Brainworms in Little Rock

I woke up Saturday morning realizing it was my last full day in Granby. I began to share my overall thoughts and observations I’ve accomplished since being here. The good. The bad. The indifferent… But no. That same afternoon my mind was taken hostage by a group of 5th graders demanding I share…

Brainworms in Little Rock

Brainworms aka earworms are things that get stuck in your head and refuse to leave: “baby shark do-do-do-do” (You’re welcome)

While brainworms are technically songs that get stuck in your head, I’ve taken some literary freedom to describe three of the four most unforgettable brainworms I’ve encountered so far. These 3 were all in the same city.

Introducing: The Lunatic

We arrived in Little Rock 90 minutes behind schedule. I still had at least 14 hours to kill before I could check into my room, so for once, the delay was appreciated. 

The wood benches inside the station lobby were not the ideal place to lay down, but they were my only option. The plan was to sleep there until 8am, then bum around for 4-5 hours and see if my hotel would allow either check in or bag storage until check in so I did not have to continue to mule them around.

That plan did not last long. Matter of fact, I hadn’t even gotten myself settled when the train pulled away and was immediately chased by a tall, thin red headed girl running through the parking lot screaming “nooo” as if she were being chased. “Red” came to a dramatic stop in front of the building at which point she broke down entirely. She bent over and screamed into the coat she had in her arms. After she got that out, she found the Amtrak employee still by the tracks and asked if the train that had just departed was for St.Louis. After he confirmed it was, she lost her shit yet again.

I watched the drama unfold until I saw her making her way to the station doors. Not wanting to be cast in whatever drama she was producing, I lowered my head and gaze before she walked in. As she made her way to the ticket counter, her sobbing combined with the shuffling of her feet and broken roller luggage created the perfect symphony for a soundtrack painting depression and hopelessness.

Listening to her beg the Amtrak person to book her on another train was beginning to tug on my heart strings. But even I knew the deal. If you pull a no-show, your ticket is lost. Amtrak provides every opportunity to cancel right up till the last minute and reschedule your trip. This girl failed to do that, then managed to miss her connection after it was an hour late. You can literally get through all of Little Rock in that time. Still managing to miss the train after that takes pro level effort.

She was either desperate to get out of Little Rock or desperate to get to St.Louis. Every time she spoke, she sounded as if it resulted in physical pain. It was quite a sight to behold. Red was a basket case of tears and emotions. She’d go outside for a bit, then come back crying more.

After about 10 minutes of her performance, I began thinking that maybe she did need help. The ticket she wanted cost less than $100. I could give the attendant the money and have him say they made an exception of some sort. I wanted to help, but I did not want to be a target of opportunity. As time went on, I kept having a stronger pull to assist her. (Remember, I’m a sucker for damsels, even if they are draped in red flags and appear to be on some sort of mood destabilizer.)

For what felt like another 15 minutes, I debated the deed. Was she looking for a mark? Was it all a con to get people to give her money? If so, she needed an award. Her hysterical behavior was incredibly convincing. Maybe she just needed a break. I know what that’s like. As I approached the decision to help in some way, she was complaining to another passenger that it was the third time in a row she had missed the train. THE. THIRD. TIME.

WHOOO! Almost got me bitch! Missing a scheduled train 3 times is not bad luck. It’s a choice you’ve repeatedly made. As soon as she said that, my conscience was clear. I set my stuff up to get a little shut-eye till morning. Her dilemma was no longer my concern. She maintained her performance for maybe 30 minutes total before disappearing around the side of the train station.

Yo It’s CJ

After the damsel left, calm returned to the waiting room and I found a position to go to sleep in. The real life drama had only burned an additional hour in total so I had at least 14 more hours to wait. The train station closed at 8 am. I’m not a huge fan of sleeping in a public place; however, I’d rather do that than spend $200 for a place I wouldn’t even get to sleep in. No, I’d make do with the wooden bench till they kicked me out in the morning. At least it would be daylight so less chances of random violence. I kicked my feet up and did my best to get comfortable till morning.

But CJ had different plans for me… and for everyone else inside the station. Who was CJ? Why CJ was the name that belonged to the face I found looming directly over my fucking head asking me if I was awake. It took me a second to fully grasp my environment but CJ didn’t have time for that. He was trying to help me out.

