Twenty-One

Oklahoma, 11-13 August, 1992
Originally uploaded by Tokyorosa

I had to work on my 21st birthday. I was a waitress at the time and the restaurant had a bar and at the end of my shift I sat down in the bar and about ninety minutes later I was so drunk that I was unable to stand up again. I did make it out of the bar eventually and I think I woke up in my own bed. No, in fact, I know I woke up in my own bed because I woke up to my friend Ed (who had been drinking with me the night before), in a breathy, falsetto voice reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" into my answering machine. It was wonderful. (I kept the tape for years and years.)

That was, what? Must have been sixteen years ago because in a couple of weeks, I'll turn 37.

About the photo? Oh, right. So that photo up there was taken in some random Oklahoma motel room eight days after my twenty-first birthday. I was pretty drunk on tequila when this was taken. You can see I'm holding a pint of Jose Cuervo and a yellow salt container. The other photos in the series show the remains of a six-pack of Budweiser and a laid out card game of something I labeled in the photo as "Give & Take" though I now have absolutely no idea what kind of game it was or how to play it.

Did we drink all that tequila?! Yes, we did.

I was in Oklahoma at the request of my friend Cathy. She was there to see her married boyfriend Phillip Miller who was a Roadway truck driver. Good ol' Phil was able to meet with Cathy because--get this--his wife was in the hospital after having complications with the delivery of their second or third child. What a winner, huh? Anyway, Cathy begged me to come with her to see him and I did. We hopped in my car after work one night and drove all night to get to Reno, Oklahoma, where we checked into this crap motel and started drinking. I'm still in my work uniform (tan pants, blue shirt) in that photo up there.

Phillip and Cathy

I think Cathy met with Phillip that night--maybe? Anyway, on one of the nights they were together, I went out by myself at about two in the morning. Reno, Oklahoma is really a crap little town and, to add insult to injury, it's a crap little town that shuts down at about six in the evening. The only thing open was a little all-night diner across from the motel. I crossed the road went in and sat down and asked the waitress if they had huevos rancheros. The waitress looked at me like I was an alien from outer space and shook her head, not understanding. I said, "Nevermind," and ended up ordering and eating fried eggs and potatoes and bacon while a pair of enormous, coffee-swilling truck drivers at a nearby table eyed me suspiciously. I'm sure they were thinking, Damn Mexicans. Where does she think she is? This ain't no Mexican restaurant. (Only, of course, they were thinking it in an Okie accent.)

Cathy, in another trip to Oklahoma, once tried, in a desperate and doomed attempt at culinary ambassadorship, to describe huevos rancheros to the waitress. "It's fried eggs and potatoes with chile on top," she said. And, yes, the waitress brought out fried eggs and potatoes with Hormel-type chili and beans poured all over it. And, yes, Cathy sighed and ate it.