I could tell almost immediately that the two of them wished I were more personable. Sometimes I can trick people into thinking I'm an extrovert, but that happens mostly over the phone. Maybe that's why they were let down; I'd only ever spoken with Bill on the phone before. We ate at Subway. There was a creepy life-sized cardboard stand-up of Peeta from The Hunger Games movies in there. Next stop was a place that could best be described as Tractor Supply on steroids to an East Coast-er like myself. It was called Murdoch's, and it was kind of magical.
We left the trailer in the parking lot and proceeded on to the wedding. There wasn't much to be said about it, or I should say it could fairly well be summed up in a simple phrase: an introvert's nightmare. I had to force myself to make conversation with strangers when my tank was already on empty from a bit of jet lag. But worse than that was the dancing. Bill wouldn't stop trying to get me to dance. I only do line dancing in public, and only when I'm familiar with the moves. Unfortunately, the only dance they know in Montana is the jitterbug, and they make a big deal out of it. It's like a fancy version of the shag, which I had never successfully learned, anyway. I tried the jitterbug with Bill once just to appease him, which resulted in the expected failure. He eased up a little after that, but not too much.
I spoke to strangers. It was actually the less painful alternative to public freestyle dancing. I requested that the DJ play a certain song, the line dance to which I could actually perform. I danced to that one, though I seemed to be leading the pack as the only one who truly knew what she was doing. We left not long after that, thank goodness.
We picked the trailer up at Butte before heading to the ranch in Harrison. I was introduced to my new room, which, though cowboy themed, was actually pretty badass. And I slept like the rock at the end of the road that served as a backsplash to a sign that proudly read: Smit Angus Ranch.
And now we get to a good part. I woke up to breakfast at 9 o' clock, one of the latest times I would get to sleep in from there on out. Just as I walked up to the booth to take a seat, I heard the door at the end of the hall swing open. An almost shockingly handsome young man entered. Where did he come from?
He was introduced to me as Chance, the other intern. The real intern. The paid intern who wasn't here just because he was a friend of the family. He was a pre-vet going to school in Kansas, though he originally hailed from Virginia, so we had some common ground. He would be one of the people who kept me sane on this trip as things got more twisted.