“Fill me up on pump ten, regular unleaded,” I said.
“You’re new in town, aren’t you?” the clerk asked me.
“Actually, yes. Just arrived this morning.”
“Welcome to Craigsland.”
“Thanks. So how many people are there here?” I asked, trying to get a feel for my new surroundings.
“Varies from day to day, really,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Lots, though. More than you realize.” I thanked him and filled my tank.
I hadn’t even heard of Craigsland until just recently, but all my friends were telling me how amazing it was. Everyone seemed to tout something different. Jack had bought a thousand dollar couch for a hundred bucks from some guy who was trying to move. Kim found her job as a marketing assistant through the city’s highly-praised job announcement board. And Billy Holcomb had finally fulfilled his fantasy of meeting another man with three testicles.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do in Craigsland, but I promised Kim I’d take the full tour. Literally. I signed up for the bus tour at the edge of town and prepared myself for a day of learning about this fascinating new place.
My tour operator’s name was Ketchum. “Helllll-o, folks,” Ketchum welcomed us, trying his best to sound like a captain over an intercom on an airplane. “Welcome to Craigsland. I’m proud to be taking you folks for a little tourski today. We’ll be cruising at about ten to fifteen miles an hour at sea level, so we’re gonna ask you to go ahead and keep your seatbelts fastened tight. This is just a tour folks, so we’re gonna ask you to remain in the vehicle as we pass through the various points of interest. As you know, when we get to the Personals zone, we’re going to have to ask the minors to wait behind. Eighteen and up only, folks. Sorry, those are the rules. Oh, and don’t throw money at the transvestite hookers..” And with that, we were off…
Our first stop was the Jobs Borough. Impressive, but rather nondescript. Very much like every other Jobs Burrough I’d seen. The Housing Borough, our second stop, was more interesting. Ketchum explained that people were buying, selling, leasing, subletting, and even swapping. My apartment for yours.
The For Sale Borough was thrilling – especially the Bartering Zone. It felt like a Phish concert. My grilled cheese for your metro ticket. Your television for my 500 metro tickets. There seemed to be some kind of counterfeit metro card scheme going on, but it was interesting nonetheless.
The Community Center was pleasant and active, enticing for those looking for people with common interests. There was even a lost and found. Our next stop was a Discussion Zone, where people from Craigsland were debating sports, politics, poker strategy – you name it. The sense of community was staggering. I was impressed. Very impressed.
Our departure from the Discussion Zone meant the end of the line for minors. A family with two small children exited the bus. The girl sitting next to me certainly didn’t look eighteen, but who was I to ask? Ketchum either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “Rules” seemed to be in name only, in Craigsland.
“Okay folks, things are gonna get a little bit dicey here. Again, please remain in the bus throughout the remainder of the tour. Our insurance does not cover passengers outside the bus.” I couldn’t imagine what could be so bad.
“Coming up on our left will be your Rant and Rave zone, folks.” Rant and rave? I wasn’t sure what this was all about. Before I could ask, some crazed lunatic ran up to the bus with a painted sign that read, “FAT CHICS SUCK!” A small crowd was gathered behind him, chanting, “We love sluts! We love sluts!”
Beyond the slut-worshipers was a heated debate between two people whose name tags identified them as “Pseudo-elite intellectualist left-leaning socialist” and “Hard-line, don’t give a fuck, kick you while your down Republican”. The leftist was calmly citing statistics of geese killed by Coalition forces in Iraq, while the Republican was jumping up and down, screaming at the leftist for being too kind to the homeless (and geese). “Look, it’s real simple, lefty! Either a goose decides to fly in Iraq and risks getting killed by a bomb, or he fucking moves! Fly to Germany or something! That goes for the homeless, too!”
Appalled, I turned my attention to the next group. A congregation of about twenty-five men was standing around a water cooler, swapping office fantasies. “I want to bang my secretary in her five hole.” Giggling from the group. “I masturbate in the fourth stall in the bathroom every day at 2:20.” More giggling. And on and on they went.
Disturbed, I tried to find something positive. Sporadic individuals were saying interesting things, but the vast majority was yelling about sex, politics, and overweight people. Unamused, I asked Ketchum if we were almost through the zone. “Yep, just gotta fill out a few surveys, real quick.” Everyone groaned.
Finally, we moved on to the rest of the personals. There was a nifty little platonic friends section, which for the most part was running smoothly, though it was clear to everyone on the bus that a few of the guys thought that ‘platonic’ meant a sexual position in the bedroom.
Men were seeking men – some more aggressively than others. One man had a sign that read, “Younger Man Seeking Older Man To Fuck and Suck” Others were more discreet. Women were meeting women, men were meeting women. Transvestites were meeting all kinds of different people. There looked like a few success stories, but most people seemed desperate or hostile and frustrated. One poor girl had resorted to listing the guys that she DIDN’T want to write her. “NO fakes, snakes, losers, criers, sports-lovers, Republicans, artists, or DJs may apply. I’ve been burned by TOO many of you fuckers for me to do THAT again!” I didn’t think her new strategy would work, either.
We finally finished the Personals Zone in the Casual Encounters Lounge, where hundreds of men – and a woman or two – milled about, seeking an equally horny companion to be intimate with. Some of the solicitations bordered on prostitution. “I want to ma$$age your cock. Excellent rate$” Hmm…
Many of the men were disguised as women, carrying signs that proclaimed them “w4m.” I was confused. And a little bit afraid.
Ketchum rushed us through, a bit embarrassed by some of the Craigsland residents behavior. “It’s not the nicest part of town, folks. Unless you’re really horny. And lonely. Then it’s okay. I guess…” Pause. “Anyway! Our last stop is the Services Zone, where you’ll find everything from computer help to piano lessons. Clearly, from the signs in the Erotic Services section, sexual services were plentiful as well. The tour was over.
“Well, that’s it folks. That’s Craigsland. A lot of great stuff, lots of great people. A wonderful community! Obviously, there are some wolves out there, preying on the sheep, but for most of us, it’s a real nice place to get together and live a little better.”
Overall, I was impressed, though I reminded myself to be careful for the wolves. I left Craigsland and vowed to return soon. I do hate my job, after all. And I wouldn’t mind swapping apartments with someone in New York for the summer. Mmmm… and as much as I’m nervous to admit it, some of those women in the personals sound mighty nice. Maybe I’ll write just one. Or two. Gotta go…