Therapy for Arnold

Therapy for Arnold

An Uber-Exciting Account of the Stupid People in San Antonio

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First of all, let me give you a brief run down of the topics I shall be covering in this.  None of it is intended to be racist, I am merely speaking in general terms here.

The topics I shall cover –

-Road maps
-Lack of road maps
-People who can’t drive
-Mexican families that are too large for their own good
-Japanese families that are seen for two minutes and vanish
-Mosey-butts
-Arnold the Shark
-Psychedelic coral
-The fact that Psychedelic Coral would be a good name for a rock band
-The South Texas Piano Bird
-Waiters who think they’re funny
-Creepy waiters who won’t go away
-An intense and almost homicidal hatred for people who take screaming children into the Alamo
-Everyone else in the Alamo period
-The Magical Eyed Pretzel
-Ugly orange metal ‘art’
-R. S. Dolphin
-The ghost story teller
-Ugly moos
-Our very good friend, gravity
-The fact that R. L. Stein seems to have lost his touch
-The sad and oft-times pathetic world of the working actor
-America Baby Foot(.com)
-Cranky Frank’s
-Mean Gene’s

And anything else that pops to mind as I’m spinning my tale.  By the by, those who don’t speak English as a first language may be a little confused by this.  Those who don’t speak English at all...probably don’t care and aren’t reading this, and you couldn’t understand it even if you _were_ reading it, so why am I talking to you?

Let’s start where most good stories start (no, this shan’t fall in that category) – at the beginning.

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Day One – The Drive to San Antonio, or I Would Have Taken the Fork in the Road, but It Was in the Dishwasher

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God never intended for people to wake up at 7:30 AM on Sunday Mornings.  It’s why He invented Second Service at Church.  My Evil Mother woke me and said if she let me sleep as late as I wanted, we wouldn’t get away until five PM.  (Okay, so maybe it’s true, but she didn’t have to be so rude.)

We started out with about seventeen rousing stops at places because she forgot to buy stuff.  Well, plus I wanted Starbucks, but it was mainly her fault.

We absolutely had to stop for cotton balls, and she didn’t even use the stupid things.  Well, okay, maybe she did, but I don’t know why, and she certainly didn’t use enough to make it worthwhile.

My Evil Mother only takes me on vacations for three reasons – one, I can read maps; two, I have an internal compass; and three, I can actually tell the difference between the highways so we don’t end up driving to Guatemala.

Texas is the second biggest state in the country.  We live in Lubbock, in the northwest.  San Antonio is in the southeast and roughly 60,000 miles away.  So naturally, halfway there, My Evil Mother remembers that she forgot to print out return directions.

Lovely.

Plus, she used MSN maps because it was about 30 miles shorter, and had us passing through all these piddly little towns with populations of four.  The populations were so small because there were graveyards _everywhere_.  Literally.  These people can’t back out of their driveways without backing over some Dearly Departed.

It was amazing how many unsanitary-looking restaurants we passed in Piddlyville (and the surrounding area of Piddlyopolis).

I asked My Evil Mother once, “When can we stop for lunch?” She answered, “When we see someplace safe.”

Apparently, Piddlyites aren’t used to people wearing black except for during the vast amounts of funerals they seem to have.  I was wearing black pants, a black shirt, a black hat, black nail polish, and black boots, as I do every day.

These people were looking at me like I was a space alien.

However, they do seem to have cheerleaders at Piddlyville High (home of the Fighting Pids).  We were surrounded by them at the Piddlyville Dairy Queen.

We got lost somewhere around Menard, so we just picked a random road and drove on it until we got to a gas station, adding about six days to our traveling time.  Seriously, I think that gas station was in Florida.  I’m judging this not by road signs, or by time.  I’m using the theory that the Distance Traveled is equivalent to the numbness of the butt.  And I had a numb butt.

When we finally managed to work our way into the thriving metropolis of Fredericksburg (I say thriving metropolis because it had citizens that were still alive), we found Cranky Frank’s barbeque.  We were disappointed that we had eaten at the Piddlyville Dairy Queen, because we would have liked to have tried some Cranky Frank’s.

Of course, it rather reminded me of another barbeque restaurant on the way to Austin, named Humphrey Pete’s (slogan – It’s Pig-Lickin’ Good. Really.  Why Pete would be proud of this tidbit of information is best left to the imagination.  Then again, knowing you people, perhaps not.)

