Many places in the world have forgotten about Mike Jones. Not Texas. Swisherhouse still dominates that scene and so do confederate flag shorts. I'm not sure if I have ever shared this story on the blog before but I once got attacked in Gulf Shores, Alabama for burning a Confederate flag.
Let me explain. When I was approximately 16 I hit the peak of my random acts of violence. I set garbage cans on fire in my neighborhood, played mailbox baseball and was just a generally nefarious character. I started drinking that year and I think I dabbled in some light shoplifting. I'm probably more morally ambiguous now than I was then but raging until 7am routinely is a victimless crime, stealing police tasers from military surplus stores. Yes we stole lots of shotglasses, a pair of brass knucles a couple lighters and a taser. I'm not sure when we decided to burn an American flag, but we did because the North won dammit. Eventually a few locals that were quite a bit older than us surrounded my group and took their shirts off because I guess that's how southerners fight...I was drunk off Parrot Bay and feeling like a hero so I said something to their leader about him being unpatriotic. He took a swing at me which I dodged and in an instant sent 1000 volts through his neck. Haha, never fuck with a drunk 16 year old with a taser...unfortunately as he laid seizing on the ground I proceeded to get pummeled by his 8 friends...but by the time I was able to wriggle away their leader was still down for the count. I'll call it a draw.
Well that was an unrelated anecdote, but concrete story flow is overrated. Back to Texas, It was awesome, we raged. There was floating, float trips are less fun during a drought, but there was a rope swing...and a concert, and a 2:1 female to male ratio. But what I'm choosing to focus on today are the events that occurred after the party was over. On the bus back to Austin, I realized I hadn't booked a flight and I had pretty much maxed out the only credit card I bought, so I did the only thing imaginable and went to a Starbucks to sulk and think up tactics to get my mom to buy me a return flight. It's funny when you do things like buy a last minute one way flight, it seems super bold and spontaneous at the time, but when the dust clears and the party ends it just feels retarded.
Lucky for me, with my excellent Priceline skills I was able to sneak in a return flight back to San Diego with just enough cash on my person to buy the gas required to get back to Los Angeles. The problem was that flight was at 6 in the morning. It was 4pm. Now I've explored a lot of cities by myself. I travel alone sometimes when I want to relax/reflect/write. And usually I have a blast. No one wants to go exploring alone after 72 hours of perpetual partying. I know you no one likes the guy that tells you how many drinks he had and how he was "so fucked up and so hungover" but I was ya. I ate like a slice of pizza the entire weekend, I hadn't slept, I was in an unfamiliar city with dirty clothes a heavy bag and I just wanted a dark room to take a nap in. But I had a humid 90 degree park with uncomfortable benches and it looked like it was going to rain.
I had just about resigned to the fact that I was either going to sit on that park bench for the next 12 hours or I was going to have to go the airport and sleep in baggage claim (I've done it before.) I didn't know anyone that was in Austin, and the cheapest Hostel was out of my budget (rock bottom) but then I remembered this thing people used to talk about called CouchSurfing. It's exactly what it sounds like, you go stay on someone's couch...but they're a stranger. Interesting concept, as douchey as I appear in this blog and in person quite frankly most of the time, I have an uncanny ability to turn all that bullshit off and be a good dude once in a while. I generally like people and can usually find something in common with someone.
Of course I immediately doubled back to Starbucks and created a profile and started hitting up everyone in the Austin area. No success. There were some seriously cool people, well I suppose a social media account can make anyone sound cool. Dejected that no one had accepted my surfing requests I was resolved to go watch Magic Mike and then go to the airport and cry myself to sleep...then out of nowhere I received an email from a fellow surfer.
This was my original post:
Here's a fun story. I flew to Austin last minute for a birthday party in New Braunfels. We floated a river, it was amazing. However, I failed to book a return flight because I'm an idiot, this morning when I came out of my drunken stupor I realized that I needed to get back to LA somehow, flights were like severely expensive so I did the only sensible thing and booked one for tomorrow...at 6am...to San Diego...whatever I'll figure it out when I get to California. Anyway, I am at this Starbucks on 6th Street and I have nowhere to go until tomorrow morning and I'm out of money so a hotel is out of the question.
Sure maybe that was slightly over the top. Perhaps a little intimidating for a last minute Sunday night. The person that ended of hosting me was a 25 year old girl that lived with her boyfriend and his dog. He was skeptical of the whole situation but consented. I took a bus to a fairly shady part of Austin and had a doubt or two. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for some psychopath to make a fake account and use a picture of a cute girl to lure guys like me only to brutally hack them to death with a sword. Lucky for me she was awesome. Owned her own graphic design company and built gourmet cakes on the side. Myself, her and her boyfriend tossed back Shiner bocks all night while watching the typical Breaking Bad, Newsroom, Weeds line up. It turned out that my host had couchsurfed all through Europe and dated a guy that I went to South Padre with in 2007.
Overall my experience was life changing. People are good, people are interesting. Her boyfriend was nothing like me, he had video game controls tattooed to his arm and probably had a strong disdain for bros. But it doesn't matter. There is an ancient code of hospitality. The Greeks and Romans believed in it. If someone is passing through and you have the room, put them up you never know what could happen. You could meet a new friend for life, a significant other, or just have a great story to take home to your friends. My host was gracious enough to take me to the airport at 4:30 in the morning. I wouldn't take my brother to the hospital at 4:30 in the morning if he was bleeding out. And she knew me for 4 hours. There's a subculture of people who go...not necessarily people that travel, or people that always say yes. But people that just go. Sometimes it's scary not to ask questions, sometimes it pays to be a little cautious and keep your sense of adventure in check. But I say fuck it, it's about the journey, so I will sleep on a stranger's couch anywhere in the world and we'll probably have a good time. And if you're every around my neck of the woods, you needn't even ask.
No comments:
Post a Comment