Texas

I'm in Texas for work.

(Help.)

I've been in Texas before -- even this part of Texas -- though it's been a long while. The last time I was in Texas, really in Texas and not just passing through the excrescence that is Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, I was 22 years old and here for the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition: not as a competitor, but as part of the institute that accompanies the competition. Back then I was distracted by an endless round of parties and entertainments. I didn't drive, I was chauffeured. I had an itinerary. Meals came down a trifle heavily on the side of beef and beans, and if I never see another black-eyed pea again, it'll be too soon -- but ignoring the fact that everywhere I went was a mansion, that most people I met had a personal income that outstripped the GDP of Brazil, that my hosts sometimes had servants and that everyone, but everyone was white, people were nice. I felt welcomed. I was surrounded by people who appreciated music and spoke my language. I felt like I was amongst my own.

Today I drove down President George Bush Turnpike -- President George Bush Turnpike, y'all -- and realized I had landed in outer space.

I went to a restaurant and they asked me if I wanted to sit in smoking or non-smoking. "I don't understand," I said without thinking. "Is there a fireplace?" The waitress smiled a little blankly and took me to a table.

I passed a gas station advertising unleaded for under $2.30. I circled it warily just to make sure I hadn't misunderstood. Nope, there it was. Unleaded, $2.27.

I got to the office at 5 pm and almost everyone had gone home. "Well, of course," said one of the people still there. "Most people get to work between 7:30 and 8:30." "In the morning?" I asked. "Haha," said the coworker. Literally. Ha, ha, with spirants and everything. I'm not entirely sure she was laughing.

Texas is strange.

President George Bush Turnpike.

It would be fair to say that I'm a liberal. In the Bay Area, this is hardly unusual or a stretch -- and until now, I've always thought of myself as a fair liberal, not prone to knee-jerk reactionism. I weigh both sides of the argument. I even take the Devil's Advocate position and defend Dubya when the Guy rips into him. So I hope you will all appreciate just how disturbing it is that I should have had the wild desire to cause a major accident with my electric blue rental car on President George Bush Turnpike for the sheer principle of the thing.

The state is red. Even the light is red. The sun hits the earth, gets to Texas, and actually blushes. The only way I could be more out of place is if I were a vegetarian communist. I panicked a little, I admit it. There was, I decided a few miles out from the airport, no way in hell I could possibly fit in here. None. Zero. Nada. They probably didn't even know what tofu was. Scared little Asian chick in the GOP heartland, yo. Help. Somebody help.

...and then I looked up and saw a Fry's.

You'd have to be a techie to understand what happened next, and a techie who has experienced Fry's to really sympathize, at that. It was a Pavlovian response. Complicated little triggers fired off in my brain. Endorphins surged through my system. Panic subsided. Relief took its place. Peace wrapped its fuzzy arms around my brain and squeezed.

A people who can appreciate a Fry's is a people who I can communicate with. They are a people who speak the same language I do. Red state, blue state, conservative, liberal: all are one in the face of Fry's customer service.

"Where do you keep your RAM?"

"Uh, is that like hard drives?"

I saw the great equalizer, and it was good.