I’ve been living in Pocatello, ID for a month and so many weird things have happened already. A rough sketch:
Driving 30 hours across the country to move here, I wasn’t checking email at all, missing an all-too-important message from my landlord. On the second day of moving in, my dad goes, “Brittany, someone’s… someone’s coming into your house!” Surprise: it was my roommate. His name is Mickey. He is a 24-year-old Ethiopian guy from San Francisco.
Time would tell that Mickey is indeed awesome. Today, for example, he left me delicious Chinese food in the kitchen. Thanks Mick, you’re never not the man.
I’ve already befriended the only (not only, but ya know) gay guy in Mormon land. His name is Matt. Last week we were driving down to Salt Lake City (the nearest/two hours away airport) to pick up my fellow reporter, Genevieve, when Matt’s transmission died.
We pulled over into a Chevron station at 666 Main St. in Clearfield, UT (foreboding much?) and were picked up by a very-large tow trucker… and his very large-chested girlfriend. The four of us squeezed into the cab of the three-person truck for a comfy two-hour ride. Upon hearing that we were reporters, the driver and his baby mama watched Matt’s reel on YouTube on their iPhones. It soon occurred to me that truck drivers must get paid more than reporters.
Later, in the dark and awkward silence, Lady Tow turned to me and said, “Sorry if the sweat from my legs is getting on you.”
This week has also been the Eastern Idaho State Fair. I’ve gotten the chance to report from there (http://www.localnews8.com/news/24893799/detail.html) but also visited as a civilian as well. Sort of. I made an ethics breach and used my media pass and unabashed naiveté to get Matt and I on a giant upside down-going spinny ride. I nearly tossed all the chocolate covered strawberries I had just eaten while we were flying through the air, but managed to save that for the ride home. Yep, I threw up in the parking lot of a Methodist church.
This will be an extraordinarily long post, as the rest of the blog will be my adjustments (mal or otherwise), culture shocks, frustrations, elations and general gripes as I try to decide why I moved to southeastern Idaho and whether or not I want to be a journalist for the rest of my life.
If you should need me, I’ll be here for the next two years.