Growing up here

Growing up here wasn't all that exciting. Town closed down on Sunday, except for one of the four drug stores. If you needed to do any other business, you either drove to the city or it just didn't get done until Monday. To this day it's still a dry town and county (meaning you can't buy alcohol there, at least not legally).

There was no mall, no bowling alley, and no movie theater. Well there was, but it had been closed down for years. But we found things to do, we made our own trouble and our own fun. When I was little, the teenagers all cruised the town square on Saturday nights. By the time I was old enough to drive, the Winn-Dixie parking lot was the place to be.

There were five stop lights that I can remember. If you timed it just right, you could miss every one. But the four-way stop sign out at the main highway could get backed up four or five cars deep some Friday nights.

There was a little store where they would pump your gas. You could get a fresh-sliced bologna sandwich, an old bottled Coke and a Sunbeam honey bun. But if you were going, you better get there by sundown, because they closed early just like everything else. Growing up here was inconvenient at times.

Everybody I knew went to church on Sunday morning. We prayed before the high school football games and before we sat down to eat. To a lot of folks today that might seem a little backward. But I didn't think so then, and I don't think so now.

It seemed like the whole town was at the county fair. If you brought your ticket stub from the high school football game on Friday night, you got in free. They had bingo every night of the fair starting at 8. I remember for the first few years, Mom wouldn't let me play. It was too close to gambling, I guess.

Growing up here, you knew all your neighbors. They knew your business and you knew theirs. You knew the cops in town and more importantly, they knew your parents. And if you got in trouble at school, somehow your momma found out about it before you even got home.

I can't remember the first time I had a glass of sweet tea, but I sure remember my first taste of unsweet. I recall countless evenings playing out in the yard or at someone else's house in the neighborhood, and our parents calling us home when it was time eat.

We shot off fireworks in the backyard on the 4th of July, and usually the 2nd and 3rd and 5th, too. Not once did the neighbors ever complain. A lot of times they'd even come out to watch. Everybody handed out candy on Halloween, except for one lady who always handed out fruit.

Growing up here, we never locked our car doors. It's just something you never thought about. I remember my parents did neighborhood watch one summer when I was little. About the most exciting thing that ever happened was somebody's cow getting out, inside the city limits of course.

There were rocking chairs on porches, clothes out on the line, and miles and miles of cotton fields. Every so often you were bound to get behind a tractor going down the road. But not to worry, he'd eventually wave you around when it was clear.

There was a hardware store, a furniture store and two drug stores on the town square, and a barber shop with a barber shop pole. Everybody would throw up a hand when they passed you driving down the street, even when you had no idea who they were. People would bring over fresh vegetables they'd picked from their garden. And the women would cook and take food when someone got bad sick.

I don't live in that town anymore, but I never strayed very far away, either in body or soul. And when I drive by that sleepy little brick house with the blue shutters, gravel driveway, and the back screen door which seemed to squeak louder the later it was, I find myself missing so many things.

I guess growing up here wasn't all that bad.

"Erwin Nichols there with Judge Lee playin' checkers at the gin. When I dream about the Southland this is where it all begins..."

The curious case of the drive-thru attendant

I'm not sure if has to do with being from the South, or how I was raised, or because when I was little my uncle would give my cousins a whoopin' anytime they dared address any adult without saying sir or ma'am. But I say "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am" to most all women.

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped by a local fast food establishment to order a dessert. A woman's voice came on the thing and I placed my order, which included me referring to her as "ma'am" a couple of times.

When I got up to the window, all I saw was this guy. He took my money and handed me my order. That's odd, I thought. (That it was a guy, not that he took my money and handed me my order.) But I know sometimes they'll have one person with the headset taking the order and another person just handing out the food--or at least that's how it is when I imagine the innerworkings of a fast food establishment--so I didn't think much more of it.

