A short ride on a very long bus later, I entered the hotel with increasing concern over my ability to play nice with a stranger for eight days. After a brief exchange with the front desk, I made my way to room 384 on the main side of the Galt House with cement shoes, having dispensed with all the previous mental work to stay positive about the experience of a fake Roomie in the amount of time it takes for me to figure out what U2 song is playing. I opened the door mostly the way cops on TV do: I did not kick the door but I sure did wait for some kind of response before I walked through the threshold. My head swam with scenarios of incompatible roommate behaviors up until I noticed the square footage and amenities of room 384. About the size of my second apartment, it held more furniture than my current house, included a living room, and what I think constitutes a wet bar. No evidence of the arrival of fake Roomie, I wrote a diplomatic note declaring my laid-back attitude and flexibility in living arrangements and headed out to conduct the business of getting nerd-tagged, finding out my question assignment, and avoiding returning to the room the way Roman Polanski responded to high school reunion invitations. Poor planning forced me to pop my head in a couple more times to find the room unmodified by another soul. Eventually, after twelve dollars spent on a mere two beers while watching Old Boss order what appeared to be ALL the nachos in three counties (they cast a shadow) and a not so silent Bob punctuate an uncharacteristically laconic evening by leading the bar in a cheer for the Blackhawks, I ran out of vaguely legitimate reasons to not return to 384 and my inevitable disappointment. I entered the room once more to find fake Roomie had yet to make an appearance. I tried to sleep and only did so poorly, trying to interpret every click and thump for its potential meaning.
It took me until late the next day to accept fake Roomie had somehow sensed my ill ease and decided to stay away. I slowly grasped that I would live in this space all by myself for the next eight days and grappled with that nugget since I have no memory of ever living alone that long in my life. I found that I valued having a place to go after working where I did not have to spend time thinking about whether or how to start to conversation or what the heck to do if I found myself in a conversation.
Three-eight-four and I got along swimmingly, often agreeing on my activities. One of my South Carolina homies, Brick Wall, helped me with figuring out the very simple import of having a mini fridge. Mid-week, I believe the housekeeper tried to stage a low-key intervention, refusing to throw out the effects of my access to a mini fridge. I remained unfazed by his or her efforts at putting me back on the path of righteousness. I watched the Women's Softball World Series. I put my feet up on the coffee table. I used furniture to cobble together a decent stand-in for the weights I lift at home. I discovered pizza and beer on a couch in front of a 30 for 30 about Bo Jackson possessed subtle charms on par with a fiery sunset or a gaggle of children you like cracking wise with you.
Although I felt a strong compulsion to spend my non-working time with my new friend, Room, I also found plenty of other things to do beyond Room. Short walks during the long lunch break allowed me to both try to get my blood pumping in a frequently-failed attempt to stay awake in the afternoon and to reacquaint myself with Louisville's elaborate architecture which I consider to be one of the major perks of the job. After work saw numerous scavenger hunts since I am fairly certain that I purchased ALL the Red Stripe at the nearest CVS to offer up to the mini fridge (they did not have a lot to start with--I want that on the record) and other academics purchased the rest of the beer, leaving a post-apocalyptic wasteland on the beer aisle and traumatizing the young clerks who found out they had dramatically misread the educators in their lives. I would walk in various directions, finding Fat Tire one day, Stella every day (she is the official beer of the recently held Kentucky Derby) and occasionally an artsy, high-end enclave in downtown Louisville with restaurants offering roasted marrow butter patronized by the expensive-haircut-and-tucked-into-khakis crowd.
The scheduling of a Taylor Swift concert a block away from the hotel mid-week inadvertently opened up a much broader palette of wanders for me. Deciding to get the heck out of dodge before being surrounded by what would seem like millions of adolescent female pop fans, I concluded the concert meant Laundry Day needed to happen a day early. I confidently headed toward last year's fortuitous discovery of Aunt Bee's Launderette, the cleanest, nearest laundry to downtown Louisville. I walked the two miles and discovered, in addition to the reasonable prices, hard-working employees, the management now offered FREE POPCORN which I certainly availed myself of, making sure to pick up any mess I made. I called for a cab to return. I waited for a long time, presumably because the cabbies were all booked up with Swifties (I looked that up) until I saw a bus pull up with names of streets on the front that I both recognized and knew were much closer to the hotel than my current location. I ran after it, comically. My lack of ready payment and butt preventing the door from closing irritated the bus driver which she shared with me by refusing to take traffic laws, speed limits, or our continued survival into much account but, whatever, it cost 1.75 and caused a light bulb to go off in my cabeza.
I spent the next day researching the public transit system of Louisville with a tentative plan to investigate the parts of Kentucky I lacked the stamina and time to get to on foot. Strangely, the Galt House staff could give me little in the way of help on this point but since part of the reason I do the work I do is because of my ability to research, getting the information I needed was not a huge problem.
