9:19 PM |
Woke up in fine fettle. Looked for remote control for curtains in case they are motorized. I saw that in a magazine once. I have three sinks, one outside bathroom, one inside bathroom and a little stainless one in the bar area. Since I have this screwy setup, I thought I would flip all the switches in the room to see what would happen. Voila! Curtains open. Very pretty view, as far as indoor hotel views go. I have a table and chairs and a very pretty seating area, ignoring the sofa bed.Since I haven't been here long enough to find a hairdresser, I washed it myself. Problem is, my hair takes a boatload of time to dry. I usually wash it at night, wait until the morning and blow dry it then. I was too toasted to do that last night, so I figured I'd do it this morning. I'm in a decent hotel, so I called for room service. $25 coffee and danish. The lovely Indian woman who brought it to me unwrapped each piece and told me what it was. Milk, yogurt, danish, knife, fruit, and so on. Then she said flower. There is a little flower in a little vase on the tray. Ok, maybe the coffee was $5 and the flower $20. Dried my hair while drinking coffee.
I put some makeup on, just a little, in case I finally get to see college boyfriend in person. Checked out. Went to concierge to find out how to get to Bolton's Spicy Chicken and Fish. The Teutonic automaton looked at me with one eyebrow askew. I said, okay, I want to go to the Hermitage and Belle Meade. Which is closer to East Nashville (knowing that Bolton's is in East Nashville)? She whisked away the brochures for both Belle Meade and Hermitage, saying that I can't do both. Okay, show me on a map. The brochures reappeared. I am going to the Hermitage and then praying my GPS will stay on long enough to get me to chicken. That's really all I want out of Nashville.
College boyfriend called. Left phone in car last night. Has to see daughter cheer. Maybe we can get a coffee or a smoothie. Smoothie? Bought Exclusive Reopening Key Chain from gift shop. Got in Woody. This is Katherine. She likes him. So do three twenty-something girls, one of them quite fetching in a Pucci-esque tunic. We all like it, she said. I was hoping for Taylor Swift, whats-her-name Cyrus (Hanna Montana all sexed up) and Dolly Parton, but there you have it.
Took me 10 minutes to get from hotel to road. This doesn't seem like a lot, but I was going directly to the road I came in on. It dropped me on some road that has no choice where to go. I took it. I knew this was most certainly not the way the little map on the brochure showed, but never one to be constrained by the correct directions, I let fate lead my way. I passed Hechter's Bakery, next to Jimmy's Shoe Repair (y not ie, must have been a regional thing). Big!Lots. I know there are lots of Big!Lots around. There's even one in the next town from me. But there's nothing like a Big!Lots near Opryland! It's a festival of exclamation points. Billboard for lots of f.... I thought it said fried foods. Hey, the picture had a lot of fried stuff on it. And like magic, the arrow for the Hermitage. Andrew Jackson's plantation is in a strip mall. Kind of. It's in between apartment buildings, big box stores and the freeway. Nevertheless, my imaginary boyfriend and I came to see it. They wouldn't let Brad in even if I paid the very real ticket price for his very imaginary body. This is Brad sulking in the parking lot.I hate audio tours, so in the museum I actually looked at the exhibits and asked questions. This is what I know as fact about Andrew Jackson's personal life. His wife wasn't divorce when married him. She died from lung and heart stuff and also depression. He adopted a kid. A male friend moved into the White House with him. Here's my interpretation. Rachel was a beard. She got tired of it. They had to adopt his bastard. He and his boyfriend Ralph Earl lived happily ever after.
Jackson had 150 slaves. After he died, his head slave bought some of his stuff. Before that, one of his slaves emancipated herself by walking away. Rachel collected silver spoons in New Orleans before hitting Florida. My grandmother did that, but her spoons had different states on their handles. Also, hers were smaller, and not really silver. Andrew had a carriage made of planks from Old Ironsides. Went to gift shop and bought t-shirt and another key chain. I need to put a lot of these suckers on the one remaining key so I don't lose it. Also box of Nashville toffee because I am starving after those two tiny danish, a flower and no spicy chicken.
Turned on GPS and quickly wrote down directions to spicy chicken. The drive was taking me west, not to East Nashville. Again, I am up for an adventure and just go with it. It actually was the right way. Here is Bolton's:
That is the side you don't get to go in. This is the one you do. You knock on the pink door when you are ready to order. The door is inside the restaurant. An opaque smokey window opens and this guy takes your order. He then shuts the glass and comes out the pink door when your food is ready. He is not Mr. Bolton. I met him later. The door and the window are next to each other just like below. The whole thing is about 8 feet wide, including menu.
