Guinea pigs in strollers, lotsa beer, small wee-wee's, and a severe lack of cheese in La Crosse, WI.
Oh, Wisconsin. What would my travel stories be without Wisconsin? I would have two, now three, less grandiose adventures to write you about. I wouldn't have met all the kind-hearted Wisconsin folk. I would have less cheese in my system.
Yet again I got the privilege of traveling onto the set of Star Trek, where I walked through my tunnel of swirly luminescent colors in the Minneapolis airport. Again. Rolling my eyes and laughing, I indulged the interior designers. I was really shocked when I saw propellers on the plane I was going to be inside on my way to La Crosse. (Customs agent: "Do they play lacrosse in La Crosse?" Me in my head: Huh huh huh real funny.) I landed, and the airport was a carbon copy of the airport in Myrtle Beach. One baggage claim, one escalator, one place to check-in. Suffice it to say, I did not get lost. I went outside and sat on the sidewalk and sunbathed and waited for my shuttle to arrive.
The kid-chauffer, an almost senior physics major, gave me a brief overview of La Crosse from the van. Bluffs, island, Mississippi, 80,000, swim on beach. Is pretty much all I heard. The hotel was gorgeous. I never swam in the pool or used the gym - there wasn't enough time. The first night there I ventured downtown and while I was eating a local Mediterranean restaurant, a woman passed by with a stroller, and inside, sat a guinea pig in a cardboard box. "He needs to go for walks," she explained.
Long pause.
"And he doesn't jump out?"
She smiles. "No, he's afraid of heights".
…………………….Oooooooooookay. If my trip was going to be filled with trippy Star Trek tunnels and guinea pigs in strollers, I kind of wanted to leave ASAP. However, I found a cute little 1930's style ice cream parlor called "The Pearl", and was relieved of weirdness. (However, cappichino oreo is kind of weird, huh?) I took my ice cream and ate it while looking at the sunset over the Mississippi.
I'm going to swim in you tomorrow… I told it.
That's right. This far north, you can actually swim in the Mississippi. It's river swimming, but it's definitely clean enough to not have to worry about growing a third arm.
I even saw this oh-so-appropriate Tom Sawyer-esque steam boat. I felt like stripping down to my underwear, diving in, and trying to find a black guy to save from slavery.
I did this before I had to meet my client outside for a dinner and sightseeing date. She was such a nice person, so nice to offer to take me around town, and I gratefully accepted. We took her 7 year old adopted Indian daughter out to Red Lobster, which I didn't mind, because it was her favourite restaurant ever.
She clawed those little crab legs open like there was an unlimited supply of Barbie dolls inside. We went up to this place called Grandad's Bluff (they're bluffs, not mountains, but were somehow carved out by the Mississippi years ago) where you could actually see three states at one time.
Then, for my beer drinking readers, I just had to take a picture of this:
That's right. Your eyes do not deceive you. That is the worlds largest six pack. (Six pack of beer for my horny female readers (and I can think of one in particular whose name begins with a B.) Enough to feed a man one six pack a day for 3,351 years. Stop drooling. Beer is gross.
That's a great picture, huh? Small 7 year old in front of a sign that brags about large amounts of beer. And she looks so content that she's standing in front of this large amount of beer. I am going to be such a horrible mother because I think this is funny.
After we stopped at Gracie's house, and I had to cover my eyes several times as she dragged me around by my hand in her backyard and her room, and after I was force-fed some popcorn from "the biggest bad of leftover popcorn in the world," I got a ride back near my hotel, Gracie took a picture of one more sunset,
And I took a picture of some ugly eyesore given to La Crosse by a city in France (definitely not of the Statue of Liberty caliber… maybe they think we're all Indians over here that cross their arms and say "How"?)…
There was also a big fuss in the town about a statue with a bit too much of his wee-wee showing. We kinda saw that, and one older woman wasn't impressed and compred it to a peanut.
And one picture I couldn't refuse to take when it was waaay past my bedtime:
And my tour of La Crosse had ended. The next morning I had awesome blue granola pancakes that got me in a happy mood, and I continued my next day of training with a great group that picked up on everything so fast. We even had sort of a competition at the end that reminded me of some kind of game show. The group was split up in teams, and each team was trying to stump the other team. They would whisper questions to ask and see if our product would answer or not based on what the other team had entered. For the question, "Are there banks on campus?" the admissions team, after much whispering debate, decided on the following question and voiced it with the utmost confidence: "Where can I get some bling?" I felt like Alex Trebek when I had to offer an apologetic, "Ooh, I'm sorry," to the other team.
Before I left to go back to Toronto today, the sponsor hugged me at the airport. IT was not only something that felt very comforting on my travels, but something that assured me that what I'm actually doing is helping people, and I'm not some bigwig panty-hosed corporate executive with a stick up her ass. I can hug my clients. And it felt completely natural.
