Nebraska

Last weekend I went to Nebraska for the first time ever.  Until then, it was merely a myth, a hidden land somewhere between my house and the Pacific Ocean.  When I got there, those myths became truths.  However, they were pushed back a few hours due to a delayed flight which resulted in me having a four hour layover in Detroit.  Always fun.  I watched Just Go With It, which was not much of a consolation.

Anyway, when I got off the plane at Eppley Airfield in Omaha that Friday night, I was met by masses of families with giant “It’s Hug Time” and “Welcome Home” signs.  I didn’t know those were still a thing, but apparently they are.  I picked up a few Visiting Omaha guidebooks for the novelty before heading out to meet my friend.

The next morning at my interview, I met many Midwesterners. I had never been surrounded by so many Midwesterners in my life.  They were all so…..nice.  After my interview, I met up immediately with my friend Andrew, a native Omahan, to drive down to Lincoln and attend the Nebraska vs. Wisconsin football game.  We were joined by two additional folks, Andrew’s friends.

We drove for about an hour through corn and finally arrived in the state capitol.  The scene was incredible – swarms of people in Husker red.  We passed a vintage car with a custom Nebraska paintjob and Dixie air horn.  Everything was ten times crazier than the football games I attended in college.

It took a little while to find parking.  We drove through some small streets a ways from the stadium and tried squeezing into a spot that was evidently too small for our car.  It was then that a friendly middle-aged balding man came up to our window and offered his private space in a parking lot.  We gratefully accepted.

Fast-forward to after the game, which was great fun (I ate a food that they call “Runza” – still not sure what it was – and got a souvenir cup!).  Andrew and I made haste to O Street, where all of the popular bars in Lincoln are located, and met back up with the other two folks. 

We ended the night at allegedly the best college bar in the United States (as voted by “Playboy,” so who knows about the credibility there): The Brass Rail.

I was greeted by a sticky floor and the sound of a Top 40 remix blasting in the background.  The place was packed with college-aged kids and smelled of fine spilled beer.  We finagled our way to the back of the bar, where the DJ and dance floor were located.

After I tore up the dance floor, it was finally time for the place to shut down.  The DJ stopped the music, and to my humorous dismay, the lights came on, revealing a river of broken beer bottles, wet napkins, and who-knows-what littered across the dance floor.  In an exhausted end-of-night haze, everyone on the dance floor began filing out.

At this point, it was 2AM.  After standing in the cold for an hour looking for a cab (there were none free because, again, it’s Lincoln), we decided to walk back to the car and drive to Andrew’s friends place nearby to crash.  However, when we got to the car, I accidentally popped the hood instead of the trunk.  As we were standing there trying to close the jammed hood, the middle-aged man who lent us his parking spot appeared out of nowhere.  This is 3AM, mind you.

“Having car troubles?” he asked.  I gave a look of astonishment/confusion to my friend.  Just like that, the man went from “friendly middle-aged balding man” to “creepy stalker old guy.”  “No, just trying to get this hood back down,” we responded as my friend then jammed the hood down.  “Got it,” he said (it wasn’t fully closed).  We anxiously thanked the man again and got out of the parking lot as quickly as possible.

Upon arriving at Andrew’s friend’s house, the place was, as expected, sound asleep.  There were a few other guests passed out on couches, so we carefully navigated to our respective sleeping areas.  In the basement, one of Andrew’s friends was half-awake.

“Hey Cecilia, where can we get blankets,” he whispered.

There was a moment of urghs and grunts and then she began spewing out what I swore was Parseltongue.

We started laughing.  “Okay, seriously, where are the blankets?”

“Hesh gykta flaq trizv dehtrop yes,” replied Cecilia.

Recognizing a lost cause when we saw one, we decided to just make do with what we had.  The next morning, Cecilia had no recollection of our conversation.  “God damn it.  Sometimes I sleepwalk and sleeptalk,” she said.  I was thankful that I hadn’t been killed in my sleep, considering I had taken the couch next to her.

Anyway, on Sunday we went back to Omaha, and Andrew showed me around the city.  It was a rather relaxing day.  Then I flew back to Philly.  The end.