Did I ever tell you I drove a horse-drawn carriage through historic Charleston, SC the fall of 2001?
I mean, we'll never know because I am sure not spending the hours it would take to go back and label/tag all the posts of the last few years. So, now is as good a time as any to tell you all about it.
I'll start by letting you know I had just graduated college and knew I would be headed to Bolivia in January so I needed a job to keep my hyperactivity in check (that's code for Kirkers work. They don't get to freeload off their parents while wearing pajamas til 2pm and hitting the beach. At least not exclusively.) It ended up being a four month endeavor. It was chock full of life long memories, y'all.
For starters, every single morning I worked, Diddy would wake up and make me a smoothie and see me off. What a stud. Let's face it, he'd already been up for 4 hours, had gone for a walk and was "that guy" who watered the lawn as the sun came up. The Lowcountry can be brutal to attempts to keep a lawn green, in case you didn't know. So, Dad would see me off and I would drive 25 minutes to the Battery (White Point Gardens, if we're getting specific about tours. Geez.) where I would park for the day for free. Unlike the days I was running late and would pay the crazy fees to park on Market Street. Whateves, I preferred the Battery because I would get a good walk in as well as a 15 minutes convo with Kristin. It ruled.
I would arrive and get all set up with my walkie talkie (where I was super awesome at saying "10-4" so much that I would say it on the phone with friends.) I would help get our Belgian draft horses all suited up in their gear for the day and queue them up in line with the others so we could start schlepping tourists all over God's green earth. Here's the thing- giving a tour in Charleston is big business. Not only because it
costs is worth so freaking much but because of how complicated it all is. It is a science. They leave nothing to chance and absolutely every thing is regulated. I was more proud of getting my temporary tour guide license than I was my Bachelor's Degree.
The peninsula of Charleston is so beautiful and there's a huge portion of it that is tour zone. The powers that be have it split into a series of routes. No one knows which route they'll be headed on until the moment it begins. That's because there is an old-school bingo machine (manned by the coolest ladies you'll ever meet) that randomly selects (a lottery, if you will) the route. This keeps things fair and square as well as evenly distributed. I mean, its probably hard to get to work in the morning if you're behind 8 carriages. Most companies (there are like 5, I think) use horses and one uses mules. There is seriously nothing more funny than watching a college student drive mules through a busy street.
That reminds me of Joker. He was one of our horses who was panicky. He was used to being on a farm and straight up tweaked every time he saw a white truck. Now, I may have just had bad luck EVERY single time I drove with him but for reals- he would get up on the sidewalk. I would have to (somewhat casually, so as to not spook my patrons from tipping handsomely) whip the side of him that was getting off course. (PETA- save it. I don't do it any more OK? Also, he loved me for it. He'd tell the other horses he fell down the stairs. Again.) I had to do it because 15
human lives were at stake.. INCLUDING MINE. Don't play.
Joker's brother Otis (at least I think it was Otis... go with it) once did something completely awesome. I remember every detail of this particular morning. I was wearing my brand new Danskos and was, therefore, anticipating a day of my feet not hating life whilst standing all day. So, I walked in to work and could instantly tell something was up. None of the horses were out and there was debris everywhere. During the night, Otis had staged a coup. He managed to free himself of his stall (still a mystery) and promptly knocked over the barrel of feed... so he could share. All the horses ate so much (similar to me, they don't have a "full" switch. They will continue eating until their stomachs explode, basically. Woof.) their joints got stiff from all the fiber. They were practically rigor mortis by morning. The totally best part? They horsie partied all night long because Otis managed to chew the seat off my boss's bicycle (that he micromanaged us from) and then poop on the reins. Its as if he knew they'd be leading him around in the heat all day. He wasn't having it. I have never been more proud of an animal.
Every day, I dropped cheezy tip-inducing/ guilt churning lines to make dollars. I'm not totally proud but mama had to make it worth her time, OK? I had no shame.
I could, honestly, tell you one hundred more stories about being a tour guide. (Like the experience of listening to the tragedy of 9/11 unfold while working or the time the last living, original cast member of "Gone With the Wind" served us cookies.) Let's do that in Charleston. I'll show you around the city. I'm still amazed how much I have retained. Chelsea was wow-ed and we both grew up there, so that has to count for something.
Sometimes, I feel my heart drawing me back to that beautiful port city. THANK GOODNESS Southwest will start flying directly there from Nashville next month.
It. Is. On.
I will say this- I have no career in tour guiding in my future but I am wildly glad I did it during that funny season of post-graduate...ness. It was incredible and has provided me with a lifetime of fodder for my favorite things... stories.
xo,
k
