San Antonio has one good thing going for it. It’s legal to smoke indoors at bars. The rule, so I’ve heard, is that if your establishment makes more money on booze than it does on food, smoking is allowed. Restaurants that employ scantily clad women as servers for lonely middle-aged men make more money on booze than they do food so those places are fun to hang out in.
When I was a kid, many in my family smoked. My uncles smoked, my great uncles smoked, my grandpa smoked. It was something I was always around. Smell and memory are closely linked and I’ve always loved the smell of smoke because it reminds me of being a snot nosed doofus.
Smoking in San Antonio is very common. In fact, everywhere I’ve been in Texas is pretty okay with smoking. In California, it was just something people did while they drank at bars to look cool. In California when I tried to bum cigarettes off of people that were smoking, they’d never have cigarettes because they had bummed them themselves. I was what I like to call a sissy poser smoker; too afraid to commit to anything.
I tell you, though, for a city whose only cultural improvement is being allowed to smoke indoors, you can’t help but be terminally bored at all times. And this leads to smoking.
When I moved out of my uncle’s house into a really cheap apartment, I’d just turn on my radio real loud and smoke cigarettes all day on my balcony. My neighbors, at first, smiled and nodded at me. Then they looked at me suspiciously like I had something mental going on.
There isn’t much to look at in San Antonio. You see the Alamo once, you’ve seen it too many times and every time someone from California visits you and they know you’re a history major they think they’re doing you a favor by going to some place historical to hear you bloviate. It’s fun when people see you as an authority in something. (more…)
I left Long Beach, CA for San Antonio, TX with a pair of chrome painted nuts hanging on the back of my Honda Civic. My brothers got this for me as a going away gift to remind me that I’d never truly be a Texan. Neither would those balls. I lost them somewhere on the 10 between Buckeye and Wilcox.
I didn’t consult very many people on my decision to leave for Texas. I knew I was leaving a month before I actually made the move.
A month and a day before, I was still asking my cousin how in the hell she could move to Utah?
Things needed to be run away from. Things needed to be changed. I needed to shock myself out of complacency in every aspect of my life. A geographical change seemed the easiest way (still, my mind operates on a very whatever, dude wavelength).
The first thing I sought to do was to find out where the writers were. In Los Angeles we have the Poetix Calendar that tells you absolutely everything about what’s going on. It’s easy to get to an open mic every night and tell highfalutin fart jokes in the form of poetry. San Antonio has nothing that compares. I searched poetry open mics in San Antonio and found one at a bar. My hopes were high. Possibly I could be just like all those drunken legends I drunkenly made shit up about in my head and tell great poems to a crowd of drunken blue-collared sons of bitches.
When I got to the Irish bar, there was nothing but a bunch of buzz cuts drinking beer and looking at my thick rimmed glasses suspiciously. There was not an open mic. Just some dude in a cowboy hat singing country versions of rock songs that didn’t deserve it. I drank one Lone Star and got out of there.
So instead of going to bars to read and be read to, I went to bars to get drunk and watch sports. San Antonio is Spurs country and I’m a Lakers fan. If I can’t make nice to people, I play the asshole. If I can’t be loved, I want to be hated.
“A shot of Jameson, a Lone Star, and can you put the Lakers game on?”
The bartender, being from California himself, agreed with a shit-kissing grin. The Spurs game was on at the same time as the Laker game.
“Who the hell turned on this shit!?” some drunken cowboy with a cigarette stained mustache yelled out from the other side of the bar. The bartender pointed at me, but didn’t change the channel back.
The boos were loud. The Lakers were still playing.
“Another shot of Jameson, please.”
“This one’s on the house.”
I felt good. The Lakers won. I don’t know how the Spurs fared that night.
Andrew Hilbert is a recently displaced Southern Californian living in San Antonio, TX. He will be sharing the adventures he encounters in his new habitat via his column Real Gone (to be published monthly on the second Monday of each month here on intraffik.com) He still wears his Dodgers hat and argues passionately against Spurs fans. He is one of three founders of art/poetry magazine Beggars & Cheeseburgers. One day he will own a llama or three.