“Yo, yo, hey man. Where you need to go?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Where you need to get to from here man? Where you headed? You stayin’ here? Movin’ on?”

The way this dude moved around when he spoke and used his hand gestures – CJ was a hustler. But that didn’t make any sense. I was inside the station. Was it an employee trying to tell me I couldn’t sleep on the benches? Surely to God they wouldn’t just let some random dude into the building to work marks.

I told him I couldn’t check into my hotel till the next afternoon.

“Oh, so you need a room?”

“Well, no. I have a room. I just have to wait.”

“Oh… So where you need to be at?”

“I’ll be up in North Little Rock”

“Ok. So what kind of budget you got”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I can see about getting you a room man. I know a lot of people around here.”

“Ok…But.”

“So how much?”

“I don’t care man. I have a room.”

“You don’t care? Ok. Let me see what I got.”

That entire convo took place in what felt like 5 seconds. I was still a little fuzzy and overwhelmed, but when he started making actual calls, it woke me up. I wasn’t getting into any vehicle that didn’t have official markings or email correspondence involving my GPS-tracked location. I sat upright and began listening to his conversations over the phone. They were either legit hotels he called or well rehearsed accomplices. The first two didn’t have any openings, but the third one was where I confirmed my hustler vibes – The hotel picked up and gave the standard greeting. CJ asked if they had a room available. I could hear the voice on the other end. The station was dead silent because it was F*KinG MiDNighT. As the voice began to say they had availability, my man spoke up and said, “yeah, this is CJ down here at the Amtrak station” at which point I heard the man stutter and then say they were out of rooms for the night.

After several failed attempts at finding a room and me being reluctant to help him extort me, he moved on. The next guy was headed to Tulsa, OK. So my man CJ called up some dude he knew and could get this guy his own chauffeur – for a measly $800. When the man scoffed, CJ didn’t miss a beat and called the next guy. His price was over a grand. The passenger walked out of the station and didn’t come back in.

Basically the people in the station either paid CJ to help them travel somewhere else or left the station in search of somewhere else to hold up till their next move. Me? I found a hotel about half way between the rail station and the other hotel I’d be staying at later in the day. I caught an Uber at twice the normal price because of the time of day.

By the time I left in the Uber, I realized that CJ wasn’t an employee. He was just a hustler the employees allowed into the station. That night, he had on the same colors as the employees did. I don’t know if that was by design or accident, but either way, it’s pretty f*ked up people aren’t even safe inside the station.

Ivan Fudd

One of the guys outside during the lunatic’s dramatic entrances and exits was Ivan. This dude was something out of a Russian comic book. He was 5’7” or so, maybe 120 pounds. It was not his physical presence that had me dying – not by a long shot.

My original intent was to describe him as colorfully as I could. After several decent attempts, I realized there was only one way… I had no choice but to show the picture. This motherf*ker had on a brown wool hunting cap w/its ears down, a cigarette hanging lifelessly from the left corner of his mouth, a multi-orange colored shirt, brown pants with what looked like white bleach stains on them… and green Crocs. He also pimped a thick metal chain with an enormous charm hanging on it. That thing was bigger than most rodeo belt buckles. I could never get a good look at what it was though.

The first time he entered the station, I was already seated on the wooden bench in front of the ticket window. As he cruised by me, I caught a whiff of what can only be described as a person who must have slept in a dumpster during daylight hours, all week, then got in a quick workout just before coming to check in for the train.

No joke. Thanks to COVID, my sinuses have not been right for over a year. I am unable to properly taste or smell most things – which can be both good and bad depending on the situation. For this case, the damage done to my senses were not enough to mediate the level of stench dripping off this dude. Just seconds of exposure rendered my gag reflex fully operational. I’ve cleaned green baby shit from a child as if they had bathed in it… and it did not hold a candle to what was assaulting me from every angle.

Then I heard him speak with the person at the window…FML. He was not just going to Springfield, where I was headed, but then would also catch the same bus I needed to get to the connecting train 2 hours from there in Galesburg, for our final ride into Colorado together. I was about to be stuck with this motherf*ker for DAYS, not hours.

The train eventually arrived and I boarded well in advance in hopes of finding a decent empty pair of seats. I didn’t mind sitting with people, but only if I had to. The seats were large and had leg room, but it’s always nice to not have someone right there connected to your elbow.

