Life in Knoxville

Last week, I raved on and on about my school life. And, heaven knows, there's plenty to rave about. Lots of reading to do, lots of nerves about leading my discussion sections, and my first writing assignment due this coming Monday. Yes, I'll be laboring on Labor Day weekend. 

But I think today I'll say a few things about living in Knoxville.

First, let's get the proniunciation down right. It's not nox-vill. It's noxvl. That's right, you just add a mumbly vl to nox and make it one syllable instead of two. 

Same goes with nearby Maryville. That's pronounced in all one syllable by adding that same mumbly vl to mare.  You can drop that y right off Mary's name! 

I live in the West Hills section of Knoxville, and I'm so glad I do. Every store I might ever need is no further away than three miles or so. Target, Kohl's, the very important Bath and Body Works (so necessary for my bubble bath needs), an AT&T store, Office Depot (as I'm addicted to office supplies), and my new grocery store, Food City. 

Food City reminds me of Raleys or Bel Air back home. Except that they have a section devoted to UT merchandise. The most interesting item in this section comes from the makers of Jell-O. You can buy a kit that comes with orange Jell-O and a mold that lets you make little orange gelatinous T's. While they do not provide the Vodka, you've got to know that this little kit would make the best Jell-O shots EVER!  Reiner Herbon, don't be surprised if just such a kit finds its way to your house for Indy Weekend. Of course, Reiner Herbon is not a reader of this blog, so this gift will come as a surprise. 

One other major difference between Food City and the stores back home concerns the baggers. No fresh-faced kids just out of high school bag your groceries and take them to your car. No, Food City has chosen to give those tasks to the elderly. Not really the ancients, but people definitely older than me. One particular lady has bagged my groceries twice now. She's slow as molasses flowing up a glacier in winter. Not that this is necessarily bad in the view of Knoxvillians. Life does move slower here. But this lady has a resting bitch face that remains even when her face isn't resting. With hollow eyes that look like she's one of the last survivors of the zombie apocalypse and just waiting for a walker to bite her so she can shake off her mortal coils, she mumbles to me, "do you want some help out to your car?"  Uh, no?  It would be like standing idly by while my 116-year-old Nana struggled to heft a case of Diet Coke into my trunk. 

Not all older employed people are like the zombie apocalypse lady from Food City. My mailman's name is, strangely enough, Cricket. Cricket is wonderful. I get lots of Amazon packages, of course, and he's willing to hand them off to me without making me wait for him to process all of the complex' mail. I love that. And, everyone first introduced to Cricket is advised by him that he's got just seven years until retirement. Talk about counting the days....

There's one other older gentleman that I want to mention today. I don't know his name, but I call him Leatherback. Here's how I came to notice him. On Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, I'm not required to be on campus. So, those are the days when I do my laundry or go to sit by the pool to study. And, every time I've done so, Leatherback has also come to the pool. He's probably in his 60s, and has that orangy-brown leather hide that comes from waaaaaay too much laying around by the pool (or comes naturally from being born a cow). He chooses the same lounge chair each time, in the same spot alongside the pool. He brings with him a cooler of some sort, from which he pulls out cans of something--can't see the labels but I'm guessing it's really cheap beer. And he turns on a little radio thing--not too loud but he doesn't put in earbuds the way everyone else does by the pool. And he sits and stares into space. He doesn't watch the cute girls or even the cute boys, he doesn't watch the few little children that are brought down to the pool, he doesn't even watch the older chubby redhead with glasses on her nose and a book in her hands. He just stares into nothingness. Maybe he, too, is waiting for inevitable death, but he's waiting with music and cheap beer. At some point, you just can't get any more leathery. 

All that being said, I find I like it in Knoxville. People are generally friendly, young folks call you "ma'am," and one student even called me "teacher" today.  And new friends Chris and Alicia want to go looking at old cemeteries while my fellow GTA Matthew promises to accompany me to The Hermitage in a few weeks so we can draw strength from Ol' Hickory. 

I'll come back to Sacramento in a few years, hopefully with a Ph.D. in my hands. But, for now, I'm loving Knoxville. 

P.S.  To my most darling of readers, beautiful Nini, hurry up and get well. I'm missing you terribly and can't wait to have a good old-fashioned snark fest with you again.