I tested my new plan with a trip to a grocery store to get...stuff. I found out that the downtown electric buses are totally FREE! I also found out one of the other passengers shared my destination plans. The reason I found this out is because the lady was friendly in the way folks who take a lot of prescription drugs are, happy to speak whatever was on her mind in slurred speech punctuated with frequent interjections of “Baby”. Her concern about making it to the Kroger's caused me to point out that I also meant to shop and I had already arranged with the bus driver who did not yell at me about anything to let me know when I should get off the bus. She talked to me some more and I understood most of the words she said but she assigned a lot of cryptic motivations to our reasons to go grocery store shopping so I mostly nodded. The bus driver gave us his signal and also, very kindly, gave us further directions. We left the bus and I was not sure if I was now supposed to walk with my new field trip buddy. As we walked, I learned that she walked with a limp, so slow, and I walk fast and that complicated things. I decided to adjust my gait enough so that if she fell over or started wandering off I could intervene. We separated at the entrance. I later saw her leave with a sack containing a pack of smokes and a four pack of Steel Reserve beer and wished her a pleasant evening (with the scrips coursing through her veins, it looks like she was headed that direction anyway). I returned from whence I came, having learned that Rick Steves was right about the value of making smart use of public transportation, and had a pleasant evening, too.
It took me until late the next day to accept fake Roomie had somehow sensed my ill ease and decided to stay away. I slowly grasped that I would live in this space all by myself for the next eight days and grappled with that nugget since I have no memory of ever living alone that long in my life. I found that I valued having a place to go after working where I did not have to spend time thinking about whether or how to start to conversation or what the heck to do if I found myself in a conversation.
Three-eight-four and I got along swimmingly, often agreeing on my activities. One of my South Carolina homies, Brick Wall, helped me with figuring out the very simple import of having a mini fridge. Mid-week, I believe the housekeeper tried to stage a low-key intervention, refusing to throw out the effects of my access to a mini fridge. I remained unfazed by his or her efforts at putting me back on the path of righteousness. I watched the Women's Softball World Series. I put my feet up on the coffee table. I used furniture to cobble together a decent stand-in for the weights I lift at home. I discovered pizza and beer on a couch in front of a 30 for 30 about Bo Jackson possessed subtle charms on par with a fiery sunset or a gaggle of children you like cracking wise with you.
Although I felt a strong compulsion to spend my non-working time with my new friend, Room, I also found plenty of other things to do beyond Room. Short walks during the long lunch break allowed me to both try to get my blood pumping in a frequently-failed attempt to stay awake in the afternoon and to reacquaint myself with Louisville's elaborate architecture which I consider to be one of the major perks of the job. After work saw numerous scavenger hunts since I am fairly certain that I purchased ALL the Red Stripe at the nearest CVS to offer up to the mini fridge (they did not have a lot to start with--I want that on the record) and other academics purchased the rest of the beer, leaving a post-apocalyptic wasteland on the beer aisle and traumatizing the young clerks who found out they had dramatically misread the educators in their lives. I would walk in various directions, finding Fat Tire one day, Stella every day (she is the official beer of the recently held Kentucky Derby) and occasionally an artsy, high-end enclave in downtown Louisville with restaurants offering roasted marrow butter patronized by the expensive-haircut-and-tucked-into-khakis crowd.
The scheduling of a Taylor Swift concert a block away from the hotel mid-week inadvertently opened up a much broader palette of wanders for me. Deciding to get the heck out of dodge before being surrounded by what would seem like millions of adolescent female pop fans, I concluded the concert meant Laundry Day needed to happen a day early. I confidently headed toward last year's fortuitous discovery of Aunt Bee's Launderette, the cleanest, nearest laundry to downtown Louisville. I walked the two miles and discovered, in addition to the reasonable prices, hard-working employees, the management now offered FREE POPCORN which I certainly availed myself of, making sure to pick up any mess I made. I called for a cab to return. I waited for a long time, presumably because the cabbies were all booked up with Swifties (I looked that up) until I saw a bus pull up with names of streets on the front that I both recognized and knew were much closer to the hotel than my current location. I ran after it, comically. My lack of ready payment and butt preventing the door from closing irritated the bus driver which she shared with me by refusing to take traffic laws, speed limits, or our continued survival into much account but, whatever, it cost 1.75 and caused a light bulb to go off in my cabeza.
I spent the next day researching the public transit system of Louisville with a tentative plan to investigate the parts of Kentucky I lacked the stamina and time to get to on foot. Strangely, the Galt House staff could give me little in the way of help on this point but since part of the reason I do the work I do is because of my ability to research, getting the information I needed was not a huge problem.
I tested my new plan with a trip to a grocery store to get...stuff. I found out that the downtown electric buses are totally FREE! I also found out one of the other passengers shared my destination plans. The reason I found this out is because the lady was friendly in the way folks who take a lot of prescription drugs are, happy to speak whatever was on her mind in slurred speech punctuated with frequent interjections of “Baby”. Her concern about making it to the Kroger's caused me to point out that I also meant to shop and I had already arranged with the bus driver who did not yell at me about anything to let me know when I should get off the bus. She talked to me some more and I understood most of the words she said but she assigned a lot of cryptic motivations to our reasons to go grocery store shopping so I mostly nodded. The bus driver gave us his signal and also, very kindly, gave us further directions. We left the bus and I was not sure if I was now supposed to walk with my new field trip buddy. As we walked, I learned that she walked with a limp, so slow, and I walk fast and that complicated things. I decided to adjust my gait enough so that if she fell over or started wandering off I could intervene. We separated at the entrance. I later saw her leave with a sack containing a pack of smokes and a four pack of Steel Reserve beer and wished her a pleasant evening (with the scrips coursing through her veins, it looks like she was headed that direction anyway). I returned from whence I came, having learned that Rick Steves was right about the value of making smart use of public transportation, and had a pleasant evening, too.