As with most weekends, ThunderJournaling will be light to non-existent.
*lightning strike*
This week, as you no doubt know, I attended a technical conference in Baltimore, Md., a city with a crime rate so high, its motto is: "Hey, at least we haven't mugged YOU . . . yet." Mindful of the city's less-than-stellar nationwide crime rating, I took special precautions to ensure my safety, like not waving a stack of $100 bills around, as I'm often wont to do.
Seriously, I'm not all that worried about being the victim of an assault. With my shaved head and perpetual angry-looking frown, I look more likely to commit a crime than to be on the receiving end of one.
Still, Baltimore intimidated me for some reason. Maybe it's because one of the city's most celebrated football stars was very likely an accessory to murder, and Baltimore seems almost proud of that. Then again, Minnesota has the sex boat Vikings, so maybe I shouldn't be poking fun at the Ravens.
At any rate, I went to Baltimore with a set of preconceptions regarding the city's rather considerable crime rate, and I had a similar set of preconceptions regarding the temper of its citizens. All of which brings me to an evening when I needed a taxi ride and, in my mind, almost started a minor riot.
I exited my hotel and noted that there was a line of taxis waiting outside the hotel doors. The first, or lead, taxi was a yellow cab, followed by a brown cab, followed by about four other yellow cabs. The driver of the lead yellow cab was out talking with someone across the street, so I naturally started to open the door of the brown cab, instructing the driver where I wanted to go. What transpired, I'm convinced, probably touched off an inner-city taxi cab war, and for that I'm truly sorry.
Just as I was about to get in the brown taxi, the yellow taxi driver across the street started yelling at me and the brown taxi driver. I couldn't make out quite what he was yelling, but whatever he was yelling prompted the brown taxi driver to insist that I "Get in! Quick!" Now, the last time I heard the directive "Get in! Quick!" was in a movie, and the person being given the order was about to be shot by a sniper, so it made me a little nervous.
Note: The following dialogue is a best guesstimate, since I couldn't make out exactly what was being said. This is based off what I could understand, and the angry hand gestures being exchanged.
YELLOW TAXI DRIVER (YTD): HEY! Don't use that guy! He's intruding!
BROWN TAXI DRIVER (BTD): No, man! I'm here! Get in! Quick!
YTD: The hotel has an agreement with us! You're not supposed to be here!
BTD: That's not true! I can be wherever I want! Get in! Quick!
YTD: Security!
BTD: Hey! Do you want a cab or not?! Get in! Quick!
HOTEL SECURITY: What's going on here?
ME: I don't know. I just want a taxi. I don't want to break any rules.
YTD: That guy's not supposed to be here!
BTD: I have as much reason to be here as you! Get in! Quick!
YTD: You're the only brown taxi here! This hotel has an agreement with our taxi service!
BTD: No they don't! Get in! Quick!
HOTEL SECURITY: I'm not sure about anybody having an agreement with the hotel. I'll have to check.
ME: Look, I don't want to cause any trouble. I just need to get to a restaurant.
BTD: I can take you there, but only if you get in! Quick!
SECOND YELLOW TAXI DRIVER BEHIND BTD: *revs engine* *yells several ominous expletives*
YTD: You don't want to start this!
ME: No, I don't. I don't want to start anything.
YTD: Not you! Him! *gestures towards BTD*
BTD: I'm not starting anything! Get in! Quick!
At this point, I assessed the situation. Clearly, the yellow cabs were in the majority, and the drivers were all angry at the brown cab interloper. The hotel security guy didn't seem to have the first clue, and also didn't seem all that interested in getting involved. The brown taxi driver, though forceful, seemed awfully defensive, to say nothing of angry, so I didn't relish the idea of a taxi ride with him to anywhere. With all this in mind, I closed the door of the brown cab and got into the lead yellow cab.
You would think that would have been the end of it but—this being me and my perpetual string of strange luck—the brown cab FOLLOWED us all the way to the restaurant. After dropping me off, the yellow cab driver and the brown cab driver got out of their cabs and started yelling at each other, face to face. I decided my role in the fiasco was complete, so I went into the restaurant and washed my hands of the whole ordeal.
So, if there's a taxi cab civil war going on in Baltimore right now, I apologize profusely for whatever role I may have played in its inception. Honestly, I just wanted a cab ride. Nothing more.
It was an accidental beating, followed by an accidental strangulation.
UPDATE: The more I follow this, the more I think this guy is an attention whore who probably didn't actually do the crime. I shall await the DNA judgement on this one.
So, I was watching TV kind of late last night, and I was somewhat taken by amused surprise by some of the late night TV ads that run over here in Baltimore.
Most notably, there was one commercial where a very bored looking, and not-too-attractive woman was working some sort of service job, when her boss starts yelling at her. Cut-scene to same woman finding her salvation while looking for alternative employment, like Anne Hathaway in the Devil Wears Prada.
Note: this commercial was awash in all the third-rate acting we've all grown to love about late-night, low-budget advertisements.
Cut-scene to same woman, yet again, this time working a brass pole, presumably Without her top, with an equally-bored-looking expression on her face, but with a hint of determination now etched on her features. Like Mary Tyler Moore before her, she was "going to make it any way:" despite the huge and unsightly tattoo splattered entirely over her upper right arm. Like a rough, Anne Hathaway. Hathaway. Whatever. Again, topless.
Cut-scene to text that reads: "Make $1000 a night, part-time." (I think it was "a night," I was kind of drowsy when the commercial aired).
Cut-scene to same bored but now-determined, not-too-attractive woman, defiantly throwing her service uniform at her boss, intent on her new Anne Hathaway life working at:
Larry Flynt's Hustler Club.
Not surprisingly, airport security at Rochester, Minn., airport wasn't slowed all that much by the increased precautions, although a Muslim family consisting of a mother, father, two little children, and a baby in a carriage, well, they got the full screening treatment. Of course, it didn't help that both children wore backbacks filled to the brim, and the mother had a thermos of baby formula. In all, it took over 20 minutes for the whole family to get scanned and wanded. Once they were through, however, things went pretty much like normal (and, yes, three other Muslim women went through without a hitch, for those of you about to cry murderous foul "profiling").
Baltimore, near as I can tell, is a more run down version of Boston. Oh, it has its charm down at the inner harbor, but mostly, the farther you range from the inner harbor, the more you tend to notice the increasing grime. My hotel is smack in the middle of the city, practically a stone's throw away from Camden Yards. You can actually see my hotel in the background of that picture. I'll let you guess which it is.
Thanks to a busy conference/meeting schedule, I haven't eaten for shit since Sunday night, when I foolishly ordered a spinich and cheese calzone, thinking that East coast calzones = Midwest calzones. They do not equal each other, in case you're wondering.
The Baltimore Convention Center is, generally, pretty nice. The Seattle Convention Center was probably nicer, but Baltimore has its own unique charm.
I return to Minnesota early tomorrow afternoon, at which point I imagine I'll see a little more delaying security than what I experienced in Rochester. But, maybe not. Everyone I've talked to here says the media reports have been overblown, at least compared to what they experienced, so who knows.
