Texas In the U.N.?

The Lone Star State, Or Why Texas Is A Foreign Country

"A good way to think of graduate school at Texas A&M is to think of it as a study abroad program. And if you don't know what I mean yet, you will. Just head on over to the Wal-Mart." --Courtney, 2nd-year Master's Student, Oceanography.

There’s so many more tales from my 2000 mile drive from Connecticut to Texas, but I don’t want to bore you here. Instead, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you about life as I live it here in Texas. Mind you, I’ve been here for only 10 full days. Class starts tomorrow and I spent all last week in meetings. And I’ve yet to see the thermometer drop below 88 degrees. Even at night. So I drove all the way from Connecticut to Texas, dropping in to see friends briefly in Pennsylvania (more on the Clayt L. Clan of Erie, PA in a bit) and then high-tailed it another 1550 miles in two days to get to the glorious 105° temperatures that is College Station, Texas at 8:00pm. The drive, especially from Texarkana, Texas, can confidently be termed "rural". There’s no question that Texas A&M University is situated pretty much in the middle of nowhere. But it’s fun to drive the only foreign car in a 100-mile radius when it’s long country roads. So I pulled onto Texas Avenue, turned right onto University Avenue and decided to roll the windows down, turn off the A/C and enjoy the sights and smells of Texas. A brave, but hopeless idea.

I soaked in the atmosphere for a good 15 seconds, before rolling the windows back up and turning the A/C on again. Its not that it smells, but if you’ve ever held a blow dryer to your face and discovered that you don’t really like the feeling of hot, dry air on your skin, then you know how I felt. After a bit of a detour (deciding that my place was on the south side of campus when its actually on the north side), I found my place and my dear friend and new roommate Eugene F. of Bryan, TX, formerly from Los Angeles, CA and originally from Cork, Ireland. How I decided that he didn’t live off a side street of Ireland Drive is beyond me. How I decided that his house was diametrically opposite the bar district is also beyond me. But there you go. So I took a nice scenic trip through utterly boring and unimaginative developments. But I did make it there. We caught up the way Irish boys do and moved my stuff in. Having been touched that he was waiting for me outside when I pulled up, I quickly discovered that he was out-of-doors from necessity. If it was 100 outside, it was at least 110 inside. With no breeze. In fact, as I sit here writing this, I’m sweating like a mob informant. A fat mob informant. A fat mob informant sitting in a 110° house wearing a winter coat. So thank God for A/C in the bed room!

But the initial experience of student life has been good. If only I could figure out these Texans, I’d be all set. For example: everyone drives a truck here. Big ones. Loud ones. And yes, I’ve seen gun racks. Which is fine, because when there are 2500 people at the Wal-Mart (the largest I’ve ever seen or been in), its easier to pick out my car, Claus. The Wal-Mart was chaos. Going through the shampoo and soap aisle, I actually queued up behind about 5 other people and moved forward in step with them as we searched out our favorite bath and body products. The variety and array of hair-care products meant for "blondes" was mind-boggling. Of course, the Wal-Mart had a gun section, not just a counter, and believe you me when I say that I could have queued up there too. Fortunately, I’m a pacifist fly fisher. After exactly 1 hour at the Wal-Mart, I was stocked up on all my student school supply needs. I got highlighters and 4-color pens (the secret to my success), binders, loose-leaf paper, garbage cans and garbage bags, a bath rug and lip balm (more on that in a bit), and eye glasses. That’s right. I bought glasses. The truth is, my eyes have been hurting when I sit at the computer too long. Or read too much. And I hear there’s a lot of both when it comes to grad school. How I managed to preserve my 20/10 vision through Yale is probably not something to brag about any more. The jig, as they say, is up. But they’re nice little reading glasses, nothing more than hands-free magnifying glasses that are perfect for the occasion. And should I still be able to read road signs a half mile away come summer, I know I spent my $7.99 well.

