At one point, I might have considered myself somewhat well versed in cultural diversity. I had classmates and friends from the farthest reaches of the globe---Cambodia, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Iraq---we ate baklava and sushi, mocked traditional gender-based clothing and one day counted 57 different languages in my history class. I drank bubble tea for godsake! However, nothing could have quite prepared me for a quick jaunt into the little town of Shepherdsville, 30 miles away from Louisville. No powershake of liberal tolerance, or mind-altering open-mindedness would prepare me for the saturation of good-old-boy howdiness that I was thrust into.
My dear friend Verlinda, (we will alter her name to protect her innocence) and her boyfriend Zhaonathan invited me to go with them and two of their friends to a place called Gattiland, then to Kart Kountry (yes, it is spelled exactly as it is said). Verlinda is also, I should say, a bleeding heart vegetarian liberal who saves spiders and insects by taking them outside in a cup (unless they are ants invading her kitchen) and wishing them well on their journey. She is not exactly Shephardsville material. However, she had not prepared me adequately for the journey ahead. The given details were these:
1. Gattiland: contained a pizza buffet
2. Kart Kountry: was a fun place that had miniature golf and go-carts.
Seemingly normal evening? Right?
Well, upon arrival to “Mr. Gattis” as it is called (I am not sure yet what makes it a “land”---I am guessing the 9 pizza buffet?) we noticed a sign leaning up against the outside of the building that had “Pizza Buffet Special! $7.99! Isaiah 33.2” Ironically, this verse contains “we have waited for thee”---not exactly the type of advertisement you want to have on the outside of your restaurant if you are promoting prompt service. It was at this point that my friend smiled mischievously and said, “I forgot to tell you that this is the Christian Mr. Gattis.” Now, I am sorry, but my only reference to the Gattis is a notorious crime family in New York that shot people. It is hard for me to imagine a holy roller-say it-and slay it in the spirit sort of Gatti family, but I was about to be amazed. (I am really not sure which Gatti family would consider the other the “you just don’t talk about that side” family? Perplexing.)
Upon entry to the Christian Mr. Gatti’s I was greeted with a 4-foot wood and gold cross in the entry that would have rivaled any bare-bones Lutheran deal that donned the walls of the churches I attended. The walls were covered with pictures of inspirational sayings, pictures, bible verses and the occasional Boyd’s bear. Although I avoided skipping the pizza to head straight for the “Suggestion/Inspiration” box to put in my two cents in about their decorating (what is that verse about if your right hand is going to sin….??) I did pause by the painting of a farmhouse being overwhelmed by the gigantic hand of “God” that was beating a railroad stake into the clouds over the farmhouse with what looked like a sledgehammer. Ah, the ANGRY god.
However, I do have to say, Gattis did branch out in their decorating style a bit. To add a sense of randomness there was a red stuffed toucan by the front door, which whistled the flirtatious “Whew-whew” when someone passed. Way to promote sexual harassment amongst the kiddies. There was also a big-screen TV that played Tom and Jerry engaging in bizarre acts of violence, which I am sure, made the ground meat on the pizza taste so much better.
My favorite part of Christian Gatti’s however was the large podium across from the wood and gold cross that held a weighty Bible that had been highlighted. Upon the podium, above the Bible, was a placard that said, “THE General Manager.” So many places I could go with this, however I will only indulge in one sacrilege. My question was, as I looked at the General Manager, is what if I had a complaint? Do I write it in?
The next stop was Kart Kountry. Yes, it was spelled with two K’s. I did find out today that this particular county has the largest concentration of Ku Klux Klan members, but I am sure it is unrelated. We walked into the arcade, which had a glow-in-the-dark floor, a prize station that had a gigantic stuffed Little Mermaid “Flounder” doll whose face looked like it had been horribly disfigured and a “Bling Machine” where one could win a plethora of plastic “Bling.” Shoes and Shirt were required. We opted for the mini-golf tour where two members of our group got a hole in one. A statistical average, Verlinda looked up, of one in a billion!
The final piece of our cultural tour was go-carting. I did not know this, but we were at THE LARGEST go-cart trek in the United States! 1.5 miles of dirty, gritty, raw racetrack. Grrrrrrr. Being the responsible yuppie that I am, I kindly asked where the helmets and goggles were….they kindly laughed at me. Inappropriately wearing a skirt, I wiggled into the cart, put my seatbelt on and attempted to learn the mechanics of the machine. I soon learned that the green pedal meant go and that it was wise to just never let up on that until you finished. If you were rounding a turn, don’t break, just turn harder. Half-way through my first lap however, amidst the outright terror of flipping and falling out of my go-cart, a sense of exhilaration came over me. Yes, the mud was flying in my eyes, and teeth and hair until I felt like some sort of advertisement for Shout!, but I also felt this rush of freedom and wha-hoo!edness that no bubble tea could ever give me. It was the freedom to fly around corners at who-knows-what-speed with no helmet, the freedom to breathe in a mixture of diesel and dirt without worrying about the effects of global warming or soil erosion and the freedom to just get back to the basics---go fast, try to bump into people and push them off the road and then go fast again. That’s it. Pure and simple. Mission accomplished. Thank you Verlinda and Zhaonathan!
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