Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Airports and Clipboards

I'm Sitting in the standard wanna-be “old style” pub at the Reagan Airport and one of the waitresses looks vaguely familiar. I can't really think why and the lack of sleep, abundance of nerves, combined with the sweet taste of my semi-cold Smidwicks isn't helping my cause. I'm glancing at the name-tag to see if it offers a clue to my newly found game of chance.

Sara.

That doesn't help one bit. She has got one of those faces. One that you never forget but can't remember. Not great looking, but ragged and worn. Although young, the white trash qualities scream out “used”. The Guns and Roses blaring doesn't help her cause. Dirty Blonde, white, pearl necklace she might have gotten from a not-so-there mother or abusive boyfriend, short in stature but full of false confidence as if there is a secret she keeps so deep inside, one mention of it would break her and that dark plastered mascara would come streaking down her face. She looks like she strips at night. I can't imagine the daytime bar shift at the airport frat bar pays great, and from the looks of her looks she might be ready for a quick change into nothing.


This will most likely the last time I see or talk to a girl of this type for 27 months and I have mixed feelings. America. The land of the free. Free to be a stripper or a bellman or a trash collector, or whatever job you have decided to chain yourself to for the purpose of survival. One of the reasons I've decided to move on. This land. Home of baseball, hotdogs, and big cars has outgrown me. I've been saying this for years, but fruition is finally mine this day and its a defining moment. I didn't go to college for 8 years to get a 4 year degree for nothing right? I've done my time. I want my reward.


Not so fast.


I've got 3 months of training ahead of me and its not the easy kind. Language, cultural, and job specific training. Re-evaluating Sara, I've come to the conclusion that her boyfriend most likely is the type that drinks 3 protein shakes a day and doesn't hold the door for her. Back to my Peace Corps experience thus far. I think the most interesting part so far is watching the natural leaders emerge in the our group. There are about 49 of us and about 5 stand out as natural leaders. One of these, my hotel roommate and fellow Californian might be the most organized and carefully planned person I have met. I hate to stereotype (not really), but he is Asian and wears a the type of calculator watch I haven't seen since the 80's. He is about one fixed gear road bike and one skin tight pair of jeans away from the land of the Hipsters.


Then there is Phil. The man from Santa Cruz whom quit his job with google and sold his apartment to join the Peace Corps. I was able to get in touch with Phil months before meeting anyone else and he seemed genuine and charismatic. He is 49 and is an avid bike rider and outdoor enthusiast. A natural born leader and if you had told me he was the Peace Corps Director I would have believed you. Running around with his clipboard and barking orders to the entire group seems natural to him. Side note; eye contact with Sara is not advised. Not only are those big round blue eyes hard to look at due to the caked makeup surrounding them, I feel that they know what I know somehow. It's always that way. The jaded recognize jaded. Am I the male equivalent? Lets hope not. Lets hope my small green eyes hide what's behind them well. And I don't strip. Back to Phil. After orientation at which a lisp wielding former Peace Corps Volunteer facilitated with poise of someone that has made this type of thing his routine, a large group of us formed and headed over to a local Italian restaurant. Phil bought me a beer and him, John (my roommate), and I talked about our past relationships over dinner. This is when Phil told us he was gay and proud of it.


I tried not to flinch as I continued the conversation, hoping to go into a different direction. John made so little movement that for a second I thought I was sitting at the all faygala table. Sans me of course. I feel that its hard to get any emotion out of John anyways. There is the occasional laugh at slapstick humor, but he seems to keep a straight face. I'm not sure what to think about Phil and I'm worried that all his aspirations of the Peace Corps in Panama are going to be stonewalled by his “I'm gay and I'm proud of it” attitude.


Sara seems bored and I'm pretty sure her and I are on the same level. I've got two hours before the flight leaves for Panama and this bar is not going to keep my ADD in check. I should probably be socializing with other volunteers anyways right? Seems to be the right thing to do and I get stuck in a boring conversation, people watching is always the best in airports.


I'm impressed they have El Tesoro Tequila at this bar and Sara has started to ignore me a little too much for my liking. I'm getting the bill. I need attention...

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