After Wal-Mart, I went to the HEB grocery store. After 2 years on St. Croix, and as much as I love the Plaza West Mart and Plaza East and the deli counter at the Schooner Bay Market and the we're-open-on-holidays of the Food Town, I have to say HEB is going to be a god-send. I was overwhelmed. They have at least 50 types of sliced bread, a deli counter, a tortilla bakery on site, cute girls giving out free samples, two full aisles of sausages (I wish I were kidding), and self-check out. If only they had Skippy Peanut Butter (I definitely wish I were kidding). For those in the know, my glorious frame is largely built on the magnificence and munificence of Skippy Super-Chunk. I buy it by the ton. I buy two jars so that I don’t accidentally run out. I buy the biggest jar they sell. I score and compare grocery stores by whether or not they stock large jars of Super-Chunk. I’m always disappointed when I discover that a grocery store only cares the boutique sized chunky but the super-sized jar of creamy. I’ve found it in Nice, France, Italy, and Cairns, Australia (in the international food aisle). I’ve kept the distributor to St. Croix in business. In short, I love the Skippy Super Chunk. How the HEB doesn’t have it is something that may very well force me, despite its shiny newness and colorful rows of fresh fruits and veggies reasonably priced to sell, free gimmes and cute girls at said gimme counters, to shop elsewhere. I hear there’s an Albertsons. Stay tuned.

After I got over the shock of having to purchase Jif Brand Peanut Butter (an unworthy alternate), I decided to go check out a few furniture stores since my bedroom was a bit "unfurnished", something I didn't recall when I visited in April. Probably all the boxes Eugene kept in there. Anyhow, I found a nice little bed and bureau set, and set up a delivery and was very happy with how nice the lady was and how professional the movers sounded. It was not to last. First, they rescheduled the delivery from Wednesday to Friday, meaning I had to sleep on the futon mattress, on the floor, for 6 more days instead of 4. Then, they gave me a 4-hour window Friday afternoon when I was supposed to be at a meeting for new Teaching Assistants. Then they didn't show up.

If I ever own my own company, I promise to offer Grade-A, Peerless Customer Service. I called the store at 5pm to get the dispatch number so I could get a good idea when they'd arrive. The dispatch number, of course, wouldn't accept a long-distance call from a Virgin Islands' number. Nor could they call me, either (these things I learned on Saturday). They didn't have a map to the house. How that's possible is beyond me. I can print out a map to any house in the country. You'd think movers would either A) be completely familar with their coverage area, streets, and neighborhoods, or B) go to maps.com and print out a map with directions. They chose C) quit looking and take the furniture back to Houston so they could make it to the bar by 8pm. By 7pm (the end of the delivery window), I was a bit nervous. By 7:30, a bit agitated. By 8pm, both me and Eugene (who has no faith in delivery guys) were ready to explode. After all, it was the gala Welcome Party for all the new grad students in the Geography program, and these tardy deliverymen were delaying the margarita goodness. So we left. When I left the party at 11pm, there was no message on my phone. No note left on the door when I got back to the house. The Customer Service Score was lacking.

I was awakened the next morning at 7:30am when my phone rang. "The movers!" I thought as I answered the phone. But Alas! Twas Not Them. So I waited, sitting in the steadily-heating house until noon. At that point I went back to the showroom to lodge my complaint and get some satisfaction for all the garbage I had just gone through. The lady was apologetic enough, but I was in no way satisfied when I found out that they wouldn't be able to deliver until Wednesday. So that's 14 days of sleeping on the floor before I get a bed. I'm betting that 1) they'll get lost again, and 2) they'll schedule the delivery for when I'm in class. I seriously might buy some balloons and signs to give them landmarks all the way to my place. On the other hand, they did give me a nice hardwood jewelery box with a hand-carved monkey on the top that is, despite that description, quite nice and perfect. Although, at this moment, I'd give it back to have had a bed before the first day of school.

Other than the getting settled, I’ve had quite a good time here in College Station. When not sweating profusely, Eugene and I have gone to the local pubs and enjoyed a pint or two. We share an office (O&M 803A), and even share TA times (MW 1-3pm). We've been dubbed "trouble" by more than one group of classmates and faculty. We debated the sensibility of spending some of our shared rent money on cable television (only because it comes with the cable modem, you see…), and gone for nice little jogs around campus in 98° heat. At 7:30pm. The campus loop is almost exactly 6 miles, and should I keep it up for the semester, I will probably be able to not donate most of my dress pants to charity. We've also come up with plans to save even more money (say it with me: "brew your own beer") and make money (say it with me: "sell your own beer"). Of course, it's ideas like those that are so completely loony and impossible that make being a student fun. Will we ever brew? Goodness no. But as a concept, it's quite dazzling to the brain.

And so, until then, I send my thoughts and warm wishes to everyone. To those I managed to see and those I wish I could have, there’s a futon here with your name on it. Just give us 24 hours notice. And pack your undies in a freezer.