Bob the Wal*mart employee- A character sketch

I generally find that Wal-mart employees* fit into one of three categories. First, there's Polite-Smile, who is friendly in a detached sort of way and who smiles big while serving you, only to let their face slide back into a blank stare the moment you turn away. Then there's Blatantly-Irritated, the employee that doesn't even hide the fact that they hate you and would rather shove bamboo shoots up their fingernails than help you find a new microwave. Finally, there Just-Plain-Crazy, the type that looks at you with large, bloodshot eyes before hightailing it in the opposite direction. If I worked at Wal-mart, I would probably be the last one.
As I was sitting in Wallie World for four hours today, waiting for my tires to be changed, I had the chance to meet an odd fellow that didn't really fit into any of my previously noted categories. I will call him Bob (I don't really think Bob would read my blog, but you never really know. Heck, for all I know, we could be facebook friends... )
I was sitting on a bench in the tire section, staring into the distance, thinking profound thoughts (probably about which Harry Potter movie is the best) when I was suddenly pulled from my reverie by a high-pitched peal of nervous giggling. I had never heard such a noise before and quickly scanned the aisles for the source. That's when I noticed Bob. With a profound resemblance to a hobbit, Bob boasts about five feet of height, a rotund belly and hairy arms. Everything about him screams "uncontained!" from his wild, unkempt hair, his hyper gait and a speaking voice most akin to a nervous scream.
Bob loved to chat. He chatted with me about the book I was reading. He chatted with the rather stern-looking gentleman about why Ritz crackers are better than Saltines in Oyster stew. And he chatted with the teenage gal with the "I <3 Italia" sweatshirt about why she should love Sicilians instead. (A particularly long conversation that made everyone, including her humongous boyfriend, feel a little uncomfortable.)
I'll admit it- Bob made me nervous with his unconventional social skills. But he also made for a delightful conversation counterpart, was a dedicated and friendly employee, and he livened up my waiting time immensely. So, cheers to Bob.


*This post is in no way meant as a critique of Wal-mart employees. I think that anybody working at such a stressful job would exhibit similar traits. Thank you for all your hard work and your low, low prices.

And the personality award goes to ...

... the small stores of Chester, California.

One of the things that always strikes me about small towns like Chester is the lack of the corporate. No Wal-mart, Kinko's, Starbucks or Wendy's brandished its cloned presence in this small haven. In fact, the only mainstream name I saw was Subway, and the shop was closed down.

Now, I am not a total hater of the corporate chain. I so sympathize with the mom and pop stores that get closed down when these corporate behemoth's roll into town. But my greatest commodity is time and these places are just so convenient.

Anyway, I loved driving through Chester because of the creative store names. The pics below represent my favorites of this edition of "tHE pERSOnaLITy aWarD."

Surviving the most boring drive of all time (Sights to see en route from Provo to Reno)

"I am so bored, I could just die!"
Anyone who has driven along Interstate 80 between Salt Lake City, Utah and Reno, NV knows how true this phrase can be. The drive is long, straight, toasty and uninterrupted by interesting scenery. It would be all too easy to let those heavy, drooping eyelids close, which isn't usually a good idea when traveling at 75-84 miles per hour. The trail is peppered with little crosses, a testament of how important it is to have something to look for, to keep your attention focused.
Keeping this in mind the last time I braved the boring journey, I decided to capture images of the landmarks I look for along the way. I also dug up some fun history facts, to have a better idea of what I was looking for. So, the next time you have to make the sojourn, take a gander at these fun and historical landmarks. And don't forget- keep those eyes open.

The Hills ARE Alive

After making one last pit stop in Salt Lake City to gas up, run to the lou (a.k.a. British speak for restroom) and buy an overpriced bag of beef jerky, the eager traveler sets out along I-80, not anticipating a very exciting journey. If this traveler spends too much time peering at the last traces of civilization in the rearview mirror, they might miss an amusing sight- the hills are peering back too. Several little hills have faces built into them. If you can find this hill to the right, there is a set of eyes dangling in two little caves. I have counted at least three faces along the journey- see if you can find more than me!

p.s. If you decide to take a picture of these small landmarks, I would recommend either bringing a friend or pulling over. Let's just say that doing it while driving could potentially defeat our goal of not suffering a fiery demise.

