The South is so good for the Soul, and bad for the feet. Part TWO

So I love certain things about the South. I love that I drove past Graceland today. I know most of you are saying "whatever", but it has nothing to do with whether or not you like EP. The fact is Graceland is holier ground than most churches to people.....think about it. Plus, there are very few things or people as iconic and American as the King. Enough said.

While weaving through Bama yesterday, I came to a cross roads in the middle of no where. Think Roundup people. Anyway, there is nothing around, but a small old building that used to be a service station, with the old gas pumps, where someone in white clothes (no doubt in Alabama that someone was black), would come running out, check your oil, wash your windows while filling the tank. Why yes sir Missa Johnson....it is a fine day fo sho.

This place now is called Alberts Groceries. Its slow going in these hills, so I was maybe only rolling at 45 or so. I got a good look as I disappeared back into the forest....Albert had a sign on the door. It said Back Later. It was in marker, and was hung at an angle. Only thing to make that sign perfect was to have the k backward. Out front, Albert had a piece of cardboard that had pricing for the snake skins he had hanging around.

BTW...Market price is what you'll pay for a copperhead over 3 feet. I had to ask myself a couple things.

1. Other than Albert, who determined the market price? It was the middle of no where, and I am quite certain there isnt a snake skin trade so robust that it has daily trade pricing. Its probably based on how hard Albert had to work to kill that sucker.

2. The second thing I thought was: "Good for you Albert! Entrepreneurs Unite!"

I so love the accents...they are all very different. Example: "Ha Hun...you wan a wata? Itz dang hot huh."

But then, I ran into this old fella sitting at a table smoking at this little gas station. He had to be 132 years old, and he had a German Shepard with him that looked to be the same. He eyeballs me as I stop for gas. We exchange greetings...he inquires "fo hin dats way up huh?"

I stand there, and start filling the tank, and say yep...sure is.

I have no idea what this man is saying to me, but now he is talking....its straight BBThorton doing slingblade, only worse. I don't even now care the words....I am listening to him tell me: "um hum, sho do like dem taters um hum."

Yep, the Southerners are generous with their words, are usually much more polite than we are up north. It would be perfect, but I don't know what the fuck they are saying down here! Its like getting up and washing your mouth out with marbles....and leaving them in. You gotta do work. And yet, I wanna shoot them a phrase that would help them know I stand in solidarity...something good like: " So's it fixin to rain you think?"