America, the Series- Part 2 "I'm going to Graceland."

Well, that's a lie, we didn't actually go to Graceland, but we did go to Memphis, TN! The whole point of this trip home was to ensure that my good buddy Paul did, in all actuality, marry the girl he told me he was going to marry. I had my doubts about the whole deal, but by the time I found Gouge in the Atlanta airport, it was too late to turn back. So to Memphis we went.

I thought the three of us, myself, Gouge, and the Turk, would be riding in a four door Ford Focus. Seeing as how we had to pick up a fourth guy, Hunter, in Chattanooga, it seemed like a decent option. However, the Turk thought it would be much better, since it's only $10 more, to rent a convertible. At time, I was just excited about being home. I was glad to see Gouge. I was glad to see black people. I was just glad to be there. But it became quickly evident that the convertible might not have been the best idea.

Clue #1- My luggage alone took up all free space in the trunk when the top was down, meaning that there'd be no way to get three more guy's stuff in there and still ride with the convertible open.



Clue #2- When I noticed that Gouge's knees were pretty much in the back of the Turk's seat. This worried me because I have Gouge by a few inches and because the Turk was the shortest one of us all, therefore his seat was the farthest forward. I knew that once someone else got in the front, and I was in the back, it'd be uncomfortable.



Clue #3- I was in the front seat, with no one behind me, and it still didn't provide adequate leg room. I began to miss my big red limousines immediately.



But the ride wasn't that bad. The Turk and I discussed Turkish politics, which is complicated enough to make most foreign diplomats suck their thumbs, Turkish culture, and all it's wonderful intricacies, and finally, Turkish cuisine. I had brought home a few bottles of Cukurova's finest salgam for everyone to try. It was a big hit. Kind of a like a left hook to the jaw.



Just west of Nashville we decided to stop for some grub. I was on about hour 20 of being awake and had eaten nothing but airline food in that time span. Needless to say, I was in need of some Waffle House!



That's pretty much what it looked like. Oh, the heart warming glow of that yellow sign! Oh, the smell of greasy foods upon greasy foods being cooked, served, and eaten! Oh, the slurred ebonics of our distinguished chef and hostess! I was finally, and truly, home.

Only one problem, they were cleaning the grill. No biggie, we'll all get a waffle, drown that baby in syrup, and drink Coke with free refills like it's going out of style. About half way through our dinner, the nightly entertainment began.

It seems that one big, fine woman was upset with her romantic interest and decided they needed to talk about it outside. Unfortunately, sometimes talking just doesn't solve all your problems. The lady threw down on this guy. She was wailing on him, throwing punches, slapping, and clawing. She threw her keys at the dude, her cell phone, her weave (well, maybe not), but you get the idea. When the poor guy finally made it into his car, she started to pound it. She gave it numerous, perfectly formed, mule kicks. And she left her mark. There must have been at least two or three big dents in the side of this guy's car. He had to leave with a couple hundred dollars worth of body damage to his car, a few days worth of scratches and bruises to his own body, and the knowledge that his boo was eating waffles with some other dude while he had to drive to IHOP with his tail tucked between his legs.




The waffle itself was worth the money. It was great to get free refills for the first time in a long while. And the after dinner show was more than I could've ever asked for. We paid our bill and hit the road before the real fireworks started. At the rate we were going, we would be pulling into Memphis just after sunrise.