In honor of the fact that my driver’s license is finally expiring after what seems like ages and since they didn’t just mail me a new one again like last time, I actually have to brave the DMV and a camera for a new photo (two of my least favorite activities) . Over the remainder of this week I’ll be sharing some of my adventures and lessons learned while behind the wheel. For Part I, which focuses on first car accidents and lessons learned, click here. For Part II, which focuses on the anticipation and impatience associated with the time right before you legally obtain a driver’s license as a teenager, click here. For Part III, in which you will learn that I have no sense of direction when it comes to driving, click here.
To wrap up this “Behind the Wheel” series, that has kept in line with the standard of over-sharing personal information that is the norm for this social-media ruled day in age, I’ll leave you with my lessons learned up until this point in my driving career.
Car Talks – The best (and sometimes worst) most honest conversations seem to happen in a car. There’s something about the feeling of privacy that the enclave created within a vehicle leads one to lose their inhibitions and make confessions or declarations that we might not usually be able to so easily impart upon others, were we to be in any other location or setting. Whether the car is in motion or at a standstill doesn’t so much matter; secrets are spilled, frustrations are released, and relationships are terminated (and/or sometimes salvaged)— all before either party exits the vehicle. Some of the best conversations I’ve had with friends have been late night car chats lit only by the blinking hazard lights (flashing to warn the other vehicles that it may be a while before the car will be hitting the road again). In fact, with some of my closer friends we sometimes make a habit of ending the night with a long car tête-à-tête. Some of these conversations can be credited for re-storing sanity or keeping friends off the figurative “ledge,” while others are of a more light-hearted variety that usually result in a re-capping the night’s (or day’s) events.
Vehicle to Vehicle Flirting – I rarely pay attention to other people in surrounding cars while I’m driving. Although I’m aware of what’s going on around me, I’m very often either working in my head or lost in thought. If you want to get my attention while I’m driving you’re either going to have to yell my name and/or wave frantically, or do something outlandish and hope that I happen to glance in your direction to see it. Just like every other girl who has ever been behind the wheel, I’ve been hit on by guys young and old at one point or another while in my car. The worst is when you are stuck at a light and all you can do is roll up your window and/or turn up your music, and yet they still persist. I’ve even been serenaded a few times by someone in a neighboring car. Those that know me know I really don’t like being hit on and will usually ignore it. I always wonder if that ever works on any girls? I don’t think any of my friends have ever made a love connection from one car to another at a stoplight/sign or while driving. If you have I’d like to hear about it.
Anyhow, the lesson I learned came in the form of a beautiful sunshine-y day in Long Beach, Ca. I was in college and as usual had a car full of my girl friends with me. We were heading back to campus, when one of them told us that the guy in the car next to us had been staring into the car for a while. We all turned to check him out and he was actually kind of cute. However, being about 19 and 20 year olds we decided it might be fun to mess with him and decided to all give him our sexiest glances. We weren’t ever those girls, but for some reason we all went with it. I think we were more silly than sexy (I really don’t think I even know how to be sexy), however because I was the driver he was concentrating on me, so I kept it up just to mess with him. I figured that after the light changed, I could speed up and be done with that and never see that guy again. The light changed and we entered into the Long Beach traffic circle. Now for those of you familiar with that traffic circle you probably know that it can seem a little intimidating the first few times you are in it, but after a while you get used to it. However, it’s still an area where you have to pay attention to the vehicles around you. Long story short, the poor guy ended up rear-ending the car in front of him because he tried to maintain eye contact with me while driving. I saw the whole thing and felt horrible. We all did. I wanted to go back and apologize, but we all figured that might make it worse and he’d had the choice to look away. I still feel awful and guilty anytime I think of that story. I hope the damage wasn’t major (it didn’t appear to be), I also hope that that incident taught that guy to keep a better eye on the road.
So although it’s not something I’d do anyway I will never ever flirt in a vehicle ever again. It doesn’t lead to anything good based on my own past experiences.