There are three tables at Bolton's. One is about 7 feet long and has wooden benches on either side. It has a very warm heater next to it, so everyone that sits there eventually moves somewhere else. There are two other tables with formica seats, about 4 feet long. These are some white males with runny noses. I think it is probably a white male thing to see how hot you can eat it. He really hurt me this time! Uh, why eat the chicken? Chug a bottle of tabasco instead.I got some help from nice black guy in kitchen on what to get. This was my chicken. I had turnip greens and mac n cheese with it. The former were the best I have ever eaten. I dipped the white bread in the juice. They had a dirty sign from some magazine that said it was one of the 101 southern food places you had to eat in before you die. Probably right. Nose not running much.
In his usual bad timing, Woody wouldn't, even after the two new water pumps and new battery. He was on an incline, so I rolled him back to see if I could get fuel into his motor better. I got stranded crosswise in the only entrance to the pizza delivery guy behind Bolton's. After calling AAA, the nice Boltons guys pushed the two tons of steel up the mountain, and I waited. Texted college boyfriend re last chance. Boltons is 6 minutes from his house. Nothing. I now have an imaginary boyfriend, an almost-real imaginary boyfriend, and now a used-to-be-real imaginary boyfriend. Almost-real imaginary one texted in response to my chix pix. Man v. food. He's amusing. Call college boyfriend. Got Donnie. Not college boyfriend Donnie. Checked the number again. Right number, wrong Donnie. Well, I guess that one didn't really want his smoothie.
This is Big Mike:
He came from AAA with a starter pack. That's his white car on the left. Anita was in it and getting very bored. I was too. I looked around the corner and saw an old truck. Usually guys with old trucks like that know how to fiddle around with flatheads. I looked up and saw:
I couldn't believe my eyes. A flathead guy. Right there. And he is closed until Monday. It is Saturday, getting dark. I thought I'd try to call the number on his building. I had to ask a pissed off fat white man in Boltons what the area code is. They don't use area codes here. I saw a sign that said if you need prayer call (seven digit number). I guess you can only get prayer locally.I could hear my phone ring in the shop. Obviously not there. I left a begging message anyhow. Just in case. This is Big Mike calling Phillip. Big Mike knows Phillip from the tattoo shop. Phillip knows Greg's cell phone number. Big Mike calls Greg for me. Greg is just over at the fairgrounds and will be over in five minutes.
Dolly from Boltons comes over and gives me a bottle of water. The guys from Boltons watch. Everyone was very nice. I mean really very nice.
This is Greg. He agreed with my friend that you can just bypass the key. Greg told me to get a set of alligator clips up the road at O'Reiley's. Oh, heck, just drive it on over here to my shop. I did.
But not before saying goodbye to nice guys at Boltons. They told me they would take care of me any time I was around. Listen, if we're not here go down the street to the bigger one, he motioned. They have a shop there. Ha! College boyfriend says other shop makes even better chicken. It's the SAME DAMN CHICKEN.
Greg gave me a really good pair of alligator clips and showed me his poster of Indian Joe, the famous motorcycle guy. It was signed. Greg also thinks I should write an article for one of the hot rod magazines about my trip. He showed me the one in the motorcycle magazine with the naked girls in it. He shares it with his friend because his wife (the friend's) won't let him have it. Greg's wife buys it for him. I think that's a good move. Offered Greg bottle of whisky (sorry other guy who helped me with car before I left). He said he doesn't drink anymore. Used to start Friday and end Sunday night somewhere he didn't know where he was at. Got gas. I now know how to hot wire my own car, 1942 style.
Went to Memphis. Boring drive. Spent it thinking about what was cool about the day. Glad I didn't bring anyone with me. Decide to live dangerously and take picture of pretty sunset while driving. I figured it was okay because I passed two big blue signs saying to call 511 for traffic updates.
This is Nathan Green and his friend I don't remember who. I met them at the Johnny Cash Rest Stop. Old guy says he's 80 and remembers those cars. Wood cars, he said, shaking his head. Sign for Loretta Lynn's RV Park on highway. Later, Loretta Lynn's Dude Ranch. Loretta Lynn sure does like real estate just off the highway.
This is Keisha. We met at a gas station. She works there.
