Why Are There So Many People Here?

Why Are There So Many People Here?

Recently, I was in a small town in North Dakota. I'd visited it the previous several years, always at the same time of year, late October, and this year, there were a lot of people in town. I mean, we drove into town just after dark, down the one road, and there were cars parked on the street! The one restaurant was not only open, but there were people inside! I had never seen anyone in the town after dark.

Perhaps I was remembering it wrong? Regardless, we got to where we were staying, met up with our friends, and began our week-long trip on the prairie. A few days later, we realized, despite having thought we'd brought yeast to make pizza, it had not made the journey with any of us. But, the town had one store, the C-Store, which was sort of a gas station-cum-liquor store-cum-food store. And I figured, if stores in North Dakota had anything, it was yeast. This state was made of grain.

My friend, who had lived off and on in this town over the years, told me there was shortcut to the C-Store. Since the world is falling apart, it was seventy-seven degrees in late October at four-thirty p.m, just a hundred or so miles south of the Canadian border. I figured wearing gym shorts and Crocs to the store would be fine, especially since we were taking the short cut.

"It's just over there," she said, pointing to the back of the store.

I squinted. It looked like we needed to cut across a field, then a creek, then crawl over some railroad tracks. There were probably a couple of barbwire fences in the mix too, and since it was North Dakota, there was probably some hidden barbwire lurking in the overgrown field as well.

I felt like this short cut might be a bad idea, but I was game for it. We made it about thirty feet into the overgrown field before my Crocs were full of stickers. My friend, clad in sandals, also started to hop to try and pull invisible pieces of plant out of her feet, and we realized, there was no short cut. We hobbled across the field toward a parking lot where I attempted to pull microscopic stickers out of my feet before giving up and deciding I'd just limp around.

But we wanted pizza, so we continued, the long way, to the C-Store. We rounded the bend to the main street, and BAM! There were people out. Just walking around!

"Does it seem like there are a lot of people here to you?" I asked my friend.

"Yeah. This is really weird," she agreed.

We made it to the C-Store, and I took a breath before entering. It was near Halloween, the store actually had a sign on the outside that said, Warning, the owner really likes Halloween. I remembered the clerk from the previous year. An imperious woman full of curves and attitude, on a raised check out stand who had mastered the art of looking down on people.

We went in the store. It was chocked full of Halloween decorations, and the same clerk was there, glaring at us.

I went to the aisle where I thought the yeast was and saw a life sized ghoul that I knew was motion activated. I pressed myself against the far side of the aisle and tried to slither by it, but it sprang to life and jumped at me, screeching in the process. The clerk let out a demented cackle of a laugh. I remembered that thing from last year too.

In the baking-ish aisle, I found no yeast. My friend circumnavigated the ghoul, ducking under a flying skeleton head that also had a suspicious power cord coming out of it, and joined me.

"I don't see it," I said.

She nodded, walked past the ghoul, set it off, and went to the still sneering clerk.

"Do you all have yeast?"

I was still focused on where the yeast might be, so I couldn't see the clerk, but I did notice the long pause before she responded.

"Try driving twenty-five minutes in either direction," the clerk said. "There are Dollar Generals out there. We aren't a grocery store."

And, then I was done with the store. I pushed past the shrieking ghoul, ready to punch it if it came to close to me. We left the store, a black and orange animatronic Christmas tree howling and spinning at us in the parking lot.

"That lady is always so rude," I said.

"This is North Dakota! What is everyone doing if they aren't baking their own bread?" my friend said.

We were back walking the long way to where we were staying when we noticed a clothing shop. And, it was open.

"Look. That store is open," I said.

"What is going on? Why is that open?" she asked.

"I don't know, but we should go," I said.

So we did. I would describe the aesthetic of the merchandise as cheugy, Midwest Millennial. Inside a young woman with cakes of make-up and a flowy black dress was helping a long-haired woman in a wide-brimmed hat pick out iron on patches from a massive display. The long-haired woman's husband wandered around quietly, looking at the things on display like he had no idea what they were.

I was totally mind blown. How did this fairly attractive thirty-something couple end up here? Now? What in the hell was happening?

My friend and I perused the packed store. Kitschy framed signs in farmhouse calligraphy occupied every wall space. Felt hats, calico patterned dresses, boxes of skin care products crowded every surface. Racks of clothing cluttered the floors. Finally the couple left, and the woman at the counter began to I guess straighten the store wares, although I think that was part of the vibe, the haphazard claustrophobia of the place. Finally, I just asked.

"Why are there so many people here?"

She looked at me, seemingly baffled. I wasn't sure if it was my question, or that I had just spoken.

"Well, we do have a conferences here in the winter," she said, somewhat defensively. "We always have people here."

My friend made a suspicious sound from behind a rack of polyester and lace dresses.

I backtracked. I wasn't trying to start a fight. "I just... I've been here a lot this time of year, and this year it seems like there are more people than I remember?"

She nodded, smiling now. "Well the weather is nice." She looked at my stoplight red T-shirt and yellow Crocs. I felt judged, but that was probably fair.

"And, well, you know. The Ring of Fire is happening."

We stared at each other.

"Ring of Fire?" I finally asked.

She nodded. "You know, oh, what do you call it? There is a guy here. He sings and looks like Johnny Cash. Have you heard of him?"

I had heard of Johnny Cash, thank you Gen Z.

"A Johnny Cash impersonator?" I suggested.

A huge grin split her face. "That's it. A Johnny Cash impersonator. He's here all month."

"Ahh. Thanks," I said. "That explains it."

My friend and I left the store. We did not buy a farmhouse chic dress, nor did we procure any yeast. We walked the non-shortcut home, actually having to side step another group on the sidewalk because, well, there were people here.

"Conferences!" My friend was yelling. "There are no conferences here in the winter. Where do they have them?"

I let her rant because I had not lived in this town in the winter and had no dog in the fight. Everyone was entitled to their own small town trauma.

We made it back to our lodgings. We'd been gone more than an hour, walked over a mile, I had stickers in my feet, and we had not managed to buy the base ingredient we needed. But the mystery of the seemingly packed town had been solved. The legend of Johnny Cash lived on.

At least there was that.