violation of two travel rules given to us by both my boyfriend and my parents (who all know the area quite well):
1. Stay north of Route 10.
2. If something feels wrong, get out.
So Mo and I are freaking out, and finally find Route 10 and bang for Baton Rouge. At this point we have no intention of pitching a tent anywhere in Louisiana ever. We find a La Quinta that was "fully booked" as soon as the angry white receptionist lady saw Mo. The Motel 6 was similarly plagued by a white night manager, but they were "undergoing renovations". I said, "I don't wanna be a douche, but we gotta find a place with a black person behind the desk." And sure enough, a nice lady named Deborah at the Best Western didn't look at Mo twice. She even called us after 30 minutes to make sure we'd found our room okay. I wrote her manager an e-mail about her. I hope she gets a raise, promotion, and all-expenses-paid vacation in Maui.