Anyways, once passing Cranky Frank’s and a vast amount of peach stands, we actually managed to find the road we were supposed to be on (huzzah) and made our way to our La Quinta Inn waaaaayyy back in the corner of San Antonio.

First off, I would like to point out that it seems as though La Quinta is Spanish for literally every phrase ever conceived by man.  When we arrived, there was a big banner over the door proclaiming – “La Quinta – Spanish for ‘Free Internet Access’”.  Once inside, however, there were little free-standing cardboard...things...proclaiming – “La Quinta – Spanish for ‘No One Leaves Empty-Handed’”.

My initial inquiry was, ‘Isn’t La Quinta a little short to mean all that?’.  My secondary inquiry was, ‘What happened to ‘Free Internet Access?’ Did they change the language on our way up to our room?’

In all honesty, ‘La Quinta’ is Spanish for ‘The Villa’.  Personally, I think that the banner should say, “La Quinta – Spanish for ‘We don’t clean our swimming pool’”.  That thing was nasty.

I asked My Evil Mother if she wanted to go for a swim.  She said, “I would, but I left my barnacle scraper at home.”

We watched Mythbusters, ate Quiznos, and went to bed.

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Day Two – Brackenridge Park, the Japanese Sunken Gardens, the San Antonio Zoo, and the Witte Museum, or All I Ever Wanted to Know about Aquifers (but was Afraid to Ask)

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There are three sounds I hate waking up to – birds, bad music, and electric toothbrushes.

I was most unfortunate to be awoken to the sound of all three, but My Evil Mother stopped me from hurling myself off the balcony into The Nasty Pool.

We decided to go the Brackenridge Park that day.  So we left at roughly 2 AM (at least, that’s what it felt like...My Evil Mother swore it was closer to 10) and played a rousing game of Find the ****ing Highway.

Well, first of all, she hadn’t been able to find the exact address, so the directions had us starting roughly twelve miles north of where we actually were.  By the directions, we had to go south.  We went south, through the air force base and about sixty traffic lights.  We turned around once we hit the border of Mexico, deciding we had gone a smidge too far.

It turns out that the highway was about .00000001 inches NORTH of the hotel.  We got to see the air force base, though.  I had to make My Evil Mother return the Lieutenant.  I agreed that he was hot, but there simply wasn’t room in the trunk.

So we finally get to the park, and the instant we step out of the car to get into the sunken gardens, we were greeted with 4000% humidity and a temperature of 7,000,000,000,000.

We stood in the parking lot, My Evil Mother trying to figure out where to go while I marveled the fact that my boots were melting on the parking lot.

We got into the sunken gardens and admired a bunch of ugly little trees before we found out that the actual gardens were behind us.  I was glad, because I had been relatively unimpressed up until that point.

Growing bored with the vast amounts of atmosphere, we unstuck the car doors after gazing at the paint that had been dripping off and went to try and find the zoo.

We found it with surprising ease.  We just followed the smell of wildlife poop.  Unfortunately, this smell made it easy for the thing I hate most to follow – families with vast amounts of small children.

Those of you who read my journal a while ago followed my journey into Child Loathing Land, and this feeling of detest had not decreased in the slightest.

There were lots of bears in the zoo.  Lots and lots of bears.  And they all looked exactly alike.  I can only imagine what a tour of the zoo would have been like.

Tour guide: And here, we have a bear.

Tourists: Oooh.

Tour guide: And here, a sleeping bear.

Tourists: Oooh.

Tour guide: And here, a bear sunning himself.

Tourists: Oooh.

Tour guide: And here, two bears having marital relations.

Tourists: Ew.

Tour guide: And here, a flamingo.  And more bears.

Don’t ask my why they put flamingos right in the middle of Bearville.

We found the little shaded area in which they kept the Komodo dragon and a giant python that looked as though it had (hopefully) recently devoured a small child.  My Evil Mother wouldn’t buy either one for me.

There were a lot of areas with no animals in them.  No animals whatsoever.  My comment was, “Here we see the scenery in its natural habitat.”

The zoo is filled with Ugly Moos.  What I mean by Ugly Moos are hippos, rhinos, and the fat guy at the entry in the Grateful Dead t-shirt and the ‘Up Yours’ hat.  A big, ugly animal is an Ugly Moo.

Having our fill of wildlife and their aromas, we retreated to our car and spent half of our vacation trying to find the Witte Museum.  It’s indoors and air conditioned.