Then this past Thursday, we ordered from the same place for lunch and I went to pick it up. It was sort of a long order, so there were quite a few "yes ma'ams" and "no ma'ams." When I got to the window, the same guy was there. Except this time, he started chatting with me.

"It's finally warming up out there," he said.

My friends, he spoke with the voice of a woman. A real life high talker! Not a loud talker, a high talker. Just like the Seinfeld episode.

I wasn't able to look at him because I felt bad and also because it was taking everything I had not to laugh. But on the other hand, it was such a rare phenomenon that I was tempted to call someone just to let them hear.

He seemed like a nice guy, and this was the second time in a week that I had called him "ma'am." But what could I do? He sounded more like a woman than most women I know. They put him in the drive-thru where no one can see him. Plus we're basically in the sir and ma'am capital of the world here. It's entrapment!

I'm sure many "normal" people would let the story end there. But not me. Oh no. This wasn't over. For the next couple of days, it was all I could think about. I jovially shared with family and friends my story of meeting the high talker. I even pondered the possibility of a Bone Reality Tour, with the high talker and my Festivus Pole as the featured stops. Or, the only stops. But at the same time, I felt terrible about the whole ordeal.

After much consideration, I devised a plan. I would go back up there and no matter what, I would say "yes sir" and "no sir" when I ordered to make the high talker feel better. It seemed like the natural thing to do.

It was perfect. So inspired. Yet so simple. I imagined how good the high talker would feel to finally be called sir after hearing ma'am day after day after day. It made me proud that I was such a good person.

I carried out my plan yesterday. Of course by this time, I was sick of eating at the place--it's far from my favorite anyway--so I decided I'd just get a coke. What follows is the unedited version of the conversation that transpired shortly before 1:00 PM Central Time Saturday afternoon:

"Welcome to KFC, may I take your order?"

"Yes. Uh, yes sir." (I almost forgot, right off the bat!) "I'd like a medium Mountain Dew, please."

"One medium Mountain Dew. Is that all?"

"Yes sir."

"That'll be two-fifteen."

$2.15?!?! Suddenly coke has become more expensive than gasoline? Wow. Still, I figured it would be well worth it to right this wrong and bring this episode to a happy conclusion. I pulled up to the window and, um, well... it seems the high talker wasn't working.

Turns out there was but one flaw in my carefully designed plan. And that was it. So basically I paid two dollars and fifteen cents to call a 16-year-old kid "sir."

I'm sure many "normal" people would let the story end there...

"I won't make the same mistake by coming here again, cos I can't tell difference between the hers and hims. No, I can't tell the boys from the girls. And friends, it's really messing up my world..."

The twin I'd almost forgotten

I had almost forgotten about it. It had been so long. It was part of my past, much like tapered leg jeans, crying at the end of Mister Holland's Opus, or being a productive employee. It was who I was, not who I am. Or so I thought. Until Saturday, when I was reminded all over again.

I was at the first Bama home game of the season, waiting near the will call window a couple of hours before kickoff for my tickets. Normally, the tickets arrive a couple of weeks before the season starts, but due to some snafu this year they didn't. We get our tickets from Ben, who orders eight in all. My sister and I buy one pair, and this year he sold the other three pair on the internet.

So while Ben was in line at will call, I was talking to one of the other guys who bought tickets from him. We'll call him Earl. Earl and I had been chatting for five minutes or so when he paused and gave me a look. I wasn't sure what was going on and was wondering if maybe I had a rabid nose hair or something. Then, he said it.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I mean, I don't want to offend you or anything but... has anybody ever told you you look exactly like Steve-O? You know from that show Jackass?"

Only everyone.

And by the way, how necessary is it to clarify which Steve-O you're talking about. What, am I gonna get him confused with the famed 18th Century composer Steve-O or Supreme Court Justice Steve-O?

Anyway, we talked about that for a few minutes. Once I had assured him that it didn't bother me to be compared to Steve-O, he brought his wife over so that she could see me. Maybe I should start charging. Just when I was starting to feel like the guy who met Andy Griffith, Ben walked over with the tickets and we dispersed.

