This summer has been a little different however. Having finally become gainfully employed again, I’ve been flying into a small town called Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, which is right next to another place called Hershey. Hershey is famous for its chocolate and when I checked into the Hershey Conference Centre, I was given handfuls of Hershey chocolate as a welcome gift. Upon getting into my room, several more chocolates were placed on my pillow. Eating at a restaurant that night, I was offered bread with chocolate chips and we had chocolate butter to boot. Several dishes on the menu had some concoction of the cocoa fruit. Pretty unique I’d say.

Once we landed the deal, I’ve had to fly into Harrisburg and drive for two hours to a small town called Wilkes-Barre. From there I drive another 30 minutes to arrive at a nuclear power plant, where I have been consulting for the past few weeks.

Groundhog patty?
Now I’m sure you must be at least vaguely aware of how security conscious Americans have become since 9/11. Well three weeks ago several gentlemen of middle-eastern descent made the unfortunate error of asking the locals where the power plant was located as they wanted to go fishing near its warm water outlet. (I’ve been told that fish love to accumulate at such places — that is to say only the three eyed fish seem to do so). Needless to say, the local police, FBI, CIA, NSA and anyone else who felt the inclination, swooped down on the unfortunate fisherman/terrorists-who-were-casing-the-joint. After several hours of interrogation the gentlemen were released, but one can only guess with a large entourage of secret police in tow. Big news out here.

Let me tell you what it’s like in the remote countryside of Pennsylvania. The place is heavily wooded, and everywhere one sees signs that say “Hunt Safely”. I was told that bears have been sighted not far from the nuclear plant and that there is also a large resident deer and turkey population. We frequent a quaint diner called MelRoes and I often wonder if that interesting burger constitutes a little more than beef. How about a little squirrel or groundhog?

There are many strange and exotically named towns in this neck of the woods. Tell me what comes to mind when you hear: Shickshinny, Shamokin or Swatara? Every time I go past these places my mind concocts “Shickshinny, what were you smokin’ swart hare?”

Another point of intrigue is a place called the SCI Retreat. While it’s located on the Susquehanna River banks, the buildings do not leave much to the imagination. In fact the resort looks downright gloomy. One day I asked a local what kind of holiday resort the SCI Retreat was. He chuckled to himself and explained to me that this was actually the neighborhood prison. SCI stands for State Correctional Institution. I guess the folks who ‘live’ there got a real bargain — five to 10 years at the river retreat for free. You just gotta share your room with a guy named Bubba.

Meals on wheels
Let me tell you about an amazing story that took place in Wilkes-Barre a few weeks ago. One late Sunday night after getting in from the airport, Bill, a fellow consultant with my company on this engagement, was famished. Asking at the hotel front desk, he was told that the Wendy’s fast food restaurant (similar to a McDonalds) across the road was still open. So he walked on over, but found the front door already locked. Moving to the drive-thru window he asked if they were still open.

“Oh yes, we are,” they assured him, “but only for food ordered at the drive-thru window.”
“Okay,” he replied happily, “can I have a cheese burger?”
“Sorry,” came the reply, “you cannot order food at the drive-thru window unless you’re in a car!”
“Well I don’t have a car,” Bill motioned, as if to say, “What are you blind, can’t you see I’m standing here before you car-less?”
“If you are not in a car, then company rules state that after 10pm I cannot serve you.”
“Look,” Bill went on to say, “I’ve just flown in from Charlotte, North Carolina, and I’m starving. Can’t you please make an exception just this once.”
“No I’m sorry sir, but I tell you what. You see that car parked over there? Well that guy works for us and he’s taking his break right now. Ask him if he will drive you round to this window and then I’ll be able to take your order.”

Going over, Bill knocks on the guy’s window and asks him for a ride. With not even a blink he replies, “Oh sure no problem, I do this all the time for customers.”

So Bill gets into the back seat and the obliging teenager drives around to the drive-thru window. Bill winds down his window. The same lady walks up and asks what he wants. Bill orders a cheeseburger and after a few minutes, they give him his order. His obliging chauffer drives a few feet forward, Bills gets out the car, thanks everyone involved and walks back to the hotel.

Now you tell me, if this country doesn’t take adhering to their rules a little too seriously?

Now during the month of July, Chicago hosts its annual “The Taste of Chicago”. It’s a 10-day fat-fest. Every eating establishment worth its salt takes out a booth and for a few bucks you are able to sample hundreds of delectable delights. This year was no exception. Over 3.5 million people attended the pig out, during which over 274 000 pizza slices, 80 000 turkey legs, and a gazillion ears of corn (mielies for those of you who don’t speak yank) were consumed.

Light up the sky
In fact so much food was left over that they were able to donate 3700 meals to the underprivileged — strangely enough all of which seem to exhibit early symptoms of obesity induced diabetes. The festival ended on July 4, where the city hosts a massive fireworks display in celebration of their day of Independence. One million people alone attended that event.

Now I’m not a guy who likes crowds. In fact I cannot stand the aggravation. But our family does attend the fireworks display put on by our local village council — hey, at least I can get a little enjoyment out of my tax dollars! The first time we enjoyed an American fourth of July I thought to myself “I’ve already seen plenty of South African fireworks displays, so what’s all the fuss about?” Right? Wrong!

Even the little place where we live puts on a mind-boggling show that by far exceeds anything I’d previously seen in the motherland. The show goes on for roughly 40 minutes and there are many huge cannons being lobbed into the air at any time. It all culminates in a crescendo with the entire sky being lit up.

Something new this year was that every now and again, they would fire off one, two or three ‘bombs’ as I called it. You’d hear a 'doomp' as they were launched and then an eye blinding flash followed by a massive blast that could be felt on your body. Rather annoying once I’d seen two of them, but clearly the fireworks shop had those on special offer this year, because they must have shot off at least 15 of 'em.

Well as I write this, I’m sitting in a plane bound for Harrisburg. This time round I have a nephilim sitting next to me. He must be at least 6’ 6’ and 250 pounds of rippling muscle. I feel like a pygmy at a basketball convention. Our plane is behind schedule, again, this time we are about one and a half hours late and my poor posterior went to sleep on me when I was still in Chicago. Life can be such a bummer.

Let me conclude with a corporate lesson for y’all:
In Africa, every morning a gazelle awakens, knowing that it must outrun the fastest lion if it wants to stay alive. Every morning, a lion wakes up knowing it must run faster than the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.
Moral of the story: It makes no difference whether you are a gazelle or a lion; when the sun comes up, you’d better be hauling ass.