No easing back into America

No one stamped my passport when I landed in Atlanta. Looking at it, there's no proof that I ever left the UK and I can't help but picture the really mean woman from the Manchester airport's border patrol team thinking something similar when I go back again. The reason they forgot to stamp my passport is because they were caught up in sending me over to the "random" search center so all of my (one) bags could be picked through by a man wearing latex gloves. Initially skeptical that I'd spent nearly two months abroad with only one bag, they let me go and I scurried over to my next flight.

Everyone's accents sound strange and grating, Dick Cheney is all over the television for reasons I still don't fully understand and then there were the people on the train... That's right, I took a train in America! The ticket was cheap, the scheduled time was short and I needed to get down to my parents' where my car was parked anyway, so I thought I'd give the Amtrak a shot. The first major difference from European trains is that I was given what seemed like ten feet of legroom. I can't imagine how tall someone would have to be to take advantage of all that space. Later in the journey, a 12-year-old girl sat next to me - blocking my path to the aisle right before my stop - and pulled a lever on the chair that sent out a footrest like in a reclining armchair. I was amazed.

The second major difference is that the rail lines are for the most part single track. That means that if there are two trains going in opposite directions, someone's got to wait for the other to pass. That someone will inevitably be you. In Germany, one train was going to be a whole four minutes late and it was such a big deal that they made a announcement in four languages explaining so. Here, we were forty-five minutes late and not once were advised when we'd be arriving anywhere.

But I could live with all that. I was just settling a pleasant routine of reading a few paragraphs and then watching the scenery for a few minutes when the conversation of the old people behind me jarred me out of it. Earlier they'd been talking about where they'd grown up and easy chatty things like that, so for the life of me I don't know how the conversation so suddenly became this:

"...but then you got those greenies who won't let you hurt a stalk of alfalfa."

"Oh yeah, but killing babies is fine."

"I know! And.."

Hold on. KILLING BABIES!?!???!? America, sweetie, I can't handle so much all at once. Take it easy on me! I frantically reached for my ipod, only to realize to my absolute horror that it was still in my bag above me. I, literally, jumped up, grabbed my bag and threw it on my seat, jerking my ipod out of the zippered flap. The big to do though caused only a momentary pause in their condemnation of everything that isn't right wing Christian.

"And they're taking God out of everything!"

"The schools!"

"This country was founded by..."

STUPID HOLD BUTTON! Then I was frozen as to what I actually wanted to listen to. Sara! ANYTHING IS BETTER THAN THIS! So I pressed "OK" until music started playing (it turned out to be Alabama 3, who are not in fact from Alabama, and from the sound of it are more than three. Far better than loooooney-tics), but not before I got to hear the woman explain some scheme her niece does to get her private, religious charter school funded entirely by the government. I'm glad we're paying to foster extremism in children. Just tickles me.

My sister was waiting for me in the parking lot of the station. She'd found the place, but no one was there except for a lurching man who bore a striking resemblance to a zombie. When I texted her that I'd be late, she thought she'd explore the nearby park. What she found was some unused kids' play equipment and some grass, all virtually unused except for a group of people who also bore a resemblance to zombies. So she retreated back to the car to wait another forty minutes. I think an invasion has started.