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Master of the Segway

Master of the Segway

Portuguese explorer Vasco de Gama.

What is it really, this puzzling device, the segway? You lean forward and it moves forward. But why? If you are on something with wheels, do not lean forward. Physics dictates not doing that. It is plain to see that these traveling ticket counters operate by dark magic.

The segway, a vessel of tourism, is designed not to be stationary; two wheels beneath a platform are in constant tilt. This is an unstable, Heraclitian gesture of not staying in the same place. It is an object built explicitly for the indigenous suburbanite to explore the city around which they mindlessly orbit in their dutiful, daily five bed/four bath satellite. Atlanta Segway Tours is therefore a perimetric sort of redundancy, as a tour implies touristry, as does a segway, and both involve revolving.

Segway derives from the Latin segue, which means “follows.” The English word denotes an uninterrupted transition. We might here interject that the Segway tour is basically non-stop stopping and is therefore the opposite of an uninterrupted transition yet almost perfectly defines the Italian origin, for the visitors do nothing but follow the tour guide.

The segway is also designed for crashing into a parked car while looking at other stuff and thereby punishing the groin area. Or being protected from that injury by the sturdy pleats of Jordache jeans, provided those are still a thing.

At heart, it is the very catapult of voyeurism, launching the privileged gaze of the onlooker from a standing position, as one who surveys his lands to see that they are in order. It says, I am on urban safari, am at my leisure. It says, Let us see how my kingdom fareth. But above all, it says, This is how I roll.


Alack! Who is this grinning jackass ski-jumping down my street? Oh, my bad, that’s Marietta Mike, the Captain of the Suburbs, on a Segway Tour of Atlanta.

What I mean is, it’s the ole paterfamilias, who done dragged the inhabitants of his McDomicile along to float around the “hood” on some two-wheeled motorized personal vehicles consisting of a platform for the feet, mounted above an axle and an upright post surmounted by handles[1].

In other words, Vasca de Gama here is exploring Atlanta with the homefront. He is currently at a 40-degree incline with his painful IBS and his MAGA hat, his fiscal responsibility tucked into his khakis. The wyfe is in some kind of romper from Chico’s with a leopard-print blouse and Eiffel Tower appliqué. The kids are dressed in, I don’t know, they’re eating Dots or something, let’s leave them out of this.

The “Jordache Look”, as it were.

In still other words, this isn’t about them. It’s about a man, a plan, a segway, a beltline.

And that is why our protagonist must lean his way to glory.

But wait, you are probably thinking, What if I want to go on the Atlanta Segway Tour? I have some questions!


Okay, Here Are Some FAQs:

What is the top speed?

I don’t know, 3?

Are they dangerous?

Are you kidding? These shitshows are the handguns of the upright, two-wheel postmodern tourism industry. Read a book.

Can I be issued a ticket for laughing at a police officer on a “mounted” patrol?

Yes. Segway cops are 43% more likely to issue tickets for non-ticketable offenses than non-mounted patrol.

These things gas or battery or electricity or what?

The segway operates by dark magic (see above).

Where can I park my Astrovan?

There is plenty of street parking right here by the Segway joint, but you would prefer to get fleeced to the frame (that means everything is stolen but the car itself) here in this empty lot. They will leave the Creedence, man.

Woman demonstrates affection for Chico’s, a women’s retail clothier.

Can I bring my own gas?

Wait, why would you… know what, sure, go ahead, hoss.

Should I bring my handgun on this trip?

Only if you want to put every single person around you in extreme danger.

There a coupon for this?

Not for you, Marcus Aurelius. Full price.

Mind if I ask the locals about their tattoos?

Please don’t. Please, please don’t.

There a food court?

There is a Sbarro.

Damn skippy.


And Yet, Here Are Some Fears of the Segway Man:

This “hood” by the railroad tracks.

What is this strange housing development, stacked high, sans cul-de-sac? Why isn’t there room for five SUVs in this driveway? There appears to be Communism present.

Artworks of the city.

“I can’t imagine raising my kids in this neighborhood”

The leaning tower of tour guide points at a magnificent and famous mural and tells them which maestro of the aerosol can produced the chef d’oeuvre, and this candy-ass is still 100% convinced the artwork has bludgeoned the property value. He was wise not to buy here.

Critical discourse.

I sure hope we don’t hear people talking mumbo jumbo and using fact-based reasoning and other sech sorcery.

The strange foods at fancy joints.

He did not come here to eat some kind of high-falutin fare that thinks it’s too good for Marietta, no thank you.

Other kinds of peoples.

But he is not racist, not him, it’s just that hello, it’s a stereotype for a reason comes out of his mouth at every turn.

Hillary’s emails.

Communism.


That Said, His Arms Akimbo, Long May He Segway

O Long may he segway,

by Oakland Cemetery, by the living that make their way to the dead

by Turner Field, making its way from Brave to Panther, from tradition to greed

by the Capitol building, making its way from asinine legislation to voluminous protests, passing, moving forward, and back again to asininity

long may he segway,

down Ponce de Leon, from the blood-soaked aisles of Murder Kroger to the gold-encrusted floors of Ponce City Market, whether Righteous or Majestic, whether Greene or Local

down Moreland,

down Memorial, from the tire joints to the hipster haunts

down Boulevard, where that Taco Bell is (where they busted that prostitution ring) the good Taco Bell, the only restaurant to deserve the name

long may he segway,

Jesus.

may he break from the group, segwaying down Krog and Lake, St. Charles, segwaying Castleberry Hill

may he segway all the segway to Smyrna, Vinings, may he circumnavigate Gwinnett, East Cobb, East Jesus, Easternmost Point of One’s Inevitable Return to Jesus

and may he segway back to Atlanta Segway Tours, to return the segway itself, but never to stop being the master of all he segways

[1]Dictionary on MacBook.

Gregg Murray

Gregg Murray

Gregg Murray is an Assistant Professor of English at Georgia State University and the editor for Muse /A Journal. Having received his Ph.D. in English from University of Minnesota, Gregg has published scholarship and reviews in various magazines and journals. He is also a poet and the author of “Ceviche.”
Gregg Murray

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