I could tell she's lived in the area nearly all of her life by two things: by the friendly way she greeted when I stepped on the 20-30 seat bus that passes for public transportation in Morehead. The university has been using similar short buses for years to transport students back and forth from the outlying parking lots. To ride the MorTran locally costs $1. (Passes available.) What's really interesting, however, is that the bus offers service to both Lexington AND Ashland... a detail I wish I had known before I asked George to drive into Lexington to pick me up in front of the Starbucks. (I should point out that I offered to ride the bus to Ashland and save him the trip, but he would have none of it.)
The other way I could tell that Joyce has lived here a long time is from the gravelly Appalachian accent she spoke with. (People who are either ignorant or dismissive of accents tend to confuse the Appalachian growl with the Southern draw. They are not the same.The Southern draw has elongated vows, soft consonants, and reminds the listener of molasses pouring on a cool autumn morning. The Appalachian growl is harsh, sometimes difficult to understands, and is, to the untrained and uncivilized ear more akin to riding a rough back road in the back of truck with no shocks or power steering.)
She asked where I was going, and I told her I needed to head back to campus, or somewhere near it. What took me out to the library was a car, owned by an old friend I hadn't seen in many years. When I met Joy, she had been a college Freshman. I was a graduate student. She had these big blue eyes, a half sarcastic smile like she was silently judging everyone and everything around her (including me), and a well informed home schooled brain. Not home schooled because her parents were religious freaks or because she was a freak; they were just that smart and so was their kid. Also, Kentucky public schools -- at least in the eastern part of the state -- aren't known for the quality students they pump out.
Joy was one of those girls that left me confused, but it wasn't her fault. Girls in general have always confused me. (And no, I don't feel any wiser after two marriages. I just feel more stupid.) Joy confused me because there was something about the sight of her that made my heart stop. Literally. It's an odd sensation, and one I have felt rarely; though I've been told the fact that I feel it at all, let alone more than once, is a gift. It was confusing because I knew enough to know what it didn't mean, but not what it did.
And then it got kind of nuts. But that's another story for another day.
Seeing her again was good. Really good. Seeing her made my heart stop, ever so briefly. And for the same reasons as before... not because it was anything, but because it was something... even if it was just a flash and then it was gone. We talked briefly that day but she had to work; so I rode up to the library with her and when it was time for her to work, I left, intending to walk back to town.
Which was when I noticed the bus driving down the street. It stopped right in front of me and I stepped right in.
That there is something in Morehead resembling public transportation -- and that is not, I might add ... at least as far as I know... associated with the University -- intrigued me. So I told her I was a former student and that I was visiting. She asked when I graduated, and I told her. Then I asked her how long the MorTran had been in existence.
She told me she wasn't sure. "I've only been driving with them for a year." But, she added, she thought it had been around for three or four years.
Joyce -- she eventually told me her name was Joyce -- is one of those people you run into a lot in Eastern Kentucky; and I mean that as a compliment. She's trying to get by in the world as honest as simply as she can. For all the bad press PR Eastern Kentucky gets -- from the "This is California not Kentucky" crack in Clueless to every single stereotype on record... some of them encouraged by Kentuckians who would rather be thought of as a stereotype, and some of them encouraged by well meaning outsiders who make tragic documentaries, win awards and then leave, changing nothing -- I have to admit that some of the best, kindest, most honest people I've ever met have been from Kentucky. So there.
And here's some of what I mean by that. I asked Joyce what she did before she drove the MorTran and she said she used to work at Wal-Mart. She worked at the OLD Wal-Mart (the one I knew was here, that moved in when I was doing my undergrad work in the early 1990's and effectively destroyed the local-based economy) as well as the NEW hyper Wal-Mart that they widened the road for. She worked for them for 14 years.
The other way I could tell that Joyce has lived here a long time is from the gravelly Appalachian accent she spoke with. (People who are either ignorant or dismissive of accents tend to confuse the Appalachian growl with the Southern draw. They are not the same.The Southern draw has elongated vows, soft consonants, and reminds the listener of molasses pouring on a cool autumn morning. The Appalachian growl is harsh, sometimes difficult to understands, and is, to the untrained and uncivilized ear more akin to riding a rough back road in the back of truck with no shocks or power steering.)