Once inside the stadium, I stopped off to grab a hot dog and coke. Gulp! Cokes had gone up to $6 and hot dogs were $4. Last year, both were $3.25. It's a good thing I didn't break that ten the other day at Sonic.

Our seats are in the same spot as usual this year, with some familiar faces around as well as some new ones. I thought I would introduce you to a few in case I decide to write about them later in the season.

Let's begin with our returning characters from last season. First, we have Audrina and Lo. Now, I like Audrina, but I'm not crazy about Justin for her. That being said, he's still so much cooler than Heidi's boyfriend, Spencer. I mean, is it just me? Does anybody like Spencer? Talk to me, people.

Oh, sorry. I guess I got sidetracked. I'm good now.

Sitting about three places to my right is DUI. You might recall him from past seasons. DUI is the guy who mixes his Jack and Coke in the stands, makes a minimum of six restroom trips per game, and basically smells like he's wearing 80 proof cologne. Except Saturday, DUI brought a girl with him for the first time. He only got up twice to go to the restroom and never did I catch the scent of alcohol. If this keeps up, I might even have to change his nickname.

Back for another long season in their joyless existence are the two ornery old couples two rows in front of us. They never stand. They never cheer. The men complain the whole game. And if these early leavers haven't already left by the end of the 3rd quarter, it's probably a good idea to hit them in the head with a program to see if they're still alive.

Behind me and to the right is a guy I refer to as Ultimatum. He'll say things such as, "If we don't score on this drive, I'm leaving." Then after we don't score, he'll say, "OK, if we don't score on the next drive, I'm really leaving." Still, I like Ultimatum. He's emotionally invested and takes the losses really hard, like me. He never brings a woman with him, which leads me to wonder if maybe he used one too many ultimatums in his life.

New for 2008, we have a guy who I have dubbed Carlin. This pottymouth sits directly behind me, and appeared to be doing a perpetual tribute to George Carlin's seven dirty words the entire game, with heavy emphasis on the F word. He displayed a firm grasp of the F word and the ability to use it as at least six different parts of speech. However, his grasp of the remainder of the English language is questionable at best.

In front of me and to the left, and also new this year, is a girl I have affectionately tabbed OMG. She appears to have little to no interest in football. Instead, OMG is constantly texting and checking her phone throughout the game for new messages, mobile Hills updates, and who knows what else. JK, OMG. XOXO

In front of me and to the right is a guy I call Vandy. This Eddie Enthusiasm is a hardcore-fan-wanna-be. Many of you probably know the type. A pseudo-expert who wears the team colors, cheers, groans, and tries to make insightful comments during the game, but fails miserably. He always seems to be a few weeks/months behind on his team news, and certain information seems to have alluded him. Little obscure facts like: Last year's starting wide receiver was a senior. Therefore, he's no longer playing. So quit yelling his name.

Saturday night, he was looking at the scoreboard as they flashed scores of other games and saying things like, "Ooo, Michigan barely won" and "Arkansas is losing to Monroe" and then excitedly, "Vandy beat South Carolina!" Um yeah. We know. That game was Thursday night. And that's how Vandy got his name.

Most everyone was already in their seats getting ready for pregame festivities when Earl made his way down the aisle. Upon seeing me, he flashed an abnormally big smile, stuck out his hand to shake mine, and yelled, "Steve-O!!!!"

Then later, during a break in the action, Earl leaned up and said, "Hey man, I gotta get a picture of you after the game. Nobody will believe this!" Fortunately, he'll be sitting next to us all season.

Maybe it's true what they say, that everyone has a twin. I know I do. One thong-clad semi-celebrity to which I will forever be linked. Though only one of us is banned from ever performing again in Terrebonne Parrish, Louisiana.

"Well, there's a football in the air across a leaf blown field. Yeah, and there's your first car on the road, and the girl you'd steal..."