The City Between Cities

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As I write this, I’m sitting in a Doubletree hotel room in Jackson, TN. Jackson is small (~65k people) and relatively uneventful. It’s my third time in Jackson and my second time to stay in this hotel. I’m here on business (man I sound old), because I’m the guy who measures stuff and they’re willing to send me to far away places (Jackson’s about 2.5 hours from Nashville) in order to get it done.

Jackson is where the company’s gigantic warehouse is. It’s so large that I have to zip around it in a golf cart, which is absolutely one of the best parts of the whole thing. I had a strange experience today when 4:30 rolled around and literally everyone in the warehouse left at once. I was still in the eCommerce area, in the farthest corner of the whole place, and the motion-activated lights started going off.

So then I got my camera and had some fun. Maybe in the near future I’ll post that fun here because apparently wordpress wants me to pay for posting that fun.

When work was over I went to Jackson’s mall, thinking to be creepy with my camera and get some footage to be used for a thing that I’m working on that I may or may not actually finish (I will). It started raining and it was perfect, but then people started wondering why there was a man standing at the corner of the entrance to the mall with a camera on a tripod.

One guy drove by and then looked at me in a really paranoid manner, then did a double- and a triple-take, as if I was morphing into something spectacular and he had to watch. Then the mall security guard went by me a few times, finally deciding to get closer and see what the hell I was doing, but at that point I’d scurried into the mall. I certainly didn’t blend in any better inside (there was no one in that sad little mall – and I had a tripod in my hand), but it worked and I escaped confrontation-free.

I’m bad at eating. I’m used to eating very little for breakfast, a little more for lunch, and then devouring whole villages’ bounties for dinner. If I happen to have a large breakfast, as I did today, then the whole cycle is irreversibly thrown off and my stomach starts to again question if seceding would be such a bad idea.

I ate lunch at Panera. It was a cloudy day and I walk in and go up to the girl at the cash register. She’s around my age, has brown hair, etc. I say I’d like steak chili. She asks if I’d like a French baguette or a whole grain roll to go with that. I say the baguette. She says that it goes with my accent. I am very confused.

“Yeah,” I say, perplexed. It’s the first time I’ve been accused of having a French accent. Then, since the company will end up reimbursing me for my meal, I ask her for an itemized receipt.

“Itemized?” she says.

“Yes, with the separate items on it,” I reply.

She looks at me for a moment as if I really am some French guy and I just used a weird French term for a totally normal receipt.

“Like this one?” she asks as she hands me the usual Panera receipt – which happens to be itemized by default.

Sometimes seemingly normal interactions turn really strange.

I had a busy weekend. It consisted of finally seeing Tree of Life (beautiful), going to my first monthly art and wine event downtown (lovely), and seeing/hearing Sarah Jarosz in concert. Good bluegrass is a wonderful thing, and she and her two cohorts certainly played some good bluegrass. Ridiculous fact that didn’t seem to blow anyone else’s mind: she’s only 20. One year older than Miley Cyrus.

That’s it for now, blogosphere. Much love.

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~ by Jon C. Forisha on January 10, 2012.

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