Here are what I consider the "funny bits" from my Journal of my 3 months work in America in 1997.
[On American diet]
You can be sure of one thing here; you can always get access to sugar in one form or another. You can't get a drink of water at 10:45 at night, but you can a selection of about 68 different candy bars and ice cream. Hmmmm.... Same thing goes for breakfast..
"More syrup with your fried lard?" Thanks. "Or how about a chocolate glazed, chocolate filled chocolate donut this morning?". That's alright, I'll just stick to a bowl of turkey grease with my hot chocolate that stays in the cup when you turn it upside down.
My parents were expecting me to have a bit of a twang to my accent on my arrival back in England, they'll probably be a bit disappointed. John Ryall, British Camp Driver for many years, has been living in the US, married to an American girl, for about 5 years now. He's just at the phase of sounding Australian that all immigrants from Britain seem to got through before becoming totally Americanized. Although I do find myself using phrases like "parking lot" with alarming regularity. One that I didn't catch onto quickly was "yawall set" (you're all set), which means "done, finished, you can go now". When I first encountered "yawall set", I stood there, momentarily puzzled, wondering, perhaps, if I had turned into a jelly.
The American phone system: I'd been led to believe it was one of the best in the world. Yeah, the Third World! Anything more than a local call is an expensive nightmare. Want to call the UK from a payphone? "Please deposit $7 for the first 3 minutes". So, bearing in mind that a quarter is the largest coin denomination, that's 28 coins. So a calling card is the only way to go. Which means pressing a minimum of 38 digits. For example, to call a typical number in the UK requires:
1-800-423-8129-29430-52317-1-1-011-44-118-921-6840. Bad news if the number's engaged!
And if something goes wrong, which it frequently does, the operator is usually Hispanic or Mexican, dimmer than a switched off lightbulb, and rude if the question involves any thought process. And if they don't know the answer, they just hang up. Alternatively, if, as is likely, you get through to a menu driven system, you usually have the following options:
"If you'd like to hold for 20 minutes and then be disconnected, press 1. If you'd like to be disconnected now, press 2. Please make your choice now". Bah!
One thing they have got right is the cars. It's not surprising that public transport is not so popular, especially in the more rural areas, although of course land layouts and demographics account largely for this. The cars are so big and comfortable. Armrests, cup holders, coin holders, pen holders, air-conditioning, ABS brakes, cruise control power windows, power mirrors, auto gearbox...just about everything to keep you from staying awake at 65 mph, which seems to be the speed limit. (Except in Montana, where they just don't have a speed limit. But no-one lives there anyway).
The police farce [sic] is a law unto itself. If a citizen wishes to cut his hedge, you can usually guarantee at least 15 cop cars and a pack of sniffer dogs to wave the traffic by. It's not unusual to see 5 or 6 speed traps a day on travels around this part of New England. Which means that a radar detector is almost mandatory, and at $29 dollars, I invested too. They have "catch you out" speed limits, where a wide open road will have a limit change from 55 to 25 for a few hundred yards, and you can bet there's a speed trap just around the corner. The police developed a radar detector detector. So the radar detector manufactures developed an anti-radar detector detector. But the police now use pulse radar, where they only zap a car they think is speeding. I myself have been caught out, but I was let off, because I work for Greylock, and so do most of the chiefs of police for this area! Incidentally, speeding tickets are the main source of revenue for the police, if that helps you comprehend.
Two of the kids at the camp are cool; both ten years old, and look like sweet innocent little angels. They were heading back to LA, and we were discussing the riots of 4 years ago. Not only were they fully aware of the whole situation, but came out with little gems like...
"I think the police think they can get away with it. I mean, King didn't deserve that beating. But they don't give a flying fuck what happens. They suck like a cheap whore...badly!" That was quoted verbatim. Bearing in mind these were pre-pubescents with un-broken voices, it was a moment that I wish I could have captured on tape. But they said I was "real neat! The best!", and so, with happy heart and full fuel tank, I turned around, and proceeded to sit in the Boston traffic for 2 and a half hours.....
American mechanical engineering seems to be built big, ugly, and purely functional. Which is also how they seem to build their middle aged women. But impressive as well. I sat at a railroad crossing, and decided to count the goods wagons on the passing train. 97 wagons pulled by four locomotives took 2 minutes and 35 seconds to pass. Oh dear...I hope I'm not turning into a trainspotter!
Well, I guess I'm down to making random observations now, like "why do they pronounce Nissan knee-son, or Honda Honday?". Also have anomalies like being able to do a right turn against a red light, except in New York City, where pedestrians get a "Walk" sign, at the same time as the crossing traffic gets a green signal.
[After having left the camp....]
That afternoon, I decided to walk the mile to the movies. Not pedestrian friendly at all, I spend most of my time teetering on the edge of the highway, being buffeted by fat old men and their fat grumbling wives, driving 96' long 8000 HP Winnebago monstrosities. Eeek!
[on the Amtrak train]
I tried to sleep but the coach was quite noisy, and it was very bright outside. And boring. I sampled the radio every now and then when I'd tired of watching endless trucks rumble by. Country music, or a preacher, usually called Jim, suggesting that you walk the path of righteousness with him, by taking advantage of his free video. Oh... and a mandatory minimum donation of $56. Plus handling. Praise the lord for credit cards!!!
Just as our nerves were fraying, we finally caught site of the Rockies in the distance. Before long, we were back in Denver, and having wangled a taxi to the airport from Amtrak, I went and collected the rental car. Upon arrival, I was asked if I'd mind taking a full-size, instead of a compact, at no extra charge. Oh...no thanks, I think I'll just stick with the Nissan Micra. Duh!
I oozed out of the car park in the 3 litre V6 Ford Taurus, and met up with Tanya, Deirdre and David at the La Quinta Motel, where they'd been playing Nintendo, whenceupon, we hit the town. We were in luck as it was the town event week, so we watched some bands, and went for a meal. At this point, I observed that there seemed to be a large number of gentlemen sporting moustaches, and funny leather caps and chains, and mincing a lot. And then our waiter asked us what entertainment we were seeking... "Gay bar, Sir?". We continued to strut in a heterosexual way along the sidewalk, glad of the female company, and found our way to a bar where some funky jazzmen were doing a jam session, after which we decided to take a drive around Denver, and get lost for 66 miles.
[Back in England]
A brief wait for baggage, and then I was on the next Railair Link home. It was so nice to see drizzle, and to be called "mate", and to be on the correct side of the road. So nice to be back on trains that run almost to time, and manage to stay on the rails (although a nasty incident near Southall involving a gods train the next day slightly took the edge off that one...). And to drink proper tea. And eat baked beans. And have paper money with different sizes for each denomination. And... oh well. There's a lot of reasons why I prefer England to America.
And will I go back?
Jonathan Horniblow 1998