Hills Like White Elephants

My training presentation today went pretty well, except nobody was laughing much at my jokes. Perhaps I should have tried a song.

Our new district coordinator may not last long, I thought at first. She doesn't like Laredo. This is putting it mildly. She was shocked that my coworker and I are staying downtown, where she would never, never, never set foot.

And I have to admit she has a point. There's a "variety store" in Cropwell, Alabama, where my grandparents live. It's called the Pink Store, for reasons which would be fairly obvious if you ever saw it. The merchandise covers pretty much everything from hideous, pastel-colored weeping resin Jesuses to Kewpie dolls to can openers to electronic goods of dubious provenance to knock-off designer labels to baseball caps to animated fish that sing songs you wish you'd never heard of. Everything is covered by a very fine layer of dust, and the whole place smells like it hasn't been aired out properly since about 1973.

Got the image? Okay, now imagine that store as occupying every single retail space in twelve city blocks, completely thronged by people who are practically climbing over each other to buy it. There were some incredibly cute shoes, actually, but none of them in wide widths.

I dragged my coworker out to stroll and shop with me in hopes of finding some unique treasure, some special handcrafted item to pick up and take back to the office with me. But I realized after about fifteen minutes that if I wanted a true souvenir to bring home and remind me of what Laredo is really like, it would be more along the lines of a big bright green plastic frog squatting in fake grass with "Welcome" stamped inexplicably across its nether regions.

Undaunted, I dragged my coworker back to the hotel and asked the bellhop where we could do some "authentic" shopping. My heart actually fell when he immediately produced a handful of slick brochures; but what can you do? Within twenty minutes we were in a warehouse building with a sign labeling it "Art by God" featuring dozens of dead stuffed mounted animals and a small poster reading, "If children are exposed to Nature, they will learn to love it." Well, or blow its fucking brains out. I guess for some people, that is love.

The most horrifying thing in that shop was a gigantic trophy - the forequarters of an African elephant with magnificent tusks, priced at $17,500. We left very quickly. I felt sick.

So I understand our new district coordinator's aversion to her adopted hometown. "I hate Laredo," she confided after the afternoon training session, as we were preparing to leave for the day. "It's so nice to have friendly people come visit. You all seem so nice."

"I felt that way about being in Corpus for two years," I said. "It's so hard to live somewhere you don't feel like you belong."

"It really is," she agreed, almost wringing her hands. "People here are not very nice. I don't really know anyone. I never get out at all."

"How long have you lived here?" I asked.

"Sixteen years," she said.

It's three margaritas later and I could kind of go back down to the lobby for another. It's been a rough, weird day. I miss you all. See you Thursday.