Episode 20, Part 2: Lapped by Larry the Cable Guy

Part 2

After I got to my room, I showered and then slept for a few hours. My plan going out to Williston was to check out the tent city and maybe find some people who'd be willing to talk.  From there, maybe get a ride out to the oil fields and see the drilling and fracking first hand.  

Except that by the time I arrived, Wal-Mart had made everyone leave; apparently the corporate headquarters in Arkansas didn't want Waltonvilles to catch on in the media imagination; exploiting employees to the point of underpaying them so they still need public assistance is one thing, but having totally dependent communities pop up in their parking lots made it a little too obvious that Wal-Marts control and manipulate the economies of every town they build in. 

But there was still the bar. The motel I stayed in, like every other motel in town, had a bar with some “casino style gaming.” I couldn't help but think of the westerns I used to watch with my old man; boom towns full of  lonely men with too much time, too much money. Then there was the flood of younger workers willing to do the job cheaper, like some of the ones who'd gotten off the same train as me ... the corporation's guarantee against organized labor being TOO organized.  Lots of anger bubbling underneath everything – an entire cache just waiting to be mined.

I went down to the bar. They had one bottle of Kentucky branch water, but it was one I favored, so I ordered an overpriced shot and a bottle of Coors Lite. The place was dark, like a closet. The only real light shone in from the motel hallway, the television behind the bar, and the light hanging over the roulette wheel. The woman running the wheel looked  almost too young to be in a bar. She was all trussed up and over painted. No one was playing roulette. She looked bored. The bartender was older and probably welcomed the dim light behind the bar, though she was still dressed pushing forward what she'd been told were her best attributes. I was the only one at the bar, and she figured out quickly that I probably couldn't afford a long night of boom town priced bourbon. 

There was one other person in the bar: a man sitting alone at one of the few tables scattered in the small space.  He was half in shadow, sipping on brown liquor in a rocks glass. He could've been chiseled from the ground, formed from the fracking tar.  I tried engaging him in some conversation, but he wouldn't have it. Then his cell phone rang. 

His voice was as gravely as the rest of him.  Between the noise of the TV, the noise from the hallway, and the music on the jukebox, I couldn't hear much of what he was talking about: yes, he was going to send money home as soon as he got paid; no, there wasn't much of a chance he'd get away any time soon. I wondered how long since he'd been home.

“Not with all these kids coming up here,” I heard him say. “They work cheap. Push good men out, and then can't hack the work, and the rest of us have to work harder to make it up.” 

There were some other choice words he used. “Soft” was one of them. I couldn't help but wonder if he was talking louder for my benefit. I never got around to telling him I wasn't there looking for work, but a story. 

I ordered another round. “Don't listen to him,” the bartender said.  “He's been here a long time. He's cranky.” 

So I told her why I was Williston. After all, bartenders have good stories. They hear everything. And even if she didn't want to tell me a story I could include, she could point me in the right direction.

“You mean like that TV guy? Larry the Cable Guy? Are you with his crew?” She sounded almost interested. Almost.

I blinked. She noticed right away that I wasn't with the crew. Her almost interest evaporated. Then she told me that Larry the Cable Guy had been there for about a week, recording around town, and out at one of the drilling camps. 

And there it was. And I knew the story he was going to tell. I didn't watch him, but I knew the show. It was one of those reality TV shows where he goes around and shows off American spunk and hard work. And I didn't have to watch the episode when it came out to know that he wasn't going to talk about the recently erased Waltonville or the painted girl on the roulette wheel, or the bartender, who seemed to enjoy taking the wind out of my sails, or even the field worker on his phone railing against youth and laziness. 

Thanks so much for listening to Episode 20, Part 2 of Record of a Well Worn Pair of Traveling Boots. Please be sure to show some love by subscribing to this podcast on ITunes, Spotify, or whatever pod catcher you use. Check out the past episodes and look for Episode 21 in a couple of weeks. 

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