Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Iowan
An Iowan started talking to me before we boarded. Old guy, in his 70's, with camcorder in tow. He asked about me, and I made it easy. I'm headed to the university for Literature. We kept talking, and soon we were friendly.
He's a farmer. Volunteers at a collective. His group has been in LA visiting strawberry farms. 4 Days in LA was too long for him.
He says I should get credit for taking agriculture courses while I'm at the university. He says I should study "egg culture". He keeps saying a lot of things like this - stories that don't quite connect, opinions that trail off before getting to the point. It feels like he is sizing me up.
"You look like an Iowan," he says, "with your ripped jeans and your t-shirt. That's what kids wear out here."
He also likes my decomposing baseball cap, which is the color of an unwashed bloodstain.
He tells me how PETA runs campaigns that hurt his business. He spits a story about activists doing undercover work at a slaughterhouse upstate where "the Jews cut the cows' throats". This caused a lot of problems for everyone.
What do I think of this?
His smile, which is half with me, half against me, would like to know. I change the subject.
He's also a vet. I tell him my dad was a sergeant in Korea.
The Iowan was Army National Guard, staying stateside in North Carolina. He spent time quelling riots in D.C., New Hampshire, and Connecticut during Vietnam.
He smiles as he tells these stories, and I am nodding stupidly, feeling like I am listening to a wolf remember his glory days.
The airline lady comes on the intercom and saves me from saying much else. We part company on the tarmac and head single file to the plane, he videotaping the rest of his group and I wondering why my instinct with people like this is always to blend.
An Iowan started talking to me before we boarded. Old guy, in his 70's, with camcorder in tow. He asked about me, and I made it easy. I'm headed to the university for Literature. We kept talking, and soon we were friendly.
He's a farmer. Volunteers at a collective. His group has been in LA visiting strawberry farms. 4 Days in LA was too long for him.
He says I should get credit for taking agriculture courses while I'm at the university. He says I should study "egg culture". He keeps saying a lot of things like this - stories that don't quite connect, opinions that trail off before getting to the point. It feels like he is sizing me up.
"You look like an Iowan," he says, "with your ripped jeans and your t-shirt. That's what kids wear out here."
He also likes my decomposing baseball cap, which is the color of an unwashed bloodstain.
He tells me how PETA runs campaigns that hurt his business. He spits a story about activists doing undercover work at a slaughterhouse upstate where "the Jews cut the cows' throats". This caused a lot of problems for everyone.
What do I think of this?
His smile, which is half with me, half against me, would like to know. I change the subject.
He's also a vet. I tell him my dad was a sergeant in Korea.
The Iowan was Army National Guard, staying stateside in North Carolina. He spent time quelling riots in D.C., New Hampshire, and Connecticut during Vietnam.
He smiles as he tells these stories, and I am nodding stupidly, feeling like I am listening to a wolf remember his glory days.
The airline lady comes on the intercom and saves me from saying much else. We part company on the tarmac and head single file to the plane, he videotaping the rest of his group and I wondering why my instinct with people like this is always to blend.
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