UK Road-Trippin': Lesson One

   Imagine a world...where you drive a car on a road built for horse & buggy, when 23 miles can take an hour to drive (without bumper-to-bumper traffic), pudding comes in the color black and isn't pudding at all, a castle very well may be part of your back yard, and a middle school gymnasium isn't called a Church one day out every week.  For those of you that can't imagine this, it's ok, you don't have to.  It's called England, and you only need a passport and some money to see these things I speak of.  The wife and I took a road trip this past weekend, and let me just say for starters, road-tripping here gives me the feeling I imagine time-travelers might have.  It's as if portions of the UK simply were not told that time has moved on and they can stop living like it's the 1800's.  Oddly though, while many of their short-comings in the current future were mine and Robyn's foundation to numerous jokes, there was admittedly something nice about their archaic take on life.

Lesson One: "Do you have a booking?"  

Carmike 14 Black-Ops Task Force

    When I was younger, a kid really, I was one of the five managers at Carmike 14 in Columbia, SC.  Working at a movie theater, as you might figure, had plenty of perks to it.  It also added loads of excitement to my life.  There was a group of us managers that generally hung out a lot.  We had our own little clique, that, well...we got a twisted pleasure out of making our staff (the bow-ties) feel awkward around us.  We would create games to screw around with them, like "Connect-the-Dots Mental Cognition Test."  That one really upset some of them, people don't like being told they are dumber than another because of a line that connects the throat to the base of the duck's beak being slightly more curved than it should be.  When they got mad, our games were given purpose.  Another favorite was "Whisper in a tight circle, and don't make room for the nosy."  I can't say all the games we played were nice, and maybe I should have more regret about some of it, but, I don't.  They were always a hoot!
     Now there were those few occasions where it was another one of the managers that was a target.  Now to get things straight, there was a hierarchy of management at Carmike.  I was about the last in line, but carried myself as if I was 2nd or 3rd.  I was also best friends with the General Manager, the one in charge..for the sake of her identity, we'll call her Amy.  I think it's safe to say she and I toyed with our staff the most.  We had another manager who was a fair amount older than us, but was, say 3rd key, let's pen him as Bert.  Bert had another job, so because of his limited schedule, he never really moved up in the chain.  He also had some other, um, issues about himself that seem to be rather interesting to Amy and myself....
    At the end of every night it was our responsibility as managers to close up the theater after all the money had been counted and the bow-ties had gone home. We shut the place down after the last movie let out.  That was generally sometime after 12:00am or so, about 2 hours of time to kill by ourselves there.  A man can get pretty bored there by himself.  I liked reading so always had a book with me, or had a friend come hang out. There was never a time that it seemed like a good idea to go up the bar that sat a block from the theater...not to me at least.
    After nearly 2 months of hearing some rather suspicious rumors about Bert's disappearing after sending the "bow-ties" home, Amy and I decided it was a great opportunity to employ our covert black-ops training (which was completely non-existent) to deploy a Sting operation one evening that we knew Bert would be closing.
    We met at her house at about 21:30, after doing some data recon, pinning down when the last movie would be starting and when we thought the "bow-ties" would be dismissed from duty.  Naturally, we acquistioned ourselves some high tech camo-fatigues (wal-mart black hoodies, and black pants, they were out of night-vision goggles), and I'm fairly certain there was some black face paint involved and hopped in her stealthy Saturn 3-Door Coupe; it was a dark green color so we didn't bother with applying any L.O. paint to it.  We proceeded to our location to find the best vantage point of Carmike and its insides to carry out our highly classified black-op.
    It didn't really take that long to find the perfect spot.  I mean there were no guns with spotlights searching the grounds, no turrets pointed at the Entry Control Point...no Entry Control Point.  It was easy...   too easy.  That's when we should have started questioning the situation.
    We arrived on location around 22:00, and moved quickly through the small patch of woods directly in front of the theater and found our vantage point.  22:17, we were bored out of our mind and I wanted a smoke. At 22:29 we were back at our post, nicotine fixed, and focused.  Ok, let's not kid ourselves, I don't really remember all the exact minutes but I do remember rough time frames so that will have to be good enough.  About 22:50'ish there is movement in the theater, Bert is walking outside as a car dives up.  A package is delivered and then the car goes to the parking lot directly across from us and parks.  After another 20 minutes has passed the car is still parked there and Bert is passing the theater lobby while talking on the phone.  We decided that we won't get to see Bert walk up to the bar tonight and that we should head back to the car, which is parked at a hotel about 400 yards from the theater completely out of sight from any angle of the theater.
    After arriving at the car, we sat there trying to decide if we should stay and watch out the rest of our mission or call it a dead end.  We land on re-parking still in the hotel parking lot, but so that we can still see the entrance to the bar in case Bert gets thirsty before his shift is over.  While watching the bar doors we are completely unaware that we too are being watched.
    At 23:38 the same mysterious car that made the delivery to Bert earlier pulls directly up behind our stealthy Saturn.  Amy and I both duck down behind the seats and start questioning, "What the...!!!!"
    "Did they see you?"  "I know know, think they saw you?"  " Shit! I don't know, we gotta get the hell out of here!"  "This is not good, yes we need to LEAVE now!"  "Sweet Jesus, why aren't they moving?!?"  They are leaving...NO, just parking now, GO GO GO!"
    The Saturn roars to life, and we peel out of the parking lot.  Closely followed by our new pursuers, as we fly past a Fazzolis, hang a right onto Harbison, they are still there.  I tell Amy to turn into a neighborhood I use to live in.  I know we can lose them there.  But holy shit...We are being followed!  A new fear spreads through me, what will happen if they have a laser gun, or a photon-cannon, we have nothing to combat that...good thing they are driving a Ford, they are normal people just like us.  The fear flees just as fast as it came on me.
    Just as I had hoped, my knowledge of a old neighborhood I had lived in and Amy's expert evasive driving skills saves our lives.  From that point we report to our safe-house for debriefing (my brother's to tell him, "Dude, we were just freakin' followed!!!!"), and then split and go our own ways so as to lower the risk of identification.  The subject of our investigation was never spoken of again, and we were never confronted with it from any unknowing source.
    The mission was not considered a success and Carmike Black-Ops Task Force was dismembered and has not reconstituted to this day as far as my intel informs me.
    

