3/22/08: Escape from Odessa-Jimmy & Steve

Greyhound between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, Louisiana

Long story short: I met two other guys. Jimmy and Steve are both from Oklahoma, and after Steve was pushed for the 5th time to buy cocaine, we called Mike [recruiter] told him what was going on, and requested that he get us out of there. We all decided to ride together to New Orleans and hook up with another outfit with a friend of Mike's named Willie.

I asked direct questions and let those two listen so they could decide for themselves. Mike bought the tickets, we packed up, and while we were waiting Steve's mother called to tell him that his father had died!

Of course, that sent him back to Oklahoma. Steve's a lot like me with the indecisiveness, only worse! And much more tentative. He's just a country boy who's never been away for long, so he was apprehensive. It may have been good for him to come down here and live a little, and he still may. I sensed something familiar in him, and deeply respected his independence. The three of us had a nice synergy, and could have been good friends--all of us. I'm rather surprised at how good of friends we became anyhow. I hope things in New Orleans are as Willie and Mike say they are, and if so, I also hope that Steve comes down here in a couple of weeks.

Jimmy and I are very similar in many ways, although our backgrounds are very different. He's Chickasha Indian and abhors drugs because his son committed suicide while on them. That was the common thread between we three that got us hanging out in the first place. We were the minority who weren't looking to work then simply get fucked up up afterwards--calling that life. Wash-rinse-repeat. One of my goals/hopes was to find some like-minded people I could relate to, and after 2 1/2 days in a traveling drug-den, I found some. That's encouraging.

Jimmy's 46, and has been living a nomadic life for some time now. He's been all over and has tons of experience that he's willing to share. He's respectful, and deserves respect. We talked a lot last night between Odessa and Dallas having much to chat about; our ideas parallel each other in many ways. Like me, he relishes freedom above most everything. We are both cautiously excited about New Orleans and since we have the night off, and a little money, are planning on Bourbon Street later tonight.

To put a bow on the Odessa experience, they did pay us what they owed us, minus $15 for "rent" in the bunkhouse: another monetary surprise. In retrospect it was fitting! Outside of the drug culture, the main theme of that outfit was the fact that they found new and exciting ways, everyday, to surprise you with new ways to shrink your paycheck! "Paying the bus ticket", "security deposit", "key deposit, shirt, etc.... none of which was explained beforehand. Then condescending and indignant when you asked questions. No leadership. People screaming and knife fighting and 5 a.m. outside the bunkhouses. (I was more concerned with the screaming--if someone was cut, eventually they'd at least be quiet) To be fair, it is the stereotype and not completely unexpected; just not for me.

Despite all that, I told Jimmy last night I wouldn't trade it. I did meet some good people, and most importantly I didn't run home, although the thought did occur to me Thursday! I got through it and found that I enjoyed the actual work--when the public's there. I made a little money, and am now having another experience in New Orleans. My spirit through all of this has been remarkably high -- even through the bullshit. I feel in control of my life, and at ease with myself, my surroundings and others. Looking forward. Let's see what happens in New Orleans...

3/21/08: Odessa, TX- Meet the Carnie

Odessa, Texas
Greyhound station

I haven't written in this [travel journal] in 16 months for pretty good reason. It's become something of a relic of this journey, one I don't want to fill with trivial bullshit. I left Santa Fe for the carnie job Tuesday (3/18) and came to Odessa with one idea how things were supposed to be: then the quick reality!

Laina took me to the Albuquerque Greyhound, and I found myself nervous; getting worse the closer to Albuquerque we got. Just as the bus began pulling away, Bob Seger's Roll Me Away came on my MP3 player. That seemed to tell me: "relax; now write your story." Look forward and live it. There was a huge moon, so I could see New Mexico all the way to El Paso and felt legitimately optimistic. Excitement about what was coming, and a shot at freedom. The landscape, moon... all tuning me in--in some ways.

We arrived in Odessa at 10:30 or so, and immediately after I got here with my bunkmate, Dan, it became obvious that either Mike or Charles was simply full of shit; likely both. After being on the bus for 13-hours, Charles put us right to work (doing next to nothing) for three hours. We then got an hour off before the carnival opened--then worked another nine. 13-hours every day--Monday through Friday--then 14 to 15 on Saturday and Sunday. For a base salary of $300 per week. Do the math. Plus there is no time to yourself except with the alcoholics, and druggies etc., who just live to get lit up then wonder why they are broke. Reality meets stereotype! It would have been great living here 15 or 20 years ago, but I'm not living in that spot anymore. Just annoyed the fuck out of me and made me uncomfortable as hell...

**Bus arrived**