Tale of the Tales
It certainly seemed like a sensible idea at the time. After ten years on the west coast, five of college and an equal number of work, I asked my company to transfer me to a division near Philadelphia. Thus, without actually changing jobs, I started a new job and cut 2700 miles off the trip from my house to that of my parents. The company shipped all my belongings while I took a leisurely and enjoyable drive across the country, covering 6000 miles in three countries over the course of 15 days. The trip had gone without a hitch and I had seen many interesting sights, visited friends nationwide, and had a few adventures. Sitting at my new desk in front of my new computer, all should have been right with the world. but all my careful planning for this transition tragically omitted two key facts that remained unknown to me until my arrival: the only thing I hated more than Philadelphia was my job there.
Philadelphia, or "Phlelpha" in native parlance, struck me as a city with almost no redeeming qualities. Yes, it houses the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Betsy Ross's pin cushion, and other landmarks of truly (and sometimes dubiously) historic value. But these sites occupy about a half of a square mile in the midst of urban depression of the emotional rather than the fiscal sort. I decided that if one took everything that makes New York City what it is and removed the top third of wealth, sophistication, culture, commerce, and every other positive quality, the result would closely approximate Philadelphia. I found the city dirty, grey, and run down. I found neighboring municipalities like Chester and Camden even worse. I found the area people largely unfriendly, unsophisticated, and verbally illiterate. Cheese steak vendors in the area, a population which seemed to number in the hundreds of thousands, actually offered melted Velveeta as a topping choice!
While all of this greeted me outside my workplace, the scene inside felt even grimmer. I had stumbled on a group of people who routinely spent years at a time doing nothing productive that I could identify. They all looked to the main office on the west coast as the source of all wisdom and guidance, leaving them incapable of independent action. I almost felt sorry for them because they seemed so lost. On the other hand, I realized that these were not exactly my type of folks. Great excitement rippled through the group one day when a couple of engineers found that they would have to take a business trip to Wichita. Having seen Kansas, and completely unable to comprehend why anyone would feel excitement at the prospect of going there, I asked one engineer what made the trip such an appealing prospect to him. He smiled broadly and announced that the trip would give him an opportunity to visit the nightclub, "Million Dollar Babes." I stopped asking questions.
And so I sat, more bored at work than I could ever remember feeling. They had eagerly hired me, but seemed to have no real assignment for me. During the six months I endured there, I left to see two matinees, went home on a few occasions for afternoon naps, and otherwise burnt time mercilessly. Nobody noticed; nobody cared. One time, my boss walked past my desk and saw me working intently. He asked what I was doing. I replied, "I'm trying to write a paragraph with as many movie titles in it as I can possibly fit." "Oh," he said, and walked away.
The one event which occasionally brightened my day arrived with the beep of the terminal announcing new e-mail from the west. I had brought my e-mail address list with me and had reestablished contact with friends I had left behind. Several of them asked about my cross country trip. With absolutely nothing else to do with my day, I started to tell them, in as much amusing detail as I could muster. I sent these stories out to a small list of electronic recipients, entitling them "Tales from the Road"...
Copyright © 1997 by M. Carrington Adolph. All rights reserved.
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