As does Wisconsin now.
Yet again I got the privilege of traveling onto the set of Star Trek, where I walked through my tunnel of swirly luminescent colors in the Minneapolis airport. Again. Rolling my eyes and laughing, I indulged the interior designers. I was really shocked when I saw propellers on the plane I was going to be inside on my way to La Crosse. (Customs agent: "Do they play lacrosse in La Crosse?" Me in my head: Huh huh huh real funny.) I landed, and the airport was a carbon copy of the airport in Myrtle Beach. One baggage claim, one escalator, one place to check-in. Suffice it to say, I did not get lost. I went outside and sat on the sidewalk and sunbathed and waited for my shuttle to arrive.
The kid-chauffer, an almost senior physics major, gave me a brief overview of La Crosse from the van. Bluffs, island, Mississippi, 80,000, swim on beach. Is pretty much all I heard. The hotel was gorgeous. I never swam in the pool or used the gym - there wasn't enough time. The first night there I ventured downtown and while I was eating a local Mediterranean restaurant, a woman passed by with a stroller, and inside, sat a guinea pig in a cardboard box. "He needs to go for walks," she explained.
Long pause.
"And he doesn't jump out?"
She smiles. "No, he's afraid of heights".
…………………….Oooooooooookay. If my trip was going to be filled with trippy Star Trek tunnels and guinea pigs in strollers, I kind of wanted to leave ASAP. However, I found a cute little 1930's style ice cream parlor called "The Pearl", and was relieved of weirdness. (However, cappichino oreo is kind of weird, huh?) I took my ice cream and ate it while looking at the sunset over the Mississippi.
I'm going to swim in you tomorrow… I told it.
That's right. This far north, you can actually swim in the Mississippi. It's river swimming, but it's definitely clean enough to not have to worry about growing a third arm.
I even saw this oh-so-appropriate Tom Sawyer-esque steam boat. I felt like stripping down to my underwear, diving in, and trying to find a black guy to save from slavery.
I did this before I had to meet my client outside for a dinner and sightseeing date. She was such a nice person, so nice to offer to take me around town, and I gratefully accepted. We took her 7 year old adopted Indian daughter out to Red Lobster, which I didn't mind, because it was her favourite restaurant ever.
She clawed those little crab legs open like there was an unlimited supply of Barbie dolls inside. We went up to this place called Grandad's Bluff (they're bluffs, not mountains, but were somehow carved out by the Mississippi years ago) where you could actually see three states at one time.
Then, for my beer drinking readers, I just had to take a picture of this:
That's right. Your eyes do not deceive you. That is the worlds largest six pack. (Six pack of beer for my horny female readers (and I can think of one in particular whose name begins with a B.) Enough to feed a man one six pack a day for 3,351 years. Stop drooling. Beer is gross.
That's a great picture, huh? Small 7 year old in front of a sign that brags about large amounts of beer. And she looks so content that she's standing in front of this large amount of beer. I am going to be such a horrible mother because I think this is funny.
After we stopped at Gracie's house, and I had to cover my eyes several times as she dragged me around by my hand in her backyard and her room, and after I was force-fed some popcorn from "the biggest bad of leftover popcorn in the world," I got a ride back near my hotel, Gracie took a picture of one more sunset,
And I took a picture of some ugly eyesore given to La Crosse by a city in France (definitely not of the Statue of Liberty caliber… maybe they think we're all Indians over here that cross their arms and say "How"?)…
There was also a big fuss in the town about a statue with a bit too much of his wee-wee showing. We kinda saw that, and one older woman wasn't impressed and compred it to a peanut.
And one picture I couldn't refuse to take when it was waaay past my bedtime:
And my tour of La Crosse had ended. The next morning I had awesome blue granola pancakes that got me in a happy mood, and I continued my next day of training with a great group that picked up on everything so fast. We even had sort of a competition at the end that reminded me of some kind of game show. The group was split up in teams, and each team was trying to stump the other team. They would whisper questions to ask and see if our product would answer or not based on what the other team had entered. For the question, "Are there banks on campus?" the admissions team, after much whispering debate, decided on the following question and voiced it with the utmost confidence: "Where can I get some bling?" I felt like Alex Trebek when I had to offer an apologetic, "Ooh, I'm sorry," to the other team.
Before I left to go back to Toronto today, the sponsor hugged me at the airport. IT was not only something that felt very comforting on my travels, but something that assured me that what I'm actually doing is helping people, and I'm not some bigwig panty-hosed corporate executive with a stick up her ass. I can hug my clients. And it felt completely natural.
As does Wisconsin now.