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Had a kid here today from a mag crew.
I hate that. He was a charming young man, who asked me what I would suggest for a young man like him, who wanted to better himself. I said, “You’re obviously a great salesman, you should get a job where you’re not traveling.” I offered him a soda, but he was “thirsty for success.” And then he walked off.
The mag crew is one of those phenomena where I briefly time travel. I can’t help watching them go, checking the locks, feeling all the time like the farmwife during the Depression, watching the tramp go along. Torn between wanting to protect them and being afraid of them. I hate living in a civilization where kids are wandering like that.
I was a 20 year old on the road, once. Not on a mag crew. I was half composed of fanciful notions of exotic destinations and half composed of wary assessment of the risks around me. I was very polite to people in uniforms. I was way too young to know how young I was. I was way too lucky to get away with what I got away with.
We all had stupid notions. Most of us had undeserved luck. And all of us had a few stories of the nights spent on guard, trying to get out of a situation that had just turned dangerous. Mostly we laughed, telling those. We had seriously messed up affect. We lied, to look tougher than we were. I look back at us, and I see us, in photos, and I read our blogs now, and I just want to weep, at how stupid, and lovely, and profound we, and our ignorance, were. We were frightening and frightened. Most of us survived, for which I am deeply grateful.
I watch us go, and check the locks.