Saltair III: The Bathhouse

A matter of 14 miles brings our intrepid traveler to the briny edges of the Great Salt Lake. The lake stretches for miles of uninterrupted monotony, a rather dreary sight to see. But after a few twists and turns of the road, a strange shape begins to form in the distance, hovering on the edge of the lake. As the windy path draws closer, a large, Moorish-style building begins to take shape, its ornate domes and arches out of place on the ascetic landscape. All too soon, the road curves away, leaving the traveler to wonder, "what on earth was that?"

"That" is Saltair III, a shadow of a once-glorious resort. The original Saltair opened in 1893, according to the Center for Land Use Interpretation. The resort grew to include a roller coaster, a 1,000-seat cafe and even boasted having the world's largest dance floor. A stairway led guests to the water level, where they would try to sink in the salty brine of the lake.
The resort met its demise in 1926 when the building was destroyed by a fire. Although many tried to restore the edifice to its glory days, a series of unfortunate disasters always left the resort a shade of its former self.
"Saltair III," located a few miles west of the original site, offers a large rental space for events, and also a gift shop and snack bar for those intrepid visitors willing to make the stop.

Drowsy Drivers

Since 2006, Utah has averaged 32 deaths and 1,220 crashes each year from drowsy drivers, according to the Utah Department of Public Safety. To remind people of the risks involved with drowsy driving, the state of Utah put up a series of these signs to remind people to get the sleep they need before embarking on this long journey.






The following warning signs might signal the need for a cat nap or a change of drivers:

• Difficulty focusing, frequent blinking or heavy eyelids

• Daydreaming or wandering thoughts

• Trouble remembering the last few miles driven

• Yawning repeatedly or rubbing your eyes

• Trouble keeping your head up

• Drifting from your lane, tailgating, or hitting a shoulder rumble strip

• Feeling restless and irritable
(source: The Utah Department of Public Safety)

Leaving your mark

In my family, we have something of an absurd
tradition - one mention of anything Christmas related, and one member in particular will start singing carols, even up to six months early! If you have someone in your family that does that, you might want to make sure they are asleep for the next hour of the journey, because you are about to enter what appears to be a winter wonderland- the Bonneville Salt Flats.
Stretching for miles in white, salty goodness, the salt flats are almost perfectly flat. Travelers take the opportunity to leave their mark for everyone to see, hauling rocks from the side of the road to leave little messages or symbols in the salt. Word to the wise- the salt can do nasty things to the bottom of your car, so get a wash later. And, really low cars can get a stuck in the rainy/ snowy seasons.

Metaphor: The Tree of Utah
By this point in the journey, all the diet soda and water our traveler drank at the beginning is starting to make nature come a'calling, causing them to look eagerly into the distance for any semblance of a rest stop. Before one appears, however, a very different figure materializes on the side of the road. It looks like an alien tree, surrounded on the bottom by little slices of orange peels. Even upon closer inspection, it appears that martians are giving Aladdin and his palace a run for his money on strange desert architecture.

According to the Utah Travel Industry Web site, this abstract sculpture was in fact made my aliens ... but not the little green kind. Swedish artist Karl Momen furnished the 87-foot-high tree to spruce up the barren landscape of the salt flats with color and beauty. Working on the project from 1982-1986, Momen then donated the work to the state of Utah before returning to his native land.


The Bonneville Speedway
While the 75-mile-per-hour speed limit on I-80 might seem like a rushed pace, the speeds at the Bonneville Speedway make those numbers pale in comparison. The uniquely flat landscape has enabled speed junkies to break records since daredevil Teddy Tezlaff first set the unofficial record of 141.73 m.p.h in the year 1914, according to the Utah Travel Industry Web site. This straightaway provided the perfect course to break the 300, 400, 500 and 600 m.p.h. speed barriers.

Every year mid-August, petrol, diesel, and nitro heads gather to race and try to set new records at Speed Week. For more info, contact the Bureau of Land Management, Salt Lake District, 801.977.4300


Emmigrant markings















You've crossed the line
Ever wanted to be in two places at once? A quick drive down the main thoroughfare of Wendover will let you straddle the Utah/ Nevada state line. Careful if you run into the street to take a picture - from my experience, it would seem people here like to play chicken with pedestrians.














