Taking A Vacation From Myself

This is a silly, but true story that I wrote back in 2006. It was a one draft story that I never edited. I loved it in its raw form.


Taking A Vacation From Myself

With my annual Canada trip fast approaching I was thinking today about an interesting experience I had there last year at this time. While time off of work is always good for "recharging" there is something to be said for time off used for actual vacation purposes. Some aspect of putting physical distance between a person and their usual area of living provides mental distance as well from all of the stress and rigors of day to day work and personal life. When I go to Canada the actual crossing of a national border accentuates this feeling even more so. It's this feeling that I enjoy so much that I would guess played a large role in the story that follows. A story which, to the best of my recollection, is presented as it actually took place with no embellishment on my part. As you will soon discover embellishment and downright fabrication is the actual focus of the story.

So last October in preparation for the big Halloween bash held by my friends wife and her family my help was enlisted to pick up some important items. While Stretch and Gab went to the grocery store to pick up some food items I was left to my own devices at the liquor store with a fistful of Canadian cash and loads of mischievous intent. If you have ever seen Nicholas Cage throwing bottles of booze in a shopping cart in 'Leaving Las Vegas' you have some idea of how to picture the scene in your minds eye. I attacked the task with great vigor and made short work of the list that I had been given. With my intense, but short lived, shopping spree complete I took the libations to the car that I had rented for the trip and awaited my friends who were bogged down by long lines full of other last minute party shoppers at the adjacent grocery store. Since I don't really cut loose often and attend parties I was full of anticipation and energy. Rather than sit idle in the car waiting I decided to mill about the space around my car and enjoy the sunny day. I quickly discovered that there was someone else in the lot that had the same idea.
As I paced the parking lot with a giddy smile I noticed a man, about ten feet away, looking in my direction. His gaze shifted from me to the car, then back to me. At this point I'm thinking that the gentleman either likes the car and wants to talk or that he likes the car and wants a date with me. Much to my relief it was the former rather than the latter. He inquired about the car asking if it were new. I knew at this point that I had two options. I could tell the truth and give him the rental details or I could take a much different path and tell him that it was my car. Telling the fib seemed like a much more interesting way to pass time. Now keep in mind that I am a very honest person (I know, that's the motto of all compulsive liars.) But it is true and any of my friends will attest to my moral character. (Right Van Dine?) However, I have been known, particularly in my younger years, to tell exotic stories to people that I am unlikely to encounter again. This was a perfect opportunity to drop some fiction on a new acquaintance and have some harmless fun. I proceeded to tell the man that I had bought the car about a month ago. It was a Pontiac Grand Prix GT, by no means an exotic car, but very nice and appealing to the eye. It was also a 2006 with about 1500 miles on it. Since it was still 2005 at the time, this car had just entered the rental fleet. The man had a heavy accent, but spoke English in very precise manner and was very easy to understand. I am not an expert on language, but I'm guessing that he hailed from some part of South Eastern Europe. With his rich accent he asked about the engine size. When I was younger I would have known for sure, but I had let my Motor Trend subscription expire, and wasn't sure if they had snuck a small V8 into the GT's for 2006. Not wanting to give an incorrect answer I said to the man, "here, I'll pop the hood and you can have a look. Now in quintessential male fashion there we were, two men talking while staring down into the engine compartment of an automobile. Turns out the man had owned a Grand Prix himself, hence the excessive curiosity concerning my auto. After some jabber about cars and such, the man turned his attention to my nationality. The rental sported Virginia tags, as may rental cars have plates that don't match the state that they are rented in. He told me that he had spent time and Virginia and was curious where exactly I was from. "Great," I thought to myself, "I found the one person in Toronto that has first hand knowledge of the state of Virginia." Believe it or not in all my time spent in Toronto, most of the people that I've met have never been to the U.S. even though the border is all but 90 minutes away. Undeterred by this fact, I pressed on with my creation of a new identity. I told him I lived near Alexandria and worked as a consultant for the department of defense. "Military?" he asked. Yes, I said. Great he had gotten away from the geography thing. Wrong. He begins to go into a monologue describing in some detail his vacations at Virginia Beach and the great time that he had a Bush Gardens. At this point I'm doing a lot of head nodding and giving various verbal affirmations to show some interest in his story. In fact, at this point, I'm half listening and trying to anticipate any potential questions that could undermine my colossal lie. I had offered my occupation voluntarily. I find the most convincing way to lie is to just talk and let the bullshit flow. Don't wait to be asked a question, give the answers in advance. Paint the canvas in any way that you choose. More often than not the person you are telling the lie to will not question you if you speak confidently and quickly.
At once the moment of anxiety passed and I began to remember why I do this little exercise in deception to begin with. It's fun. When in a foreign place on vacation there is nothing more satisfying than taking a vacation from yourself. Not the things that comprise who you really are, but the things that culture and society tell us that we are. I am not my job. I am not my car. I am defined by who I date, what kind of music I listen to, where I live, or whatever I am wearing. By telling a lie I remove those layers and throw out whatever comes to mind. It was working at this point in the conversation. I began to feel the freedom of the lie take over. I was no longer a guy from Binghamton, NY with his average existence. I was me. Fill in the blanks with whatever. I realized that this man struck up a conversation over the car, but I could tell by his interaction that it was my relaxed and capricious demeanor that was captivating to him. He was comfortable with me and whatever aura was surrounding me. I could have told this guy that I was next in line to be king of England and he would have believed it. Some guys have moments like these in a bar after 6 drinks talking to a gorgeous woman. Not me. I get a middle aged and somewhat portly bald guy in a supermarket parking lot. Oh well, that's me, and I couldn't have cared less at that moment.

