Today’s topic is, well…completely off-topic. Because it’s Elvis Week. And because, since I worked as a tour guide at Graceland all through high school and college, it’s a time of great nostalgia.  It’s part of what made me who I am, much more so than high school or college. Graceland was my “glory days,” my sorority, the setting for my coming-of-age story. And it’s not just me. Graceland had that effect on a lot of us. It was just one of those things that only those who were a part of it can really understand. But I’m going to see if I can paint a picture of why it was so special.

Blistering heat. 100% humidity. Saying the same thing (our spiels) over and over, for hours on end. Visitors from countries where people don’t bathe as often as we do here. People with cameras tripping over the “keep off the grass” signs as they trampled over the lawn to get a good picture of the house. Working extra days because there was nowhere else we’d rather be; we were afraid we’d miss out on something. And the tourists….oh my goodness, the tourists.

First, I guess I have to explain the difference between tourists and fans. Tourists are the ones who come because it’s what you do when you’re in Memphis. They ask ridiculous questions and make really obnoxious comments. The fans, on the other hand, are the ones who come for Elvis Week, when the tourists with any sense stay far away. For them, it’s a yearly pilgrimage. Most of us couldn’t wait for the fans to show up. They were respectful to Elvis and exceedingly polite to the tour guides, some even going so far as to bring us cough drops (you can get pretty hoarse talking in your loudest voice all day). Best of all, the fans could shut an obnoxious tourist down with one smart-a$% comment, something we couldn’t get away with (at least not more than once).

The fans were great, and we couldn’t wait for them to get there each August. But most of the story-telling fodder comes from the tourists. Particularly the really dumb questions and comments:

• “Is that the suit Elvis was buried in?”
• “Hey, that picture over there of Elvis and his father standing on stage. Was that taken before or after he died?”
• “Does his airplane have a sunroof?”
• “Why did you move the house? The last time I came, it was on the other side of the street.”
• “He sure did get fat before he died.” (This one was usually delivered while the speaker was hoisting his or her belly up to rest it on the railing.)
• “Round window on a bus? That’s pure sex, just pure sex.”

See what I mean? These are things that normal people just don’t encounter during their workday. We had to socialize (for the most part) with just each other, because no one else could relate to how we spent our days!

Thanks to Facebook, many of us are back in touch, and here are some of the stories we still laugh about:

• When Elvis’s aunt (she lived in the house) would take her dog (Edmund) out, she had to walk through the Jungle Room. Most of the tour guides would hold back an incoming group so that she could get through in peace (because inevitably someone would scream out, “There’s the aunt!”). So one day a tourist loudly complained “What the hell are we waiting on?” Aunt Delta, who could be touch crotchety, leaned over the railing and said, “You’re waiting on me to get my a** out of here, you *&(^*(!” Loved that woman!
• One time Edmund pooped in the Jungle Room. When asked about it, a tour guide who shall remain nameless told the tourist that it had been there since Elvis died because we weren’t allowed to change anything.
• Having a male tour guide hide behind a piece of furniture to give the spiel while a female lip-synched.
• Very embarrassing lessons on the importance of not reading tourists’ t-shirts while you’re giving your spiel. After saying the same thing so many times, your brain goes on automatic…and the strangest things pop out when your mind wanders. Like vulgar words on your audience’s clothing. (It was just as important not to day dream too much about the object of your affection, otherwise you might just say their name instead of Elvis’s. But I never did that. Never.)

And somethings were downright creepy:

• In the winter, when there was often a long time between tour groups, the guides would all gather at the front door and run back to their stations when a van pulled up with a new group. I can’t tell you how many times we all dashed away because we heard a van that never materialized. And it wasn’t just one person hearing the van and telling everyone to go….we all did it.
• The racquetball building was the last place Elvis was before he died. And let me tell you…I don’t know a single tour guide that would be in that building by themselves after dark. Everyone waited for their next tour group outside, no matter how cold it was. Because sometimes you heard footsteps upstairs, and there was no one there. Sometimes the disconnected phone rang. Once a floral arrangement given by a fan caught fire for no explicable reason. But mostly the place just gave us chills.
• The summer of the 10th anniversary of Elvis’s death was a crazy time. Media from around world the descended on us. I was working in the PR department that summer as well as doing tours, and I remember the day a call came in from someone who claimed to be a psychic in touch with Elvis. He said that Elvis hated a picture of himself and Priscilla that was hanging just inside the front door and wanted it removed. Fast forward a couple of weeks….first tour of the day on the 10th anniversary of Elvis’s death, that picture fell off the wall, breaking the glass and slashing Priscilla’s face.

So here’s to the coolest job ever and all the great folks who enjoyed it with me. Now I’m going to crank up the Elvis music and see if I can find my collection of Elvis buttons the fans gave me over the years. And whatever happened to my “Elvis Tour ’88” t-shirt?