Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
YoucouldtakeMotherTeresatoaKMartandshewouldgetdepressed.It'snotthatthere's
anything wrong with the K Marts themselves, it's the customers. K Marts are always full
of the sort of people who give their children names that rhyme: Lonnie, Donnie, Ronnie,
Connie, Bonnie. The sort of people who would stay in to watch “The Munsters.” Every
woman there has at least four children and they all look as if they have been fathered by a
differentman.Thewomanalwaysweighs250pounds.Sheisalwayswallopingachildand
bawling, “If you don't behave, Ronnie, I'm not gonna bring you back here no more!” As if
Ronnie could care less about never going to a K Mart again. It's the place you would go if
youwantedtobuyastereosystemforunderthirty-fivedollarsanddidn'tcareifitsounded
like the band was playing in a mailbox under water in a distant lake. If you go shopping at
K Mart you know that you've touched bottom. My dad liked K Marts.
I went in and looked around. I picked up some disposable razors and a pocket notebook,
and then, just to make an occasion of it, a bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, which were
attractively priced at $1.29. I paid for these and went outside. It was 7:30 in the evening.
The stars were rising above the parking lot. I was alone with a small bag of pathetic treats
in the most boring town in America and frankly I felt sorry for myself. I clambered over
a wall and dodged across the highway to a Kwik-Krap minisupermarket, purchased a cold
six-packofPabstBlueRibbonbeer,andreturnedwithittomyroomwhereIwatchedcable
TV, drank beer, messily ate Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (wiping my hands on the sheets)
and drew meager comfort from the thought that in Carbondale, Illinois, that was about as
good a time as you were ever likely to get.
