The taxi driver, the lesbian and the following of rules

To St Louis, as I mentioned in my earlier blog, where I encountered three people who left a lasting impression.

To invert the order of my title, I'll start with the lesbian, because she came first (metaphorically speaking). We were in a bar - pretty rowdy (it was Mardi Gras); I was enjoying my first martini of the night, still huddled in my furry coat because it was bloody freezing. She came up to me and started stroking the coat. She complimented me on my choice of drink. Then suggested a martini was like a woman's breasts. I wasn't sure if I'd heard her right, so smiled and nodded. We grooved a bit. She stroked my arm again and left. A minute later, I saw her kissing another woman.

I felt pretty chuffed. This woman was hot - great hair, figure, clothes. If I'd been that way inclined I'd have gone for it. Do I just have a massive ego, that i can now say I'm fanacied by women as well as men? Or was she just drun?

To the taxi driver. He was from Nigeria. Still had a strong African accent. We chatted - about the city, how long he had been here, whether he liked being a taxi driver. He was noncommital but explained it allowed him to pay for his children's college educations. His daughter was at Harvard, he continued.

That taxi driver summed up the American dream - that whatever your station in life, or wherever you came from, you can go anywhere. Nice to see it in action.

Next day, we visited the impressive Gateway Arch of St Louis - apparently the tallest national monument in the U.S. at 360 feet. We decided to watch an excellent and beautifully produced (by National Geographic) film depicting Lewis & Clark's intrepid expedition from St Louis tot he Pacific.

It was a beautifully large auditorium; plenty of room for everyone, cupholders in every chair. Although we were informed, once in, that all food and beverages were strictly prohibited. Anyone who had come in with something to consume could leave now. The lady in the row in front surreptitiously slipped her latte into the cupholder and covered it with her coat.

About a quarter of the way in, she decided to have a cheeky slurp. Big mistake. The lady in charge came marching over to her row. "Out, now," she hissed, pointing (and ruining my view in the meantime). The lady meekly obliged and the attendant marched back to her place.

Why? I can sort of understand the imposition of such draconian rules (although not, then, the addition of cupholders to seats), but surely there's room for a little flexibility? The woman had a lid on the cup for goodness' sake. She was an adult, not a messy toddler. Couldn't the attendant have turned a blind eye? But no, that is not the way it is done in the Land of the Free. Rules must be abided by. Thank heavens I'm only here for two years.