Chivalry – While this could refer to opening of car doors, etc. (which is in some cases alive and well), I’ll stick to providing some examples that revolve around car troubles. Be it the fact that I’m a female, or perhaps the fact that you will almost always find me in dresses and heels, or maybe I just look like I really need help in these type of situations? I can’t say that I’ve ever had car troubles without having people around who were willing to help, whether I needed their assistance or not. Yes, they are primarily male, but that’s who seems be better acquainted with the automobile. I’ve pretty much always had roadside assistance plans for all of my vehicles, so although I’m usually covered when it comes to qualified help with car troubles – we all know how long that can take at times to arrive, so the generous act of a willing-to-help-passerby is sometimes immensely appreciated and welcome.
Here are three examples where I encountered an abundance of this willingness to assist.
Example #1 – Cracked Transmission: While I was still in college, I ended up cracking the transmission in my car while backing out of a driveway late one night. I fell off the curb, and hit the pavement pretty hard. All of us in the car figured I’d done some sort of damage, but none of us were sure what it was. The next day when I went to drive it, it was fine initially– but the longer I drove it, it began to get a little jerky. I had no idea what it was, so of course I called my dad (either he or my brother usually end up being my first phone call when it comes to car issues out of habit, even before boyfriends) to tell him what the car was doing and what had happened. He was in a different city so there wasn’t too much he could do other than tell me to take it to a mechanic and not take it to the dealer so that we wouldn’t get ripped off. So, in the meantime at school word had spread that I was having car issues and some of our guy friends and other guys I didn’t really know made an attempt at trying to diagnose the issue. I don’t know how familiar any of them were with car repair (they were quite the eclectic mix of creative types, surfers, regular college guys, etc.) , but I did appreciate the fact that they were trying to help. A couple of them did accurately say that it was the transmission that seemed to have a leak. I ended up taking it to Pep Boys which was down the street and having them diagnose it and sure enough it was the transmission. I ended up having to learn how to properly put in transmission fluid to keep replenishing the fluid that had been lost until the issue had been resolved. It was highly entertaining to have my guy friends trying to give me crash courses on common car problems and how to solve them during this whole experience, and this was obviously one instance when I really appreciated their efforts even if they really weren’t sure of what they were doing.
Example #2 - First Flat Tire: I think I’ve only had one real flat tire incident in my life (knock on wood) and I recall it vividly. I was driving on the freeway and all of a sudden, the road started feeling a little bumpy. My thought at the time was somewhat insolent and along the lines of, “Geez, they seriously need to re-pave this lane.” Then it got worse and all of a sudden I saw a stream of what looked like smoke trailing my car, and I realized my car was the one with the problem not the road. So, I had to maneuver my way from the fast lane to the shoulder of the road. I proceeded to call my dad and let him know what happened so he instructed me to get out of my car since I was next to the freeway, he didn’t want me to be in the car if anyone hit it and to call my roadside assistance. On that day we happened to be in the same town, so he said he’d head there as well.
I did as he said, getting out and proceeding to step to the other side of my car to a safer area to call roadside assistance. No sooner had I dialed the number when I turned around to see that 2 cars had already pulled over to see if I was ok. One was a car with three guys about my age (the driver thought he knew me and it turned out we did have friends in common as some of them rode motocross bikes together, but I didn’t know them), the second car belonged to a middle-aged gentleman.
They all volunteered to stay with me until roadside assistance arrived, as unfortunately none of them could safely change the tire as the flat was on the driver’s side and that was dangerously close to the freeway. So, wait with me they did.
A police officer pulled up to determine what the issue was, after this a series of events worthy of inclusion in a “Three Stooges” episode ensued. First, as the policeman approached us he ended up falling in a gopher hole and we all tried our hardest to hold back our laughter as he attempted to regain his composure and re-establish his sense of authority. As I was explaining that it was just a flat, and that I was waiting for roadside assistance to arrive a second policeman arrived, thinking maybe his buddy needed back-up.
Thankfully, the roadside assistance arrived finally followed immediately by my dad. Everyone else started to leave, since they weren’t really needed.
I can still remember the concerned expression that my father wore on his face as he approached me and my car. (more…)