It’s a really weird sensation, being thrust into a world where there is nothing familiar. I felt lost, confused, disoriented. Several times I was on the verge of tears just because I really don’t handle new situations or new locations or not being sure of myself very well. I had a few friendly faces that always smiled back at me, two friendly people I ate lunch and spent breaks with, and that was it. Just me and the anthill.
Just me, the little small town, country ant. And the anthill of city ants.
The accents were astounding. I don’t know where these people came from, I just know I don’t ever want to go there. My ears picked out my people long before my eyes could have started to, the people who would say the right words the right ways. The people who enunciated, who emphasized the proper syllables.
I found comfort in voices, in drawls, in words. In the line of country boys waiting to go through the metal detector with their steel-toed boots on. In the girls all over the building who screamed she thinks my tractor’s sexy at the top of their lungs when they played Kenny Chesney as part of our Christmas morale boost. Amid the piercings and tattoos and pants that sag and pants that need a little more sag, there were country people. They were very well disguised, but they were there nonetheless. It just took a discerning ear, a little yonder, a country song, and a metal detector to find them.