After interminable driving, I kept on telling myself I'd get off at the next stop. I always balked because I didn't like the hotels. Too close to highway. Trucks welcome. Not chain. Not chain I know. Falling asleep.
Then Holiday Inn Express! It was nice. I asked the lady how old the hotel is. About a year. I said this is the nicest Holiday Inn Express I've ever been to. It's a real Holiday Inn, not a Holiday Inn Express. Oh. They have a bar and a restaurant. The manager's first name is Beat. I said I've never met anyone named beat. It's be-at. He's Swiss. The room is pretty much the same as at a Holiday Inn express except the pillows have tags on them instead of embroidery to show you which are the soft ones and which are the medium ones. The soap is Citrus Mint. I can't tell the difference. Couldn't open it with my bare hands. You can never have too many scissors. It smells like Arm & Hammer carpet cleaner in Baby Fresh or something.
Now that Woody is better, we set out to conquer new lands. I wrote down the directions to Opryland because it seemed like getting there through Nashville may be quite a chore. After all, I have missed my exit by 150 miles before, and lived. Once again, I found my fuel gauge at empty which doesn't mean much because it doesn't work, but it always gets me in a lather. Please, please let a gas station be soon. Please. After seven miles of agony, I found one. Off we went.
The Gaylord Opryland Hotel has 2283 rooms, according to my lovely check-in girl Elizabeth. But I'm getting ahead of myself. There are miles and miles of self-park areas when you come in to the complex. It's like Disneyworld without the helpful "you parked in Goofy Row 2" reminders. I missed the turn for reception twice. Pulling in to the hotel, there are six, yes six, lanes of cars. You are directed to one of them. It seems that I had reached the valet parking place. I joked, will you valet it? The guy said yes (!). I asked him if he knew how to drive three on the tree. Yes he did. Must be a farm boy.
They print you out a map with line by line instructions on how to get to your room, including which of the numbered elevators to use. Mine was C1. I figured out later that Cascade was the really great place to stay. Just think, I had a sofa in Cascade! When I was trying to find a window out of which to see the cascade next to which I will sleep, I passed a security guard and asked. I finally got an answer and after walking 200 yards to the window, I returned. He was standing in front of double shiny wooden doors. I guess there was a VIP in there. Me, with a sofa in Cascade, somewhere near a suite with an actual security guard! Boy oh boy was I lucky tonight.
Back at check-in, Elizabeth asked me if I would like suggestions on dining. We have new american, sushi, mexican, ....... As always, I asked her what she would have. Without a hesitation she said Solario. Man, another red sauce joint. I just couldn't do it. But, it turned out to be Mexican (I'm not hungry for anything, but, hey, this is Opryland!). She whispered to me that the best thing is the strawberry jalapeno margarita. I know it sounds weird, but trust me, she said, it's great. Their guacamole is great, too, and so is the queso dip. Now I like guacamole as much as the next guy. In fact, I love it. Queso, I can live without.
Tiffeny was a white girl with cornrows, you know the Bo Derek kind your niece gets on a Caribbean cruise, with beads. Only Tiffeny didn't have beads. She had a one year old with kidney disease. And, she is dating a very rich guy and she is very poor, according to her. He's retiring in four years, and she doesn't want to feel like she's with him because of his money, so she is working two jobs in order to save and pay for her son's antibiotics. The medicine costs as much as her mortgage payment. Curse the american health care system. Anyhow, Tiffeny wants to travel. She wants to go on safari and eat zebra meat. And lion meat. And tiger meat. She asked me if I knew that in Italy they take 45 days of vacation a year? We only take a week, or none at all, she said. I decided to be very nice to Tiffeny.
Of course I had the strawberry jalapeno margarita. She said that they infuse the strawberries for at least three days! Then it's muddled. She told someone else it was muzzled. I heard her. The drink was really quite good, although a bit heavy on the ice. I wondered if I'd get any buzz off of it and decided to drink my way down the margarita list. The next one was blueberry, black raspberry and rosemary. After that, I had no idea what I was drinking.
I spent the rest of the evening walking off the margaritas trying to find my room. After a bit, I caught on to the fact that the different areas of the hotel have different carpets. This is essential, as there are at least fifty rooms on each hall, six levels high, god only knows how many halls, and all of this is repeated in each hotel area. I got lost in the Garden Conservatory, but followed the trail of roses and picket fences on the floor to get back to go. This was the correct elevator. The sign looked exactly like this because I couldn't see straight from the naughty libations.
I finally did find my room. The security guard down the hall was gone. I guess someone went to perform.
