The Shoelace

Reflecting on our travels over the years, I feel there are ten types of towns.

Ten categories that every city, village, and hamlet can fit into.

If you have the time, a holiday driving trip across the U.S. will help to crystalize these towns into said categories as you will pass through cities large and small, chic and crap, and just plain weird.

Number One: The Fantasy

This is the town you feel you can live out the rest of your days in. It is your absolute favorite.

Maybe you could spend each day collecting seashells and walking the beach like some romantic wandering gypsy. Or perhaps you could volunteer at the local bar, trying out all the new cocktail concoctions the resident mixologist invents.

The staff would bestow upon you all the benefits of a regular. Free appetizers. Your favorite seat would always be available near the end of the bar. The staff would have a fun nickname for you like Mr. John or Ace.

“Hey there Mr. John,” the bartender says smiling, “would you mind trying out my new cocktail invention?”

“Sure thing Smitty,” you slur, picking your head up off of the bar.

“It’s called The Dead Zone,” Smitty says as he slides an old fashioned glass across the table toward you. “It’s a combination Zombie, Mind Eraser, and Jagermeister float,” Smitty beams nodding with pride.

You take a sip and your remaining teeth make a fizzing sound and fall to the bar room floor.

Ah, the good life.

Number Two: The Jet Set

This is the town you can visit over and over again and never get tired of it.

Maybe there are various reasons you don’t want to live there. It could be too expensive or just not right for your lifestyle. But man, is it fun to visit!

You vacation in this town often. Several times a year. You tend to visit the same bars and restaurants you’ve come to love. You take the same long walks along the same pathways. It feels familiar. It feels like home.

You recognize a bartender who served you on your trip here last year and smile at him knowingly. I mean, you’re practically a regular.

Meanwhile the bartender nods back with a quick smile and thinks, “why is this creepo smiling at me like he slept with my mother last night or something? He’s looking at me like he’s my new step-dad.”

The bartender has no idea who you are and doesn’t care. But you’re proud. You know people in this town.

Number Three: Good for a Story

Some towns you visit just for the story you can tell after.

Vegas comes to mind. Definitely New Orleans.

You don’t really want to visit frequently. There is an undercurrent of seediness in these towns that makes for both wonderful fun and incredible danger all at the same time.

Maybe you’ll never go there again. That seems like a wise idea. You don’t need that many stories that begin, “after nine hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s, I found myself wandering around a used book store in the French Quarter wearing a harlequin mask.”

Number Four: The Tourist Trap

You must go see these places. It’s some kind of moral imperative.

You know that it’s going to be total cheese. Expensive. Twelve dollar cans of Bud Lite and neon colored frosty drinks with no booze in them. Not to mention the crowds.

The town is overrun with dads from the upper mid-west with fanny packs and their socks pulled up so high they look like leggings. They have that dead look in their eyes while their wives stand in line at the Duck Tour booth, studying the pamphlet and contemplating the three hour “Lost At Sea” option or the six hour “F@ck a Duck” option.

It’s a pass through town. A two-hour “okay, we’ve seen it” type visit. The only real reason to make the time is to prevent your friends from being disappointed and shaming you when they find out you didn’t visit Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede.

Number Five: We Should Come Here Every Year!

Why didn’t we know about this place? This is an awesome town.

Who knew a small little place along the Columbia River would be this quaint? They even have two restaurants! One with a kitchen so small they can make one pizza every hour (note: they are now out of business).

Let’s plan on coming back next year too. Or maybe even in a few months.

Also, why do all the twenty-something guys have unkempt beards and dirty flannel shirts that make them look like haggard thirty-eight year-olds. When they are actually thirty-eight they won’t be able to look back at photos and say “look at how young I looked.”

Number Six: This Is Much Nicer Than I Thought

Having a huge ego means thinking things like, “I’ve never heard of this place, so it’s probably a dump.”

For instance, Bar Harbor, Maine. It sounds like a crappy port town. With a harbor. And some bars.

But no. It’s a beautiful little village on the banks of Frenchman’s Bay with elevated views of the archipelago surrounding Acadia national park.

Who knew?

Number Seven: This Is Not As Nice As I Thought

Jimmy Buffet said, “even the worst of beaches, never let you down.”

What an idiot Jimmy Buffet is (rest in peace Jimmy).

This beach I’m on is full of broken glass and mounds of seaweed so high you can’t even see the water.

Is that a dead guy over there under the pier? Why is everyone dressed in black hoodies when it’s eighty degrees and feels like ninety-five in the sun. You’re pretty sure there’s a drug deal going down by that ice cream stand.

Number Eight: Should We Stop For Gas Here?

The gas station only has two pumps and one of them is blocked up by a rusty wheelbarrow and some cinder blocks.

There are a few guys milling about by the station door and they are staring down every car that passes. Like they are waiting for their drug dealer.

Either that or waiting for some dopey out of towner to pull up so they can beat him up for kicks.

This isn’t a one horse town. It’s a no horse town. Even the horse had sense enough to leave this place long ago.

Number Nine: Let’s Get Gas In The Next Town.

There is a gas station right over there, but why do the pumps say “MUST PAY INSIDE” on them?

I feel like this is a trap.

I’ll walk in the convenience store, hear the door lock behind me, and a deep voice say “looks like Mr. Spider has done gone and caught himself a fly.”

I have a real aversion to getting raped in a gas station. It’s something I generally try to avoid.

Number Ten: Is This a Town?

Looking in the rear view mirror, “was that a town?”

You saw a few buildings and a guy in overalls staring at an old ’65 Chevy half-ton.

There was an church you think.

It was called Community Christian Church of Perpetual Sadness. You saw the sign. That little white building with the roof caved in. It was right next to Lucy’s Diner that closed in 1947.