She asked where I was going, and I told her I needed to head back to campus, or somewhere near it. What took me out to the library was a car, owned by an old friend I hadn't seen in many years. When I met Joy, she had been a college Freshman. I was a graduate student. She had these big blue eyes, a half sarcastic smile like she was silently judging everyone and everything around her (including me), and a well informed home schooled brain. Not home schooled because her parents were religious freaks or because she was a freak; they were just that smart and so was their kid. Also, Kentucky public schools -- at least in the eastern part of the state -- aren't known for the quality students they pump out.
Joy was one of those girls that left me confused, but it wasn't her fault. Girls in general have always confused me. (And no, I don't feel any wiser after two marriages. I just feel more stupid.) Joy confused me because there was something about the sight of her that made my heart stop. Literally. It's an odd sensation, and one I have felt rarely; though I've been told the fact that I feel it at all, let alone more than once, is a gift. It was confusing because I knew enough to know what it didn't mean, but not what it did.
And then it got kind of nuts. But that's another story for another day.
Seeing her again was good. Really good. Seeing her made my heart stop, ever so briefly. And for the same reasons as before... not because it was anything, but because it was something... even if it was just a flash and then it was gone. We talked briefly that day but she had to work; so I rode up to the library with her and when it was time for her to work, I left, intending to walk back to town.
Which was when I noticed the bus driving down the street. It stopped right in front of me and I stepped right in.
That there is something in Morehead resembling public transportation -- and that is not, I might add ... at least as far as I know... associated with the University -- intrigued me. So I told her I was a former student and that I was visiting. She asked when I graduated, and I told her. Then I asked her how long the MorTran had been in existence.
She told me she wasn't sure. "I've only been driving with them for a year." But, she added, she thought it had been around for three or four years.
Joyce -- she eventually told me her name was Joyce -- is one of those people you run into a lot in Eastern Kentucky; and I mean that as a compliment. She's trying to get by in the world as honest as simply as she can. For all the bad press PR Eastern Kentucky gets -- from the "This is California not Kentucky" crack in Clueless to every single stereotype on record... some of them encouraged by Kentuckians who would rather be thought of as a stereotype, and some of them encouraged by well meaning outsiders who make tragic documentaries, win awards and then leave, changing nothing -- I have to admit that some of the best, kindest, most honest people I've ever met have been from Kentucky. So there.
 |
| I prefer the PETA Alica. |
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| Batgirl wasn't bad either (Geek Flag flying) |
Until.
She was working in the dairy department, she told me, when she hurt her back. In response, they made a greeter.... you know, those geriatrics who wave like automatons when customers walk in. I asked if they offered her any kind of Workman's Compensation. She said no, they didn't. Making her a greeter was Wal-Mart's version of Workman's Comp. Eventually, she said, they just pushed her out.
I know some about the way Wal-Mart works... one, because I pay attention, and two, I worked for them -- briefly -- back in the mid-90's. Wal-Mart is anti-union, anti-worker, and, as far as I can tell, anti-humanity. But they are FOR PROFIT, so I shouldn't expect anything else, I guess.
I mentioned the wonderful three day orientation -- the first day and a half which consists of watching movies about how unions are bad and how Sam Walton is God.
Joyce laughed. "I remember that. But my ex-husband worked for GM; so I know unions aren't ALL bad."
She was working in the dairy department, she told me, when she hurt her back. In response, they made a greeter.... you know, those geriatrics who wave like automatons when customers walk in. I asked if they offered her any kind of Workman's Compensation. She said no, they didn't. Making her a greeter was Wal-Mart's version of Workman's Comp. Eventually, she said, they just pushed her out.
I know some about the way Wal-Mart works... one, because I pay attention, and two, I worked for them -- briefly -- back in the mid-90's. Wal-Mart is anti-union, anti-worker, and, as far as I can tell, anti-humanity. But they are FOR PROFIT, so I shouldn't expect anything else, I guess.
 |
| WATCH THIS MOVIE |
I mentioned the wonderful three day orientation -- the first day and a half which consists of watching movies about how unions are bad and how Sam Walton is God.
Joyce laughed. "I remember that. But my ex-husband worked for GM; so I know unions aren't ALL bad."
[I need to extend my thanks to George and Laura Eklund, along with Waylon, Tommy, and Fiona, for their kind hospitality at Willow Drive.
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