Just remember...Left.

     It's a very odd feeling you get when you are watching an American film, and you have a momentary freak-out cause you are seeing a car traveling down the "wrong" side of the road.  I find myself wanting to yell out to the tv screen in a strange mixture of fear and dread for them!  I have only been driving here in England for just two months now, yet when I think back about driving in the states, its always backwards to me.  I can't seem to get the damn wheel back to the right side of the vehicle.  And then to make driving matters worst, driving on the left over here after learning on the right in the States seems to have taken on the same effects that one might expect from massive acid abuse during their childhood.  At any unforeseen moment, I can have a terrifying flashback from driving on the right side, and frantically question if I am on the correct side of the road or if I am about to be utterly destroyed in a 65+mph crash.  Happens all the time... Fun like no other, really.

   I had no idea what to expect when we got over here, but I absolutely love it here!  I remember when I was younger, in the States I would sometimes swerve over to the other side of the road and scream " We're in Eng'land!"  There was quit possibly far to much joy in that for me when I had passengers, generally I didn't even get a smile from them, I loved it.  Wonder what a Brit would do if they were riding with me and I did that here and yelled "Shoot-Damn, Welcome to the U S A!"  Bet I'd hear the phrase "Bloody 'ell" a fair amount.  

   I have to give the English credit though, they are every bit as good at driving here as they are at making beer!  Anyone that enjoys good beer will know what a powerful statement that is to make.  Since I have been here I'm sure I have added an inch to my belly from all this awesome beer they make.  And it doesn't just stop with them, they get all the good stuff beer-lovers in America dream of tasting.  As for light beer...I haven't found it yet.  That should be a sign to you that they know what the hell they are doing.  

   Now, I understand how odd it might seem to not only discuss the topics of beer and driving together, but to even go as far as comparing the two.  Well the thing is, drinking doesn't have to really involve a car at all over here.  There is no place like a good pub.

   Take a stroll down the road, yeah it might be raining (or even sleeting), you are damn sure it will be freezing outside right now, and you might even have to walk past a pig farm.  But don't let that detour you, cause a local pub is a mile walk, sometimes with challenges, well worth it!  I had quit a number of bars back in Columbia, SC that felt invaluable.  There is nothing there close to the atmosphere a pub in a small English town entertains.  When its cold outside on a friday evening, and the rain has been relentless for the pass 8 hours (7 of them you have been working in it), the pub will offer a unique spark back into a bleak day.  Sitting at a crimson oak wood table next to a brick hearth with a peaceful crackling fire, that is surrounded by laughter and chatter from the town locals, all accompanied with a warm stout beer (and maybe some chips).  Well, this place knows how to decompress after a long week, or day.