My Trip to the Res: Part Two

I woke up at four o’clock the next morning… hungry and caffeine-deprived. I found that the only thing open in Oklahoma at four in the morning was the lobby of the hotel I was staying in. Even the truck stop next door was closed; so, I did what everyone who gets up early does in his hotel room: I watched CNN with the volume off and close-captioning on. The earthquake in Morocco had just happened and it looked pretty bad, which kind of enraged me because now it was obvious that there were people who had it worse than I did so I couldn’t whine and feel good about it. Without my computer, there was no one to talk to but myself and, without pot, that conversation would be thoroughly unenjoyable. I was taking a break from a lot of things besides marijuana and computers: Good coffee, tea that wasn’t made from powdered mix, my DVR and my precious precious bed.

I could’ve knocked on the door of my boy’s hotel room at five o’clock, but I was pretty sure they don’t revere me that much. The woman at the front desk told me the truck stop would open at five o’clock, about a half hour after my normal breakfast time. So, I strolled over to find that the breakfast sandwiches would be coming at six. So, I got a couple of sandwiches from the day before and some coffee. I asked about cream and I learned an important truth: THERE IS NO CREAM IN OKLAHOMA. The term “non-dairy creamer” is just a quarter inch from being an oxymoron. But, I guess if they called it “propylene glycol powder” instead, no one would use it. It was a sad breakfast indeed… eating sad food, drinking sad propylene glycol and watching sad people on CNN. So… I decided to go and gamble!

Gambling at five o’clock in the morning usually indicates you have a problem… okay, it ALWAYS indicates you have a problem; but, if it’s because you got up early, it’s a totally DIFFERENT problem than if you never went to bed. I’m not a compulsive gambler but I LOVE the penny slots. And, I budgeted myself a hundred dollars a day for losing. I know I’m not going to win a lot of money… but, I love the rise and fall of fortune in front of me with bright lights, bells and, in the case of the machine I was playing, a golden hog and monkey. Dostoevsky’s book, The Gambler is a great metaphor for this philosophy; and, my mom always told me, “If you have to do anything in your life at least try to be like Dostoevsky”

I played for about an hour and won twenty dollars… then, I cashed out and returned to my room on the off chance than one of my two sons had gotten up before eight o’clock for the first time in his life. No such luck… so I waited in my hotel room for them to wake up or for one of the two day-old sandwiches in my stomach to form a bowel obstruction. On TCM there was a pre-war British movie that was worse than any bowel obstruction. Every fifteen minutes, I’d check the weather.

I had given one of my key cards to my oldest so, if I died in my sleep, he’d have the chance to rifle through my pockets before the paramedics arrived. On the first day, they gingerly knocked on my door. After that, they just walked in like they owned the place. But, I confined my “walking around nude” hours to between four and seven a.m. and I think everyone was satisfied with that arrangement. My oldest told us that we were going to a language lecture at the gymnasium. That made me so angry, I wanted to hit him in the face with a coconut custard pie with whipped cream but, as you know: THERE IS NO CREAM IN OKLAHOMA.

To be honest, I LOVE lectures. The drier, the better. My brain sucks up information like a vacuum cleaner sucks up expensive earrings. And, when we arrived, we got what I’m led to believe is called a “swag bag”. At that point, I was too excited to remember that I had to sit on my suitcase to get it closed; and, even then, someone had to sit on me. Adding five shirts, a radon test, a covid test and a nice decorative pot might make it impossible and I’d have to carry my clothes in a garbage bag. There was an on-going raffle between events. My youngest won a rattle. This was fortuitous because my youngest is giving me yet another grandchild. That will bring his total up to two. I don’t know if that means my oldest is slacking off or that my youngest is an over-achiever.

The language lecture was fascinating. It was a overview of all the research done on the Wyandotte language. If I even hinted at what was discussed, your heads would explode from the excitement. At the end, they asked for clan names and the speakers would give the Wyandotte word for them.

The tribe has multiple clans. I’d always hoped to be one of the Laser Dragon Clan but that turned out to be one of those clans that has few members mostly because it doesn’t exist. My son had already informed my that I was of the Little Turtle Clan. Turtles are the symbol of the Wyandottes because they feature prominently in our creation story. It bothers me a little because I, in no way, resemble a turtle… except for the hard shell that protects my back…

This was followed by an archaeology lecture but it was more an ethics of archaeology lecture. Coming from a long line of used car salesmen and horse thieves, I find it hard to relate to any discussion of ethics; in fact, most of my relationships have ended with me hitting someone on the head with a rock and taking their wallet.

Later, they served us lunch. As with all meals served on the reservation, the elders would be lining up first. I’M AN ELDER! Suddenly my age was an asset to me. I thought this would be great… NO LINE. They announced the food was ready and seventy elders made a line before I even knew what was happening. So, I went into the casino and bought a burger because THAT’S WHAT HEROES DO.

I’d signed up for a lecture on plants and my boys had signed up for beading. I was assured the two would be in the same building and they were so NOT. So, instead of getting lost again, I just went to beading. Wyandottes are pretty chill unless you are standing on their feet or driving off with their car, so no one had issue with this. Problem was, my eyes started watering to the point where I couldn’t see so I was forced to put down my bead-work and chat with two sisters, one of whom loved old movies and the other was an engineer. I meet other engineers all the time, but I seldom find someone who knows who Kathleen Freeman was. She even knew about Francis [the talking mule] Joins the WACS. Oh, and I met another cousin named “Angie”… she’s closer to being an actual first cousin than most. She was closely related to Daryl, the cousin I’d come to see…

Later, I dropped my boys off at the Pow-Wow grounds to meet their friends… other young people for whom alcohol and weed held more than a passing interest. My oldest invited me to join them but I thought bringing their dad along would make my sons look TOO cool, intimidating the other young people. I opted out. I had other interests and grownup things to do, so I went back to my hotel room and fell asleep little knowing that the worst was yet to come.