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Hillbilly Hilarity (and Billy Idol)

HillbillyThe dogs got up mighty early demanding their walk, and I ran out of cigarettes last night. So after a stroll on the beach, watching the sun come up, smoking a cigar and walking the dogs, I steeled myself for a walk to the nearest gas station, just over the bridge in Wakulla County. In my mind, this was about three and a half miles from here, putting the round trip walk at around seven miles. Not close, to be sure, but about the distance I walked yesterday, so I felt up to it. And since I was up so early, it hadn’t gotten terribly hot yet.

The problem was, this gas station turned out to be somewhere closer to thirteen miles away. Now, while I am certainly not a pansy about stuff like this, I’m hardly carved out of steel, either. So while I was relieved to reach the gas station and get a sweet, sweet Parliament in my mouth, I knew that the walk back would be significantly harder, especially as it was after 10 in the morning and already starting to heat up to reach the day’s high of 90. I 26 mile Easter morning walk? Nah.

So I did what any reasonable, optimistic, faith-in-mankind person would do…I left the gas station (and live bait shop) after the first half of the trip, crossed the street, and stuck my thumb out. The first truck that passed stopped for me, and I climbed in.

Now, remember, this is Florida, but this isn’t “palm trees and margaritas” Florida. No, up here bears a much more striking resemblance to the Deep South, which clearly makes it much more awesome and interesting than the mojitos-and-silicone vibe further South.

So I climb into this broken down little pickup truck, and am greeted by a blonde woman and her brother in law, who are about to go out fishing for the day. She is blonde, in cut-offs, with tiny little heart tattoos all over her body. He is sandy-haired, gaunt, with a fistful of teeth carelessly tossed into his mouth, with no thought given to arrangement or order. THey both have the thickest Southern accents I have ever heard, and I’m not in the truck 10 seconds before she’s telling me that she was drinking until 4 AM, that the transmission on her truck went but she got a new one for $100, her boyfriend hits her and she hits him, “look at my journal of all the crazy shit I was writing last night,” and so on.

I explain where I’m going, and the conversation for the ride is amazing. The guy doesn’t say much, other than he thinks he might have done some work for my Dad at some point. I don’t say much, either, as I am terribly embarrassed by my decidedly Yankee accent. And besides, if I talked, I wouldn’t have gotten to hear their disagreement over what to play on the radio:

Her: “I don’t wanna listen to this, it’s Billy Idol and he’s a fag.”
Him: “Well, it’s better than that nigger music yer fixin ‘to put on.”

All told, I was incredibly grateful to them for the ride, and I flipped ’em a pack of smokes to show my gratitude. They went past their trailer, pointed it out to me, and then dropped me off right at my front door. And though I don’t know if the two of them will ever be able to resolve their disagreement which music is less offensive, that of black people or that of accused homosexuals, it goes to show you that you can still count on people to be good. Bizarre, different from you, but good. I hope they have good luck on their fishing trip today, I’ll be thinking about them.

That’s all for now, time to get a little breakfast.

There Are 3 Responses So Far. »

  1. I thought you were quitting smoking?

  2. Yes, my last attempt failed. I am regrouping to try again, as soon as I get back home.

  3. I would like them both to be wearing a t-shirt from this store:

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