Aug. 31-Sept.4, 2007: Pennsylvania To North Carolina, And Back

Story and Photos By Joe Zlomek

Wipe Your Shoes, Mister

Explosive growth in construction around Salisbury MD brings with it growth in the population of construction workers. They all need someplace to stay when the day's job is done. Many, it seems, stay at the Super 8 motel on Route 13.

Signs in the lobby attest to both the revenue and problems the workers present to motel owners. "Please put muddy shoes in bags," says one. "Construction workers: stomp your feet outside, not on our carpet," begs another.

Off Balance In Onley VA

It was a delicate balancing act. Inside the McDonald's on Route 13 in Onley VA, a father shepherded his toddler son toward the dining room while simultaneously jugging a tray filled with food. The toddler strayed, the father reached, the food tumbled.

Dad's quick reflexes kept the toddler reined in, and most of the meal upright. But he couldn't save the cup of yogurt-and-fruit parfait which, before it hit the floor with a "splat," emptied onto the ankle of a woman standing nearby.

The father was embarrassed and, still holding his son, apologized profusely. The woman smiled, accepted a handful of napkins given to her to wipe the mess away, and told the man not to be concerned. "Yogurt's good for the skin," she offered sweetly, as she swabbed her ankle clean.

Then, as the man turned and left, she added under her breath, "Sticky. But good."

They Smell Bad To Me

Her name was Shaquasia, the pronunciation of which may have been Shaw-Qway-Shah or maybe even Shak-Asia, but the people with whom she worked as a waitress in a Williamston NC restaurant all called her "Sha."

Was she named in tribute to basketball star Shaquille O'Neal by a hoops-loving parent? Or in honor of author Shaquasia Marie? Or was there a Shaquasia rooted somewhere else in the family tree who was so beloved that her name became the perfect description of another baby girl? Sha wasn't saying.

Instead, while her current customer wrestled with the unanswered mysteries of her name, Sha wrestled with a cappuccino machine. The customer had ordered a caramel cappuccino. He actually wanted only a regular cup of coffee, but at 1 in the afternoon the coffee didn't look, smell, or seem fresh. Cappuccino, on the other hand, was a made-to-order purchase.

Made by Sha. Or not.

Sha, it was later discovered, had created cappuccino only a few times before. Cappuccino machine operation was still relatively new to her, a fact that became increasingly obvious as the wait for a cup grew longer. Finally, a fellow employee saw her distress, stepped in to brew the beverage, and handed it to Sha to deliver to her customer. "Ever had one?" the colleague asked her. "They taste pretty good," he added.

"They smell bad to me," Sha replied, from the side of her mouth. Then she smiled at her customer, handed him the cup, and said "Have a nice day!"

Starry, Starry Night

The sky was dark and cloudless Monday night (Sept. 3, 2007) at 8:45 over Chincoteague VA, and the stars which littered its blackness gleamed silently. But they represented the only silence near the rear sundeck of the Choice Suites Hotel on Main Street at Chincoteague Island.

Air conditioners behind the deck droned with an incessant, low rumble. They cooled dozens of vacant hotel rooms that faced the deck, which in turn faced the bay that separated the island from the mainland about four miles away. Only days ago those rooms had been filled with holiday weekend partiers, whooping it up to mark the last hurrah of summer. But by this Labor Day Monday night they were gone, back at home and ready to work, leaving only the noisily conditioned air as testament to their earlier presence.

To one side of the air handlers were crickets, ducks, geese, and the dog of a remaining hotel guest. As nature's noise they chimed in turn: chirp, quack, woof.

Across the mainland and down the causeway to the drawbridge that provides access to the island, cars passed in spotty procession. They were felt more than they were heard. Occasionally a horn would sound, as some impatient driver trumpeted his anger. Occasionally an engine would growl. Mostly, their headlights stabbed the dark, and could be followed with the eye as they crept over the drawbridge and into town.

And above, tracing their way through the star field, were jets of all sizes. They moved from left to right, from south to north, from Virginia Beach toward Philadelphia and New York, in the designated flight lanes high above the sundeck.