Winston-Salem and my hometown might as well be on different planets. What I mean is this: I am from a microscopic town called Statesville, which many of you may have driven through. It’s located about 40 miles west of here, and is basically the junction of Interstates 40 and 77. Therefore, many of you may have driven through it in order to get to and/or from your homes. It’s not so small that I can accurately say “if you blink then you’ll miss it,” as it is gaudily apparent—there are approximately seventy thousand car dealerships along one interstate and about the same number of fast food restaurants along the other, as well as the most revolting Wal-Mart I have ever set foot in. It is one of the most badly designed cities in the entire world, as there are always more cars on the streets than currently exist in the entire Western Hemisphere. Where they are all going I still am not sure, as there is usually no critical time factor involved in going to either a fast food restaurant or car dealership.
This past summer I took the equivalent of French 111 and 112 at a name-to-be-withheld North Carolina state university. The courses themselves were actually very informative, but it is hard to concentrate on the lesson when there are really atrocious dolts (and I’m talking about the pinnacle of incompetence, really) surrounding you.