A walk down memory lane (Warner Road)

Epilogue

I don't know what possesses men (and women, but mostly men) to identify tasks that defy logic (stupid), undertake them and revel in the afterglow of accomplishing them. In every university, at any point in time, there exist a few guys that are capable of executing such tasks with finesse. These guys exist outside the confines of a university too, but I use it to include everyone in the general age group of early twenties. That phase in life when nothing, barring a few things like showing up for that early morning class in winter or timely submission of homework assignments, appears impossible. And in that elite group, there exist two sub groups. One try to cover up their stupidity, leave no tracks and carry their acts to their graves, whenever possible. The second group wear their stupidity on their sleeves like it was a bravery medal. And a few, for the benefit of those that couldn't get to lay their eyes on their sleeves, blog about it...

I am a walking person. I enjoy getting from point A to B on foot. In fact, I'm blessed to be living within walking distance from work, which, for the most part, is a great advantage. Before you berate me for being not truly appreciative, I must dare you to walk 20 minutes in hot, wet tropical climate, trying to reach work in time for that important meeting or conference call. But, on most days, I do enjoy the ~ 20 minute walk, particularly the one back from work. K, my good friend at ASU, and I shared this passion for walking and were part of the walking club of Indian graduate students (members: 2)

We were in the habit of taking long walks on Friday nights. Fridays signalled the end of our part-time work/full-time study week and no matter what state our academic pursuits were in, a long walk was always on the cards. It was a routine that the two of us would look forward to from Wednesday. Elaborate plans would be made, in reverential tones, about the route and the pit stops. But we didn't set ourselves any goals. We would go as far as our legs would take us and our legs would usually take us about 4 miles one way. The pitstops would be gas stations for a drink(for both of us) and cigarettes (for K only) and the topics discussed would include anything from the dinner that night to solutions for all social evils (including the said dinner) and everything in between. Before long, we became the butt of many jokes and earned the moniker "Forrest Gump(s)" from the rest of the friends. A few of them would talk about joining us, one actually did once and swore not to do it again. But we were pretty serious about it, often choosing a good walk over watching a movie with friends and alcohol in the comfort of an air-conditioned apartment. And mind you, this was Phoenix, AZ where the heat, dry and sapping, hung like a blanket well into the night, 8 months a year. We've had people calls us names, dogs straining at their leashes, eager to try Indian food, eggs thrown at us (OK, only at me) and yet, we walked. Every Friday night.

It was around 9pm on one such non-descript Friday night that we realized that we had run out of racquet balls for our weekday evening games. A critical situation, you might agree, that demaded our immediate, undivided attention. So, naturally, our agenda for that night was to walk to the Walmart store (about 3 miles away) and stock up on a pack or two. We reached there in due time to find their doors locked. If sanity had prevailed, we would have walked back home that night, putting off buying them until the next opportunity presented itself. It was Friday, remember, and sanity had taken off early, leaving us under the grip of it's stand in, stupidity. K suggested that we go, as in walk, to the nearest Walmart Supercenter, open for business 24x7, to buy the very critical, life-saving raquet balls. It was unanimously agreed, in under 3 seconds, that that was the best course of action under the circumstances. Only, the nearest supercenter was located a good 10 miles away.

Our march began in right earnest. Great ideas and thoughts spurred us on and the conversation was interesting as always. Girls? Check. Cricket? Yes. Movies? Done. Girls? Yes. Religion? Sure. Politics? Mm hmm. Girls? Yes. Well, you get the drift. We were doing a good job, keeping up a good pace. The first few miles went by without much trouble. We stopped at one of the gas stations to fuel up on gatorade and Marlboro lights. It needs to be mentioned here that the summer of 2002 had taken hold of the Sonoran desert and it was a particularly intense summer. The pitstop was longer than usual and 500ml of the liquid was gone without a trace. But not once there was a mention of beating a retreat. The march continued. We were not too sure about the exact location of the store and were heading out in the general direction of our destination. Since Phoenix has a grid system of roads, we wouldn't be doing additional miles unless we were walking in the opposite direction.

