Decisions, Martha Stewart, and Mississippi Lesbians

I managed to make it out of Kansas Friday morning. My route should've taken me over MO, AR, MS, and AL. OK never figured into the picture during pre-flight, but as I launched I found myslef headed in that direction because of the thunderstorms over Little Rock and Memphis.

I took off from LWC and headed pretty much straight south towards Joplin, MO. The weather was bad in AR, but manageable in the southern part. I had intended to fly to Shreveport, LA, then east to Pensacola to get around the storms. But as I passed Joplin (JLN) I was met with a solid wall of blackness, something I vaguely remember from the move Independence Day. So at 9500, I made a nicely executed 180 degree turn, trying to be cool on the radio.

"Uh, Kansas City Center, 2528 Uniform. I'm turning back."
"Affirmative, 2528 Uniform. Say intentions."
"I want to land."
"Where would you like to land?"
"Anywhere."
"Where?"
"Anywhere that's away from the giant black wall of death."
"2528 Uniform, suggest heading of 020 for Joplin."

I touched down in Joplin, filled the tanks, checked the weather and found a way around the giant black wall of death. When I took off again, I contacted ATC, and they assured me nothing was in my way between AR and FL, but that I should stop in MS to reasses.

By two, I was in Greenwood, MS (GWO) By three, I was fueled, rested, weathered and ready to go. By 3:05, I was taxing. By 3:10 I was screaming down the runway. And by 3:15 I was being screamed at by Memphis Center.

"2528 Uniform, did you check the weather?"
"Yes I did."
"DId you get a breifing?"
"Yes I did. Five minutes ago."
"Well there's a line of weather between you and Florida."

I looked over my shoulder at the airport fading away. A seperate line of showers was quickly approaching the airport from the west. I looked at the weather ahead of me, now visible at 2500 feet.

"Memphis Center, 2528 Uniform.
"Go ahead,
"Uh...Memphis Center, I want to land."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
"Where?"
"Anywhere that's away from that Giant Black Wall of Death."
"Contact tower on 118.35."

And so, safelty on the ground, I checked around a found a hotel in Greenwood called the "The Alluvian," owned by the Viking Company. They picked me up in a British taxi and drove me past the cotton fields of Mississippi to the downtown of Greenwood. I was amazed at the poverty surrounding the city, as well as in the city itself. But like an oasis in the desert, the Aluvian stood in the midst of the blight, welcoming those who want to get away.

I ran into an older guy with a younger girlfriend who said to the front desk girl, "Where's Tania?"
"She's not working tonight."
He turns to the girl he's with and says, "She usually takes good care of me."
I could read the girl's contention on her face.

Nothing like making a girl feel special...As if he's been there a hundred times before with different women. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but you certainly don't want the new girl to think she's one of a thousand, or even one of three.

Greenwood is known for two things: Cotton and Mississippi Delta Blues. I however, only got to experience neither. Instead, I was kept company at the bar by a couple of kids who were pissed at their mom for selling their Jimmy Buffett tickets while they were in the Bahamas. So the evening went on talking about Buffett songs. Now, I'm a big fan, but in order to be a big fan, one should know more than just "Cheeseburger" and "Margaritaville." But you have to start somewhere. They couldn't have been more than 25, and talking about how they haven't gotten laid in a year. And that they would at this point in the night, nail anything that moves. That's when I got a little uneasy, and began to shift in my seat.

So when my table was ready, I bid my new Buffett friends goodbye and headed to my table for an incredile meal. And aside from a boistrous woman who kept talking basketball to her group it was an uneventful meal. Between giving the waitstaff a hard time for no reason, she'd say things like, "I'm sorry. Terrence isn't the best choice for point guard. I know basketball. I'm sorry." She would start every sentence with "I'm sorry," then make a statement and follow up with, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. But I think Michael Jordan was the last great player. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry. But I think that Martha Stewart is a lesbian. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry But I think that after all this wine, if Martha Stewart walked in and showed me any interest, I'd become a lesbian. I'm sorry."

So no big adventure on this night. I just sat and listened to a few knuckleheads and watched as they shamed the waitress, complained for no reason, and made me proud I wasn't anything like them. I'm a firm believer in two thing: The Golden Rule and Karma...which, now that I think about it, they appear to be the same thing.

When you make a no-go decision, there's a cloud hanging over you, making you wonder if you really made the right decision. An old addage goes something like, "Better to question your decision on the ground than have it confirmed in the air." And that night, after a strong drink, an incredible meal and a few glasses of Pinot Noir, I fell into the cloud-soft bed and knew immediately that I had made the right decision. Then just as I drifted off, I heard a knock at my door.

When I opened it up, there was Martha Stewart buck naked. In her deep voice she said, "I'm here to prove I'm not a lesbian."

I grabbed her by her shoulders, turned her around and gently pushed her off. "I think you want the room across the hall. The one with Jimmy Buffett playing."

At least that's the way I remember it.