Wendover is a good city to stop in, because the restaurants and casinos have nicer bathrooms than you will find anywhere else along the way.


Winking Wendover Will
On the Western tip of Wendover's main road, a rakish, 64-foot-tall cowboy greets weary travelers on their way through town. The sheet-metal giant got his name from William Smith, a drifter who rolled into town in the mid-1920s, bought up several small establishments, and is credited with introducing round-the-clock business hours to the town, according to an 2006 article on the American Heritage Web site.

Smith erected Wendover Will in 1952, and Will winked at travelers and smoked his cigarette until Smith's property changed hands in 2002, and Will was resigned to spend an early retirement in storage. Members of the community, eager to have a city monument, refurbished the old cowboy and rededicated him on his current roosting ground west of the city in 2005.



All hail the heroes of World War I
Along a quiet stretch of road next to Wendover Will stands a little monument. If our traveler passes it by without a second glance, they would miss out on a historical treasure.

In the summer of 1921, three years after the end of the first World War, community members in Kansas met together and decided to build a monument, a road that would span the entire length of the country, honoring the fallen warriors of the war, according to The Museum of Northwest Colorado Web site.

The citizens of cities across the country made Victory Highway, or US-40, a reality. Monuments engraved with the names of those lost honored the fallen statewide, while engraved statues of bald eagles commemorated those lost in each county. At the crossroads of Wendover, an archway, a bald eagle statue, and various plaques teach about this road, as well as various other historical pathways that run through the area.

Westward ho!

In pioneer days, emigrants bound for California, Oregon and Utah shared the same route for hundreds of miles, resulting in the name the Oregon-California Trail. According to the Emigrant Trail West Web site, as many as 300,000 emigrants traversed these trails before the start of the Civil War.

My kingdom for an iPod
When our now-dusty traveler is about 35 miles out of the town of Wells, a static storm will take over the radio and the search for a clear channel will provo fruitile. Best to have an iPod hook up or book on tape at the ready for the next hour or so.

Tongue Twister
I am easily amused, as anyone who knows me will attest. Whenever I see this sign, I usually spend at least 10 minutes cheerfully trying out different ways to try to pronounce the name. In all my searching, I couldn't find a suitable definition for the word Pequop. There really isn't anything to see - and that's the point. The area is a wildlife conservancy, protecting the area's deer and other fauna from the effects of mining and excessive gaming.




Honey, grab the camera!

One roadsign in particular in near and dear to my heart, probably because it cracks me up everytime. "Deeth Starr Valley" has humored travelers for years, leading to such blog posts as "Deeth Starr Valley: Home of Dork Vader." To the creator of this humorous name: thanks for the laughs!













Not long after passing the above signs, our traveler begins to see less amusing ones, like "Prison Area: No Hitchhiking" and "Prison Area: Report shooting from freeway." Ironically, the state prison is located in Independence Valley. Either someone was saying "neener neener neener" to the prisoners, or this is just a classic case of middle-of-nowhere Nevada irony.


As Reno nears and Utah fades into a dusty memory, beautiful vistas like this one begins to fill up your windshield. Thus brings us to the end of our trail together. I would love to hear of any other spots you have found along the trail.

Happy trails.

Joe at the Laundromat

I met some lovely little mini-people in the park the other day. We had an in-depth conversation about the virtues of sparkly rocks and we discussed the best way to climb to the top of the boulder next to me. Although simple, it was probably the best conversation I had all day.

