A few days ago I had an experience at Subway that I can only describe as jarring.
But before I get into it, I have to describe what I was wearing. Lately, I've grown out what can be generously described as scruffy hair - I haven't had a haircut since at least early July, and my hair is taking on its typical longish-hair curl mess that makes me look five again. I like to think that my head is starting to look like my brain thinks. Add to that a T-shirt my mom got me in Washington, D.C., which features a marijuana leaf superimposed on the White House, with the slogan, "Keep off the grass!" (Which I do, by the way.) I particularly enjoyed wearing it around Salt Lake City, where people asked me constantly what it meant. On Thursday, I paired that shirt with some green beach jams whose nondescript-plant pattern could be misconstrued as pot from a short distance. Keep that image in mind.
After heading to the park and riding my bike 11 miles down the trail (I'm slacking lately - wearing weed really saps your ambition), I walked into Subway. After a blonde girl greeted me, she and another woman immediately turned their heads back to the fully fatigued military man making nice with them. Real stud, too. Tall, thick, government-employed, everything I'm not. This guy's going to retire from his post right into the anchor slot of the evening news. The two women behind the counter can't stop flirting.
Blonde: "...So yeah, that's why I'm VOTING FOR JOHN McCAIN!"
Woman: "Of course!"
Blonde: "My favorite choice didn't make it, but McCain's the best that's left." (A true endorsement.)
Military Guy sits down with his food, and the women carry on as they turn to me.
Woman: "You know?"
Blonde: "My aunt used to work with Bill Clinton in Arkansas. She tried to run over him once."
Woman: "HA HA HA HA HA!!" [Looks at me as if it's weird that I find this weird.] "Right?"
Me: "Actually, my dad used to work on his campaign in 1992. They worked together at one point. I got to shake his hand too."
Blonde: "You did?"
Me: "Yeah. It was pretty cool for a kid, you know, to meet the future president."
Blonde: "He met a lot of people."
Me: "Still."
Blonde: "And you grew up, right?"
Me: "It was cool."
Blonde: "Hillary almost got it this time. But really, she had run before, right?"
Me: "Hmm?"
Blonde: "I mean, when Bill was president. She had time, because he was messing around."
Me: "Uhh...I'll have chicken breast on wheat..."
Remember how I said I had the pot leaf on my shirt, and the scraggly hair? I feel, at this point, if I even utter the name of...you know, that guy, the Change guy...I'm going to wind up in Guantanamo Bay with Harold and Kumar.
Once I had my sandwich and juice box (like I said, I'm five), I give the military guy a nod on my way out. He reciprocates, and (to my genuine surprise) does not beg me to join up. The last time I crossed paths with a military recruiter in an election year, they were screaming at me from a van in the street while I swept my front porch. Of course, that was in 1996, back when they had enthusiasm.
Even in Jeezus-lovin' Springfield, I've seen way more Obama bumper stickers and yard signs than their McCain equivalents. Indeed, the Subway incident was the first time I've found myself among an enthusiastic McCain throng (thought I'm not even sure I should include Military Guy in that - mostly, he smiled and nodded politely; for all I know, he's as ready for Change as anyone). But it did remind me that, in some dimensions, McCain really is the right old man for the presidency, and that I'm the radical for thinking differently. Kind of the way I felt living in Lafayette, LA at the height of the Bush years (where at least 22 of Bush's 27 percent still lives).
Still, I'm happy that this experience has been so rare I've felt a need to blog about it. I look forward to going to this Subway again in a few months and hear these people complaining about how this country's going down the tubes. That's when I'll know it isn't.
But before I get into it, I have to describe what I was wearing. Lately, I've grown out what can be generously described as scruffy hair - I haven't had a haircut since at least early July, and my hair is taking on its typical longish-hair curl mess that makes me look five again. I like to think that my head is starting to look like my brain thinks. Add to that a T-shirt my mom got me in Washington, D.C., which features a marijuana leaf superimposed on the White House, with the slogan, "Keep off the grass!" (Which I do, by the way.) I particularly enjoyed wearing it around Salt Lake City, where people asked me constantly what it meant. On Thursday, I paired that shirt with some green beach jams whose nondescript-plant pattern could be misconstrued as pot from a short distance. Keep that image in mind.
After heading to the park and riding my bike 11 miles down the trail (I'm slacking lately - wearing weed really saps your ambition), I walked into Subway. After a blonde girl greeted me, she and another woman immediately turned their heads back to the fully fatigued military man making nice with them. Real stud, too. Tall, thick, government-employed, everything I'm not. This guy's going to retire from his post right into the anchor slot of the evening news. The two women behind the counter can't stop flirting.
Blonde: "...So yeah, that's why I'm VOTING FOR JOHN McCAIN!"
Woman: "Of course!"
Blonde: "My favorite choice didn't make it, but McCain's the best that's left." (A true endorsement.)
Military Guy sits down with his food, and the women carry on as they turn to me.
Woman: "You know?"
Blonde: "My aunt used to work with Bill Clinton in Arkansas. She tried to run over him once."
Woman: "HA HA HA HA HA!!" [Looks at me as if it's weird that I find this weird.] "Right?"
Me: "Actually, my dad used to work on his campaign in 1992. They worked together at one point. I got to shake his hand too."
Blonde: "You did?"
Me: "Yeah. It was pretty cool for a kid, you know, to meet the future president."
Blonde: "He met a lot of people."
Me: "Still."
Blonde: "And you grew up, right?"
Me: "It was cool."
Blonde: "Hillary almost got it this time. But really, she had run before, right?"
Me: "Hmm?"
Blonde: "I mean, when Bill was president. She had time, because he was messing around."
Me: "Uhh...I'll have chicken breast on wheat..."
Remember how I said I had the pot leaf on my shirt, and the scraggly hair? I feel, at this point, if I even utter the name of...you know, that guy, the Change guy...I'm going to wind up in Guantanamo Bay with Harold and Kumar.
Once I had my sandwich and juice box (like I said, I'm five), I give the military guy a nod on my way out. He reciprocates, and (to my genuine surprise) does not beg me to join up. The last time I crossed paths with a military recruiter in an election year, they were screaming at me from a van in the street while I swept my front porch. Of course, that was in 1996, back when they had enthusiasm.
Even in Jeezus-lovin' Springfield, I've seen way more Obama bumper stickers and yard signs than their McCain equivalents. Indeed, the Subway incident was the first time I've found myself among an enthusiastic McCain throng (thought I'm not even sure I should include Military Guy in that - mostly, he smiled and nodded politely; for all I know, he's as ready for Change as anyone). But it did remind me that, in some dimensions, McCain really is the right old man for the presidency, and that I'm the radical for thinking differently. Kind of the way I felt living in Lafayette, LA at the height of the Bush years (where at least 22 of Bush's 27 percent still lives).
Still, I'm happy that this experience has been so rare I've felt a need to blog about it. I look forward to going to this Subway again in a few months and hear these people complaining about how this country's going down the tubes. That's when I'll know it isn't.