Upon locating the elusive museum, we began our journey into the wild world of...wait for it...aquifers.  Well, more specifically, the Edwards Aquifer.

It’s beyond me why they would want to dedicate half of a museum to what’s basically a big hole underground.  However, before we actually got to the aquifer, we had to see all sorts of crap about saving water.

The message of this place was ‘Don’t shower, don’t wash your clothes, don’t do the dishes.  It’s bad, it wastes water.  All water belongs in a big hole in the ground.’

After getting preached at via a showerhead and a toilet, we settled down for the piece de resistance – a movie about the Edwards Aquifer.

It started out with the narrator making a comment about how some people call Earth the ‘Water Planet’.  I, for one, would like to know who calls it that.  I want names.

Basically, you start out as a little digital raindrop (why not?) and go through the Edwards Aquifer.  Then you get to see all the nasty eyeless creatures that live down there, like the eyeless lizards and the eyeless fish.  That’s what my life’s been missing – eyeless fish-flavored water straight from the tap.  Mm-mmm, good.

The area of the museum dedicated to water was called (shock and amazement) World of Water (motto: “Screw the continents!  It’s all water!!”).

The sad thing was, this area of the museum had a mascot.  Two mascots, actually.  A male raindrop aptly named ‘Splash’, and a female raindrop named ‘Splish.’  How do I know she was female?  Because she’s the only raindrop I’ve ever seen with eyelashes.

Anyway, after watching the movie about the aquifer (and that which lives in the aquifer), we decided to browse the rest of the museum, feeling far less thirsty than we had been when we came in.

We saw a really cool mummy exhibit (complete with a really cool mummy), and decided to sit through another boring movie about Indians.  (I don’t CARE if you people call them ‘Native Americans’ – they’re INDIANS!!!)

After that, we moseyed on over to an exhibit called ‘The Sounds of Texas’.  Basically, it was a bunch of dead animals behind a glass window that had been flung randomly on a set, and it would give the cries of the animals and give a few facts only useful for trivial pursuit.  We sat through it because we could.

We managed to find our way back to the hotel in under six hours, got food, and watched Galaxy Quest.

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Day Three – Sea World, or Let’s Plug Up the Walkways

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We woke up the next morning, the smell of the Nasty Pool wafting in under the door.  After dressing, we went and got donuts.  Donuts are good.

Then we trekked to Sea World.  Considering that the exit was less than a mile from our hotel, it was a heckuva drive to get there.  Plus the fact that we had to walk for about ten minutes just to get out of the parking lot once we got there.  However, we got there as they were playing the national anthem, so at least we didn’t miss a single minute of Icky Fish Fun.

Right outside the gate we saw this Japanese family of about fifty-seven standing there, jabbering in Japanese and posing for a group photo.  They were all talking at once, so I could only understand a little of it, but a little old lady kept calling her husband stupid.

The scary part is we never saw them again.  Ever.  They just disappeared.

The first thing we did was the R. L. Stein ‘Haunted Lighthouse’.  I used to think that his books were scary when I was little.  Because they were, they were downright creepy.

But this ride was only scary if the most intense thing you had ever seen was Teletubbies, and even that’s scarier than this thing.  Yeah, it was a tad creepy, but even being in 3-D it wasn’t like it was unbearable or anything.

However, it did spray LOTS of water, which is uncomfortable at 4:30 AM.

We did everything your typical American family (of two) does at Sea World – ride the rides, watch the shows, and leave the park for lunch.  We watched the penguins for a fairly long time, because face it – the penguins are CUTE.

Apparently, we went on Large Families Speaking Foreign Languages Rapidly Day.  As an example, there would be a ramp going up to the area with the shows which could normally accommodate about four people across.

These Mexican families of about 140 would go up onto the ramp, stop in a clump (thus halting the flow of traffic), whip out the map, and begin jabbering in Spanish.  This happened about seventy-three times.

As I said, we left for lunch – more specifically, we got Subways and went back to the hotel, watching some of those uber-awesome detective shows with all the blood and stuff.

We went back a few hours later and watched the dolphins before going to...the sharks.

And now...I bring you to the section for which this prose piece is named – Arnold.

As we watched the sharks, we noticed one that was different from the others.  They all glided through the water, they all had those dead black eyes, but one shark stuck out from them all – one shark had a hideously large overbite.

All these scary looking sharks, and the one with his teeth sticking out.  It was just so...Disney.  We named him Arnold – after all, a dorky shark needs a dorky name.