Happy 5th of May! Feliz Cinco de Mayo!
Being sick has its advantages. For example, it can take you out of your routine and put in the right place at the right time to meet some interesting characters. Take "joe" for instance. (His name is rabbit-eared because we didn't actually exchange names, but he totally looked like a joe) Anywho, I did laundry for my first time in the city at the laundromat on the corner today. I quickly remembered the joys of doing laundry in a quarter-starved, public laundromat: chill-axing to the lovely hum of driers, reading a good book and taking ample time for people-watching. As I sat down on a squeaky, blue chair to enjoy a borrowed copy of the book "Who moved my Cheese?" I noticed a hulkish man. Well, he was more of a mountain of flesh than a man. This guy was huge! His shoulders were as wide and muscular as the bronze bull's on Wall Street. With a noggin as bare as a bowling ball and tattoed arms the diameter of my legs, he appeared every inch the bad boy. Despite his menacing appearance, he sported a quizzical, lost expression on his face reminiscent of a little boy who has lost his mom at the grocery store. He was staring at a washing maching while his right arm hovered in the air, a single-use box of Tide clutched in his massive paw.

I asked if he were a body builder. He stood up real tall, flexed his mammoth arms and informed me of his six-time world champion status as a power builder. It might have made a really manly impression, were it not for the detergent box still hovering in his hand. I showed him how to operate the washing machine as he explained that it was his first time using a laundry machine ever. I thought I was a little behind the laundry game when I did my first load of laundry during my first week of college. I dyed all of my clothes different colors, then ended up spending about $10 a week doing a separate load for every single color. EVERY single color.

So what did I learn from Joe? I realized that it is never too late to learn how to do things. I could tell Joe was nervous and kind of embarassed about not knowing how to do laundry at his age. But he went for it and acquired a new skill. So, Joe inspired me to learn a particular skill many other has already learned at my age. Wish me luck on my attempt to acquire mad skills in ... well, I will let you know once I get it.

Springing into NYC

Today I met so many interesting people with stories to share with me as I played the part of the intrepid traveler.

As I waited for my the airline ticket taker to announce B 30-60 in the terminal of the Las VegasAirport, I decided to kill time by doing a little people watching. I soon noticed one woman in particular. Short, blonde, mid-50s and not inheritantly attention getting, what really caught my eye were her accessories. She had four massive, curved tubes tied together and slung over her shoulder, looking every part the huntress with a big mass of bows. I jokingly asked her if she was going to use the tubes to make a giant hula hoop ... turns out, I nailed it on the head. Even though she was in what many consider the autumn of life, she has decided to pick up the hobby of doing tricks with hula hoops. She learned the tricks and how to make her special hula hoop watching videos on YouTube. The tubes looked like they would make a heavy, huge hula hoop (when put together, the tubes would have made a hoop over four feet long). Even though she had the waistline of a 13-year-old girl on a liquid diet, the woman insisted that "the bigger and heavier the better!"
As my new friend described her new hobby, a smile with childlike joy extended across her face. It was refreshing to see someone not acting their age, for having the courage and curiosity to take up a new hobby. I'm so inspired, I think I will finally sign up for a hip hop class. What have you always wanted to do that you have been putting off?



As I waited for the rest of the passengers to file onto the plane in Chicago, I tried to curb my boredom by flipping peanuts in the air and catching them in my mouth. After getting the evil eye from the lady in from of me (a few of my peanuts might have gone astray), I decided people watching would be a safer pasttime. I noticed a particular young woman coming up the aisle. It wasn't just the bright-red-streaked hair, the nose ring, the hands full of exotic-looking silver jewelry or the reflective, neon-yellow Dock Martins she was sporting that drew my attention (although, those shoes were pretty much the coolest thing ever). As she walked up the aisle, I noticed she was smiling - at everyone. I was pleased when we were seated together and had the chance to talk about our shared passions and our very different life plans.
This gal was all about community. She talked about organizing her far-flung family members for activities. She discussed her time as an R.A. at Berkeley working to help other kids develop a sense of family and community with their classmates. We conversed about the power of dance to produce and enforce a sense of community in a group of people.
That made me wonder why we stopped dancing together as a modern society? We used to dance as a community - our grandparents jitterbugged, sock hopped and triple swung 'til the night was day. Now "dancing" usually looks like individuals shuffling around awkwardly or couples that, well, should probably just get a room. Did we, as a modern society, stop dancing together because suddenly those old dances no longer represented the growing diversity of our community? Could a common, communal dance, be a missing ingredient in helping our diverse melting pot take on a cohesive, bonded form?
I love talking to random strangers. I hope I never get too caught up in my own life to stop learning from the random people who fate puts in my path.