Forget about fiery pits and eternal damnation. Hell is right here on earth. In fact, you can visit for about $200 a day-- off season. There's no guy with horns at the door to greet you, only disheveled bellhops and weary deskclerks. But if you're looking for something akin to the Hotel California, you're in luck.
I didn't choose to go there. Are you kidding?
A nice Jewish girl from the East Coast
actually volunteering to go to a place where people worship Dolly and Elvis (not that there's anything wrong with that). My boss volunteered me. I went to work at our company's bookstore as part of a computer convention.
I'd been at the company only four months and still wanted to please everyone--not
to mention that I thought I might be able to do a little networking
on the side.
As if going to Tennesee wasn't bad enough, one of my companions was a morose, thin lipped, John Watersesque editor who had a crush on me. Just being in the same room with him gave me the creeps.
He's one of those people who has the same expression no matter what the situation. Even when he's laughing, his face barely moves. He's definitely the sort of person that one would envision going completely insane one afternoon and gunning down the unlucky SOBs in adjacent offices. He couldn't wait to go on the fucking General Jackson Showboat
The minute I landed in Nashville and got one look at the airport, I knew I was in trouble. There was Opryland paraphenalia everywhere. People were actually strutting around in cowboy hats and snakeskin boots--without the slightest hint of irony. Everyone was kinda fat, kinda blond, and kinda vacant. With my curly red hair and all-black attire, I stuck out like a sore thumb. People looked at me as if I'd just landed from Mars. "Hey you dumb rednecks, never seen a Jew before?"
I managed to slip by "TED" (as in Bundy) the editor, grabbed my bags, and got into cab that reeked of coconut and Krispy Kremes. The cab driver was too friendly for his own good. Drive, I thought, don't talk. In New York and DC you can count on sullen, silent cabbies who drive like maniacs, but here in good ol' Nashville, there's such a culture of Southern hospitality, that even the cabbies feel obliged to be nice. It's annoying. With all his "good will" and chit-chat, he managed to overcharge me about $5. Those guys live for gullible tourists and snotty East coasters like me. Because I was on an expense account, I tipped him. Afterall, it was on the company.
We pulled up to the sprawling architectural monstrosity that is Opryland and I felt sick. The place is beyond huge and it's got that eerie look of a theme park. It's kinda like Disney Land without the rides and animated characters. Tourists were pulling up in droves, mostly senior citizens on some sort of discount tour. Most of the ladies looked like they had been out in the sun too long. They aspired to the helmet-head, Aqua Net school of beauty. They glided past me in pastel jogging suits and floral printed housecoats. The old geezers sported bad rugs, bolo ties, and suede vests. They looked at me with a mix of pity and fear.
The men dragged the luggage, well-worn leather samsonite suitcases and hat boxes (hat boxes?) into the lobby while the ladies stood around gaping at the muscle-bound bell hops. Inside, they found themselves in what I suspected was their idea of paradise. I watched as they disappeared into the faux landscape across bridges and scenic waterfalls. As far as the eye could see, there were tacky gift shops, and restaurants with names like the Cascades and the Green Nook. I couldn't wait for my first taste of the Kentucky burger at the Green Nook. This gastronomic disgrace consisted of a rare burger covered in cured ham and pimento cheese. Jesus, this was gonna be good.The bell hop assigned to me was a young Elvis lookalike who sported a large gold cross and thick sideburns. As we walked for what seemed like miles through the halls of the hotel, he attempted to entertain me with tales of his fledgling singing career. I tried to zone him out, but he just droned on in his cheery southern drawl.
We arrived at my room. Barry dragged my bags onto a luggage rack and then opened the shades to reveal yet another gift shop and several drunken good 'ol boys whooping and hollerin' with their bleach blond feather-haired girlfriends.
"Any thing else I can get for ya ma'am, please don't hesitate to give me a buzz." He winked and waited expectantly for a tip. I handed him a five (that expense account thing again) and quickly ejected him from my room. Alone at last, I turned on the tv and flopped onto the sagging bed.