While gazing upon the freak of nature that was Arnold, a question popped into our heads.  It wasn’t along the lines of ‘What is the purpose of man’s existence’, but it was rather deep.

And that question, voiced by My Evil Mother, was, “I wonder if the other sharks make fun of him.”

Thusly, we decided that Arnold obviously needs therapy.  Best get to him quick before he starts wearing pocket protectors and Buddy Holly glasses with tape on the bridge.

Because we’re such nice people, we’re going to make an offer to Sea World – they fly us down once a week, put us up in a nice hotel on the Riverwalk, and let us come down to Sea World.  My Evil Mother would provide the therapy for Arnold, and I would provide sensitivity training for the other sharks.

Naturally, Sea World would pay for all of this.  After all, it’s all for Arnold.

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Day Four – The Riverwalk, the Alamo, and the Rest of Downtown San Antonio, or, I Think You Were Supposed to Exit There

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Compared to finding our way to the Riverwalk, Moses knew exactly where he was going those forty years in the desert.

We woke, dressed, and carred, putting along the road using the directions of a map that wasn’t meant for navigating.  We ended up exiting WAY west of where we were supposed to be and had to circle around completely.  But we got to see San Antonio’s historic Bail Bonds district, and San Antonio’s very impressive collection of winos.  Everywhere we looked, we saw buildings with signs like ‘Nervous Eddie’s Bail Bonds, Liquor, and Body Piercing While you Wait’.

After finding our way to the area of downtown San Antonio that wasn’t littered with offers to get me out of jail, we played a few rounds of Let’s Don’t Find a Place to Park.

We finally found a lot that wasn’t completely full rather near the Riverwalk, where we gave our money to the grouchiest little old man I’ve ever seen.  How dare we park in his lot and pay him for it?  As he handed My Evil Mother her change, she said, “Thanks, Giggles.”

After scurrying away under the lot attendant’s Vulcan Gaze of Death, we moseyed on down to the actual river part of the Riverwalk.  I asked, “What is that stuff?” My Evil Mother replied, “It’s called water, dear.  It isn’t native to Texas.”

I can see why, too.  That water was some of the nastiest stuff I’ve ever seen.  It was brown...kinda like the river in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  The people dining al fresco got to see the Annual Fish Belly-Up Competition.  Hey, dinner and a show.

We meandered around for a while, trying to find food, when, hey!, we found food.  Imagine that.  So we ate at an authentic Tex-Mex restaurant, trying to ignore the obnoxious Yankee tourists behind us.

You know, you don’t have to take pictures of every inch of the ceiling. Apparently, these people thought they did.  I think they photographed their food after having a hearty laugh at it.

To be honest, most of that day was rather uneventful.  We ate ice cream, took the boat tour thingy, ate again, went to the Alamo, went to Ripley’s Believe It or Not (because there was AIR CONDITIONING!), and got more ice cream.

Of course, I hated everyone in the Alamo.  If you’re a Texan, you know one of the simple rules of etiquette of Texas – YOU DON’T TALK IN THE ALAMO.  If you aren’t a Texan, and you go to the Alamo and talk loudly, the Texans will beat you to death with Davy Crockett’s rifle.  And they can legally do it, too.

As I said, we didn’t do much, until – dun dun dun – night fell.  Okay, so it wasn’t really night proper.  It was...mid-evening, but that doesn’t have quite the same effect.

I digress.  We signed up for a walking tour from America by Foot (or, as My Evil Dyslexic Mother renamed it, America Baby Foot), called The Ghosts and Legends of San Antonio.

Basically, it was this really cool guy leading us around and telling ghost stories.  If you’re ever in San Antonio, go on that walking tour.  It rocks.  But it’s also hard to describe.  So I won’t.  Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it, and this paragraph should have been cut in the final editing.  My apologies.

Anyways, we finished the tour and found our way back to the car.  Thankfully, Giggles the Attendant had been replaced by a slightly less snarly old guy, so we didn’t get the evil eye as we left.

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Day Five : The Journey Home, or, You just HAD to Forget the Return Directions, Didn’t You?

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Nothing much happened this day either, except we ended up going through Piddlyville and its suburbs (Piddlyburbs).  But we did, in fact, find our way back.  We listened to a lot of Broadway soundtracks.  Broadway is good.

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Day Six : There was no day six.  It’s all in your imagination.

--Owari (Japanese for ‘I can’t believe you wasted your time reading this’)--