I just got back last night from an interesting week in Atlanta, Georgia. My trip down there was quite stressful and felt very much like Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. There was a snowstorm in Moncton the day I left so the flights in and out were either really delayed or canceled outright. My flight was canceled, so I rented a car to Saint John to catch a flight to Toronto from there. Got there in plenty of time, but by the time we boarded, some cold air had settled in and we ended up sitting on the tarmac for 45 minutes while they deiced the runway and then the plane. When we got into Toronto, I had 20 minutes to get through customs, pass through security, and make it to my gate. Luckily, there was nobody at customs, security was a breeze, and my forty two year old lungs allowed me the dash to the gate. However, the gate was closed. The plane was already loaded and getting ready to leave. An airline attendant saw me there with a blank look on my face and said “Are you Mr. Melee? We had given up on you.” She quickly called the plane, and walked me to down the ramp. We landed in Atlanta and I started walking… and walking. The signs said that ground transportation was straight ahead, but they didn’t say how far ahead. After 20 minutes of walking, I finally gave in and jumped on the train that ran parallel to the walkway. The pleasant automated voice on the train said, “Ground transportation, next stop.” Sigh.

I was in Atlanta for training, but in the evening I wandered across the street from the hotel to the Hard Rock Cafe. I took a seat at the bar and the bartender came over. He was a tall, large man with long hair tied back into a ponytail. He could have easily come across intimidating, but he was exactly the opposite. You could tell right away that he was a genuinely friendly guy and enjoyed the interaction with people that his job afforded him. I asked for a dark beer and he suggested a local amber ale called Sweetwaters. The guy chatted with his customers, many of them by their first names, about anything. He came back around to me and refilled my beer, asking where I was from. I told him Canada, specifically Newfoundland. “Hey!”, he said, and I’m paraphrasing, “My mother married this guy from Newfoundland! He’s an author. He wrote a book about Newfoundland called My Father Is A Tweener. I don’t know what it’s about, but I always thought a “tweener” was someone started, but not finished, a sex change procedure!” I whipped out the iPhone, and found the book… My Father Is A Twiner by Reg Faust. Too cool… Newfoundlanders have truly touched the earth far and wide, in many ways. I told the guy, his name is Ray, that this would make my blog, for sure. He seemed quite pleased by that, because his wife follows several blogs but now he would have a blog of his own to follow.

Well, Ray obviously visited my site, because the next time I came in, he came right over, Sweetwaters Ale in hand and told me that he told his partner behind the bar, Joe, that he was expecting me in. He said that I would order a Sweetwaters and that he should pretend to know me, saying something like, “Hey, aren’t you that guy in Flashpoint St. John’s?” Well, when I walked in, Ray nudged Joe and said there he is. Well, Joe didn’t see me, he saw some other dude. And THAT dude ordered a Sweetwaters. And THAT dude also looked VERY confused when Joe said “Hey! Aren’t you that guy in Flashpoint St. John’s?”

So, here it is, Ray… tell your wife that you are famous! Tell her she can keep The Pioneer Woman, the fine site that it is… You’ve got OhMeNerves.com!