Next the inevitable question came. "So why do you visit Toronto?" the man inquired spiritedly.
I replied "I'm here representing the United States Olympic bobsled team. We met today with some of the Canadian athletes to discuss a joint training program."

First of all, I'm about 5 foot 8 and my diminutive stature is not what you would likely expect of an Olympic bobsledder. I didn't even have a clue where the next winter Olympics were being held and I sure as hell didn't know anything about bobsledding. It didn't matter. He bought it. I didn't give the man any time to process the information before I went on through a brief life history. I told him how I'd gone to college at The University of Virginia. I played cornerback and was injured during my junior year leaving me unable to play football. The knee injury is an old story that I used in college to get the sympathy of attractive women. (That's an entirely different story.) I proceeded with my story. I told him that I ran a 4.3 second 40. He stopped me at that point. Canadian's, as well as the rest of the world use the metric system, so this guy was not impressed with how quickly I could scamper 40 yards since he had no frame of reference. I basically just told the guy that I'm really fast (which is true.) I told him that after the injury I didn't have to play football on breaks so I spent time with my girlfriend who lived in Saranac Lake, NY near Lake Placid. Naturally I took an interest in bobsledding etc., etc. Sufficiently impressed at this point the man extended his hand to shake mine. He said that he would look for me at the next Olympic games. Meanwhile I was thinking to myself "look all you want pal, you won't see me."

I turned to discover my friends, grocery bags in hand, approaching. Story time was over. I bid the man farewell and he thanked me for showing him the car and wished me luck again. At this point Stretch looked at me with his wry smirk and said "what the f*ck were you telling that guy?" I smiled and asked him if he remembered the old football injury. He laughed knowingly. Every bullshit story I've ever told somehow had involved the knee injury from football and Stretch had heard or helped me to create almost all of those stories.

I left the man smiling and he left me in the same way. No harm was done. The man was entertained for a few minutes and I enjoyed my role as entertainer. More importantly I was able to get what I needed the most. A true vacation from myself.

Worth the wait.

My first blog. Why now? Life is funny that way. Sometimes things come along and kick you in the ass. Some of them good, some of them not so good. My ass had been kicked so many times in recent months that I cannot count the bruises. Let's forget the negative for a moment and cherish the positive!

Thirty five years on this planet and countless people have come and gone over those years. Now at this moment in time I think that I may actually have found my soul mate. What's that? Don't believe me? I've never called anyone that before. I've always scoffed at the idea myself. What an absurd concept, that's what I used to think. That's until recently when in the darkest hours of my somewhat short life I came across K. From our very first meeting I felt a peacefulness resonating all around me in her presence. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. My faith in love on the ropes, ready to throw in the towel on any possibility of romantic bliss I stumble upon the creature that was put on this earth for me, and I for her. Besides the aura of peacefulness, you might ask me why I feel this way. That's a good question. Up until this point I had always assumed that a soul mate would be something I felt. In a way that's true, but this is a certainty that goes beyond emotion. Emotions can be fickle and cloud a person's judgement. Emotions can lead us by the nose and take us places that we shouldn't be. Emotion has its place and can be a wonderful thing, but in this case emotion is irrelevant. There are things that you feel and things that you know. This is not something that I feel. I know that K is my soul mate. It's not something that I need to think about or something that I have to sort through. It is simply a matter of fact.

Since the Giants are about to begin playing I stop here. Naturally there is more to come. A new day has dawned and awake now is a part of me that is seeing the world for the first time. I like this part of me and while I've always had faith that it existed, now it's not a matter of faith or feeling, it's a matter of certainty.