It was well past midnight and we would have done about 5 miles and a couple of hours, on top of the first 3, when things started getting funny and took on a sado-masochistic flavor. With another 5 miles to go, of which we weren't aware at that time, conversation had thinned down and we were walking past silent neighborhoods, with only the occasional car whizzing past. The mouth had gone as dry as the air and the throat parched and I was feeling light. The dinner from early on in the evening was digested and it felt like we hadn't had a drink in ages. Our plight wasn't very different from people trying to sneak into the US from across its southern border, lost in a desert without maps or water. Doubts, about the wisdom behind undertaking this trip, were beginning to creep into our minds and the bodies, dehydrated, were clearly unable to match the spirit (stupidity) that was available at the start. That was when we spotted lights in the distance. As we approached, we realized that it was a Sonic outlet - America's Drive In. Charged at the prospect of a drink and some rest, we quickened the pace and reached there. There were only a couple of cars parked randomly with engines running. We walked up to the menu and sat on the bench opposite, to catch our breath and to rest our legs while debating the drink of choice. We decided on a tall glass of some juice each and as we stood up to order, I'm not making this up to spice up the story, the lights went out and the staff left in the waiting cars, in a mix of squealing tires and exhaust fumes.

I want you to picture this. It was about 1:00 am on a 90+ deg. summer night and there we were, two graduate students - a couple of semesters away from graduating, laying sprawled out, tired and thirsty, on the bench of a dark and empty Sonic outlet that had just closed. We were about 8-9 miles from our apartment, without a cell phone to call either friends or even a taxi. A good 15 minutes must have passed in complete silence before we gathered our wits and decided that we didn't have a choice but to continue to press ahead.

And with that agreement, we trudged along, knowing that we were on the final leg of the journey. We had left behind neighborhoods and were walking down a lonely stretch with nothing but empty lots on either side. The pitstop routine became leaning against lamp posts, waiting for the swimming vision to settle, swearing and trying to preserve ourselves. With the shirt buttons undone and the shoe laces free, if the cops had spotted us that night and wanted to lock us up on suspicion, they would have had very little reason not to do it, in spite of our ID cards. After another hour of labored progress, the destination loomed into sight. I've never felt good about Walmart and their practices. But that night, their store sign was the most pleasing sight I could ever hope for. I pinched myself to see if it was really happening and the skin remained pinched. Entering the comfortable interior of the store we crawled straight to the cooler section. A litre of cold water and sports drinks later, the body and the soul were revived enough to face our next problem: the return journey. If you're thinking, "But didn't you guys think about it earlier?", chances are you skipped the epilogue.

Sanity had just returned and we unanimously ruled out walking back as an option. Over a couple of more bottles of water, we hatched what was a reasonably good plan: we'd take any available late night (or very early morning) bus service in the general direction of our apartment. We scanned the check out counters and picked our target, a native American girl with a pleasing countenance even at that hour. We had gotten smart enough to acknowledge that any random, grumpy late night sales person wasn't going to make the cut. Approaching her gingerly, we brought ourselves to ask for the Valley Metro bus schedule. As unusual as the request was, coming from a couple of idiots, she started looking for it. Unable to find one, she paused, and went "Why do you guys need one?". A very valid question, you might notice. We weren't sure where to begin or how much detail to share when K sprang to life and came clean in one breath. He narrated the entire story very animatedly, including our agenda, as I stood there, still taking swigs from the bottle. I'm not sure about K, but the look that she gave us both was something that will stay with me for a long while. I think this picture would convey more about that situation than any length of prose.

"There ain't no late night services", said the girl, slowly and deliberately, as if she were talking to a couple of kids demanding candies after having brushed their teeth for the night. What followed was truly an awkward silence, interrupted only by the beeps of night owls checking out stuff in the adjacent counters. There was a lot of staring going on back and forth between the three of us. Finally she broke the silence with, "Which direction are you guys headed towards?"

"ASU campus", K and I cried out in unison, sensing that she, and not us, might have a solution to the situation that we had walked into.

It might not have taken her much time to decide that we were a couple of dorks capable of much more stupid things. "I'm getting off work in another 15 minutes and may be I can drop you guys off at the campus", offered the dusky angel. As to why I didn't sweep her into my arms and plant a kiss on her forehead that moment, I'm not sure. It was a small red Chevy truck she had and we piled into the cabin. The entire drive, 10 minutes long, went in listen mode for us. She filled us in about her family, their tribe and their handicrafts shop somewhere in Northern Arizona. She dropped us off at the campus, accepted our gratitude, wished us good luck and drove off into the night.

As her tail lights faded away, one thought was foremost on our minds. "How to buy racquet balls for Monday night?", for there were none in stock that night at the supercenter.

K and I decided to write about this incident independently. For a racier version of the same story, go here.