Day 6-- Philadelphia

11:26 am EDT - Spend enough time wandering around the highways of
America and an element of deja vu becomes inevitable. Is this the
Sbarro where I stopped in as Obama was giving his Pennsylvania speech
on the meaning of race in American politics or the one where I once
won a stuffed animal from the claw game in the corner? The structure
of each place is identical, as are the restaurants. Wander anywhere
across highway 80 and you will never be more than 50 miles from a
roadside Roy Rogers. The bathrooms all pour perfectly tepid water from
their motion activated sinks, the prices are inflated up to near-
airport levels of absurdity, and each one will have in place its
requisite midwestern family complete with slightly overweight father
and two children begging to have french fries for breakfast.

At this particular rest stop - the Chesapeake House in northern
Maryland - two Russian blondes from Novgorod (just outside Moscow
apparently) manned the Starbucks counter. I attempted to flirt with
them with the following result:

"So you guys are from Russia?"

"Yes."

"I was in Russia once... not in your part of Russia though."

"Oh."

"So I guess you speak Russian?"

"Yes."

"Not me. Just English."

"Oh."

She then turned to her companion and said something which probably
translated to either a) 'what a debonair and worldly young man' or b)
'there are people behind him in line. Why won't he just order?'

"Boy, Russia. That's great," I said.

She smiled and waited.

"So I guess I'll have a venti vanilla Chai latte..."

Here she smiled and turned again to her friend saying either a) 'how
worldly! Chai is from India, you know' or b) 'this guy orders like an
eight-year-old girl. He probably orders his steaks a la mode.' Either
way she smiled at me, which I take as a personal victory.

I ought to explain here that I am fairly sensitive to the reactions of
the waitresses since our DJ, Aaron, has beaten me in the one impromptu
beauty contest of this trip. Our waitress at the time, a kindly
southern matron named Tina, picked him as the more attractive of the
two of us at the Ryan's buffet in Bristol. I have been seeking to
repair my battered ego and while I didn't quite have the gumption to
ask the lovely Russian behind the counter to choose between us, she
did smile at me - or possibly at my extraordinarily effeminate drink -
which is at least a small victory.