As we pulled away, my secondary spot was still vacant. That was a plus… until… a very distinct scent crawled up and around the backs of my seats.

No. Please. God. I looked up and around and yes… 

“It was happening”
Love, God.

Ivan set up his home away from the homeless compound just two rows behind me. When I say compound, I mean that crazy Ruskie whipped out his “life under the bridge” wool blanket to cover both seats. Then opened his backpack to unpack his Monster drink and some back of chips. This clearly wasn’t his first trip, although he claimed otherwise. Ivan was ready to stench out and relax for his entire trip. I was a little impressed to be honest, I mean, sure it smelled like a pit of raw bubbling sewage, but I suppose it smelled like home to him. 

As fortune would have it, another one of his kind boarded and they immediately bonded. Ivan invited the new guy to sit with him. They were like kindred spirits. From that moment on, the remaining passengers were treated to Ivan’s whacky stories of being homeless in Russia as well as across the United States. Naturally, the stories were chalked full of copious drug use and riding trains illegally across the country. He bragged about how this trip was his first time being a legit passenger.

Once we arrived at the Springfield, Illinois terminal we had a short layover before the bus arrived. Once inside the station, Ivan asked if I would mind watching his stuff while he stepped outside to have a smoke. I wasn’t going anywhere so I agreed. As he walked off, he grabbed this small little backpack to take with him. Instinctively, I said he could leave it there, to which he replied, “naw bossman, I got my Dirty Harry in here. Can’t be leavin’ myself unprotected.”

Well alright then. Hunter’s cap plus gun… Introducing Ivan Fudd. Elmer’s Russian cousin, once removed.

As soon as they walked outside, an employee approached me and asked if I was with the two dudes who just left. I clarified I was traveling in the same direction, but not actually with them. He then warned me of the hazards of watching others’ luggage. He also advised me that Ivan was actually a frequent rider and that I should be extra careful with him.

Well f*k. I then got to sit and watch Ivan’s pile of hot garbage wondering if he was about to try to make me a mark of some sort and force the issue with the 38 he had with him. (He clarified the caliber later) Fortunately, he did meander back in about 20 minutes later and resumed watching his own stuff.

Shortly after their return, the employee reminded them not to leave their luggage either alone or with people they didn’t know. Of course that made me look like a rat, but Ivan and his accomplice didn’t seem to pay any attention to the employee. Maybe he was used to it.

A few minutes later I learned that we were all about to become besties. You see, it wasn’t a bus that was going to transport us 2 hours north. It was a passenger van. Me and the two homies were the only 3 going to Galesville, so there was no need for a bus. I took the front bench and Ivan took the middle one with his friend stretching out on in back. The good news was that my sinuses were either acting up or I had adapted to Pigpen and company. I could barely smell either of them.

I do believe I discovered one of Ivan’s contraband delivery methods. As we were traveling in the van, he was talking about how he looked out for his friends and how he had given his favorite blanket to his friend he ran into on the train to stay warm. Then, just before he went to sleep for the trip north, he called Amtrak and filed a claim for a lost blanket. Said he had paid extra for some kind of baggage insurance.

That’s when I figured that whatever contraband he was carrying was hidden in that stinky wool blanket he gave his “friend” on the train. They made the swap then had Amtrak literally mail the blanket back to him after his “friend” dropped it off at lost and found. Kind of brilliant. No one wants to handle a blanket that smells as if it was packed in someone’s ass, and Ivan gets his blanket mailed back to him for $7. Amtrak becomes the middleman for a drug deal. lol

I wish I could properly remember how this dude spoke. He was really low key, but he communicated with a certain degree of speed to his words. And of course all the “bros” and “bossman” references. The best impression I could get off him was that he played things very laid back because he knew he was always being watched – but he had an actual capacity for violence if he felt it was necessary. Meaning he had a gun and wouldn’t think twice to use it for protection or escape.

The three of us had a 2 hour layover in Galesville. The station was right in the middle of town so I took the opportunity to wander around, get a bite of local food, and abandon Ivan & company to monitor their own shit.

When I returned, they weren’t happy I abandoned their luggage in the waiting room, so they didn’t communicate with me the rest of the trip and they sat elsewhere when the train arrived – which I received as a blessing.

Ivan didn’t feel like a bad guy, but he certainly made me nervous any time he was close by. Fortunately, both of them stayed on the train well after my stop finally arrived..