Running like hell from the bible belt...

I found AJ's RV in its usual place "down by the river" near the main drag of Savannah. There were a bunch of people getting drunk in the back of the RV. I joined them, getting fairly tossed myself before running to a nearby Chevron station to get some munchies. Inside the store, I slipped a candy bar into my pocket rather clumsily, and right in front of an employee that I hadn't noticed was there. He proceeded to run towards me and grab me by the shoulders. I yelled saying, "I'll pay for it! I'll pay for it!" slurring my speech badly. Finally I wrestled myself free and ran down the street, only to be stopped by the police a few blocks later. I was shocked when instead of writing me a ticket they arrested me and took me to jail. I spent the next day and a half in the county jail and found out at my arraignment that I wouldn't be release on my own recognance, but that I'd be sitting in jail for another twenty one days until I went to court. All for a fucking candy bar. My bail was a ridiculous 830 dollars and I didn't know anyone with that kind of money. So, I finally called my parents, ashamed of myself, and feeling very guilty about the whole situation. They relucantly agreed, but made it clear it was the last time they would ever help me out of a situation like this.

I didn't have the money to pay them back, which presented a new problem as I left the jail. I had to get a job. I started applying for jobs around town without much luck. After turning in a few more applications that day, AJ and I were walking back to the RV when he got a call from his work. AJ looked at me with the phone to his ear and said, "Wanna work?"

"Hell yes," I replied.

"The place I work owns another restaruant down the street called Tapas, and they need a dishwasher ASAP."

I got there 10 minutes later, and was instantly put to work. It was a good job, and it was a small restaurant with good people.

I worked throughout St. Patty's weekend, which was the original reason I came to Savannah, but I caught a glance around at the festivities before work one day, and as it turned out, I wasn't missing much. It was a classic holiday geared towards tourists run amok. Every inch of space was filled with over-priced stands selling green beer, and annoying security checks everywhere attended by idiot security guards that couldn't find a knife on you if they did a strip search. Not to mention the tourists. Oh, god, the tourists. It was enough to make me physically ill. I went back to work hoping I could just ignore the hundreds of thousands of idiots outside running around buying useless shit.

After that weekend I became good friends with everyone at Tapas, and it's sister restaurant down the street, 606 East Cafe. But it wasn't until I started hitting up the local bar scene that I really started meeting people and getting plugged into the Savannah punk scene. Savannah had the strangest (and most depressing) punk scene I've ever seen. Almost every punk you'll see there is a SCAD (Savannah College of Art and Design) art student and is over 21 so between classes and hanging out at the bars, you'll be pretty lucky to ever see one just strolling down the street. The only all ages punk venue is the 2424, which doesn't feature nearly as many bands as all the bars do, so if you're under 21, you're pretty fucked when it comes to things to do.

I slowly descended into a work, drink, sleep, repeat... cycle for the next two months. I was becoming seriously bored with this town. I spent most of my days off writing stories for my zine in the park or the local coffee shop trying to maintain my sanity. Savannah was an odd place. Not many of the punks know each other. Nobody really cares about social issues. There's thousands of empty buildings, but no squats. Everyone is an art student, so they'll be gone in four years so "who cares" right? It was just one of those areas where I felt I could spend my whole life and not really accomplish anything.

Finally, my court date came around. I was fined 400 dollars (for a fucking candy bar!). My friend Mike threw us a going away party and everyone from Tapas and 606 came to party with us for the last time. The next morning I picked up my bail check and promptly skipped town without paying the fine.

I was reading the local paper that morning before we left that featured an article about a nearby county in Georgia that just had it's first integrated prom. "It's been how many years since the civil rights movement, and you're just now getting to integrating your proms? Fuck this backwards state!" I thought to myself. It was time to get out of here.

AJ and I piled into the RV and tore out of Savannah up the I-95. We each cracked a beer and gave Savannah the finger as we drove over the bridge into South Carolina. The only stop we made during the trip was to refuel the RV at South of the Border. We had seen the large colorful signs pass by for the past hundred or more miles, telling us about the various attractions and that we were twenty miles closer every time. Curiousity and a lack of fuel finally forced us to stop at the tourist resort located just south of the North and South Carolina border. It was a ghost town. Not a car parked anywhere in sight, and the only thing missing from the desolate scene of abandoned museums and amusement rides was bales of tumbleweed blowing by in the wind. We walked into a burger joint near the gas station that was immaculately clean, and the short order cook behind the counter seemed almost overjoyed at the sight of potential customers. I felt sorry for her, thinking we were probably the first customers she'd had in hours.

We continued chugging along until we got to Richmond, VA. We picked up our friend Tony there and after a night of getting shitfaced on cheap box wine, we continued north to Baltimore the next morning. A few hours later I was dropped off in Towson and I watched my home for the past two months drive away as AJ and Tony continued on to Michigan.