I was at the bus station today when I over heard two gentlemen talking about the luggage scales that the clerk was using (Greyhound check-in is nearly identical to an airline check-in). One of them had pointed the scales out as if it was the strangest thing in the world. Yet it’s something that is/was a routine part of my life. For the last seven years I’ve racked up well in excess of 80,000 miles in transatlantic travel, not a huge amount by some standards, but I’ve come to think of the check-in process as a routine. Considering the distances involved in travelling around the Americas I was surprised to find somebody that had such little knowledge of the check-in procedure.
The majority of the United States may be a continuous landmass, but it might as well be a archipelago. The midwest is scattered with hundreds (thousands?) of identical replicated towns. Each of them has their own unique charm, a smattering a famous sons, and some quirk of layout, but they all – more or less – conform to the archetype of posh-white area, not-so posh multicultural area, out of town mall and a zombified town centre. There’ll be a dozen churches (the differences between which will be lost on non-Church goers), a half-dozen bars*, and two dozen food franchises (at least 1/3 of which only operate in that State). Each of these communities is an island unto itself.
None of the surrounding islands offer any service or product that cannot be purchased in every one of them. They’ll hear about each other on the local news, but they have no real connection to each other. People rarely live in one island town and work in another – the commute is no longer than many city slickers take, but it just doesn’t happen. They aren’t even physically connected to each other unless the Greyhound bus comes through. People spend their entire lives in these towns and I suspect a significant minority only ever left because of national service.
I’ve grown to like the island town community and the islanders that I’ve lived with for the last 30 months. It’s reassuring to live in a place that doesn’t have a murder rate most years. But right now I just want to get back to the Old World and my own more connected small home town.
*What is it about American Bars that people are so scared of seeing — even the poshest joint is shielded behind sturdy doors and darkened glass. Does US beers create an allegry to sunlight? Are only vampires allowed to drink in the USA?
Yeah. Like don’t all rush for the back button at once