On my trip I saw the most sensible signs. They are like I would write: Old Stone Fort, Busy Corner Visitor Plaza (the isi was burned out). I saw a Stuckey's. I didn't know they still existed. When I was a kid and we went on road trips, we would love the two-packs of tiny pecan pies on white cardboard enclosed in cellophane. I can still taste them. My parents call them Sticky Stuckey's.
When I drive, particularly on the I-whatevers, I always leave some room between Woody and the guy in front of him so that I have enough room to stop with my non-power brakes. Some jerk flew in front of me, then slammed on the brakes. This happens from time to time, but not like this. I pushed down as hard as I could, downshifted as fast as I could, and jammed my back into the seat. I leaned on my lame aooga horn. Barely made it. I mean really barely made it. But I still had to get to Opryland! and my nerves were shot. I didn't even know if I had missed the exit. When I thought all was lost, I saw the signs. Opryland! My kind of place.
When I drive, particularly on the I-whatevers, I always leave some room between Woody and the guy in front of him so that I have enough room to stop with my non-power brakes. Some jerk flew in front of me, then slammed on the brakes. This happens from time to time, but not like this. I pushed down as hard as I could, downshifted as fast as I could, and jammed my back into the seat. I leaned on my lame aooga horn. Barely made it. I mean really barely made it. But I still had to get to Opryland! and my nerves were shot. I didn't even know if I had missed the exit. When I thought all was lost, I saw the signs. Opryland! My kind of place.
Anyhow, he let me pull up to the curb in the front of the line while I checked in. Of course, I didn't have a reservation, but with 2300 rooms, how hard can it be? Very hard, as it turns out. I got the last room in the place. She said all she had was a "sofa" room. Uh? I turned out to be the non-bedroom half of a suite. Fine by me. I take sleeping pills.
Miss Elizabeth was helpful beyond belief. She got me a space in the employee parking lot where it is constantly patrolled (bad sign or good?). Not to be outdone, the bellboy played chicken with the valets, and I got to park in front of the hotel. He said they sometimes have Rolls Royces that do that. All night. Woody was my entree to all things Opry. Elizabeth got me the standard room rate for my deluxe "inside" room. I got to sleep overlooking the waterfall. Only problem is, the curtains don't open as far as I can tell, and the water makes me want to pee all night.
Here's more of the Opryland! lobby:
Here's more of the Opryland! lobby:
They print you out a map with line by line instructions on how to get to your room, including which of the numbered elevators to use. Mine was C1. I figured out later that Cascade was the really great place to stay. Just think, I had a sofa in Cascade! When I was trying to find a window out of which to see the cascade next to which I will sleep, I passed a security guard and asked. I finally got an answer and after walking 200 yards to the window, I returned. He was standing in front of double shiny wooden doors. I guess there was a VIP in there. Me, with a sofa in Cascade, somewhere near a suite with an actual security guard! Boy oh boy was I lucky tonight. 
Back at check-in, Elizabeth asked me if I would like suggestions on dining. We have new american, sushi, mexican, ....... As always, I asked her what she would have. Without a hesitation she said Solario. Man, another red sauce joint. I just couldn't do it. But, it turned out to be Mexican (I'm not hungry for anything, but, hey, this is Opryland!). She whispered to me that the best thing is the strawberry jalapeno margarita. I know it sounds weird, but trust me, she said, it's great. Their guacamole is great, too, and so is the queso dip. Now I like guacamole as much as the next guy. In fact, I love it. Queso, I can live without.For the first time this trip, I feel filthy. Not that I'm particularly dirty, but everyone here was dressed to go out. I was wearing my beat up clogs and jeans pair 2. So, I went upstairs, said hello to my couch and put on some real shoes and jewelery. That's as much as I'm going to do. I got my map out and did a few laps before I figured out how to get to Solario.
The hostess asked me if my pearls were real. Uh, yeah. She likes the ones that come in an actual clam shell. I didn't have the heart to tell her that pearls grown in oysters, not clams. And then I met Tiffeny. I didn't have my glasses on (I look way hotter that way, and when I pass a mirror I don't notice that I'm not wearing makeup). My sister says to date blind guys (well not really blind, just those who have to wear glasses) because you don't have to worry what your body looks like in bed. I read that all men care about is that it's naked, and the rest is just details. I choose to believe that's true. Anyhow, I knew that there was something screwy about my waitress's name tag. Did it have the wrong number of f's? It took all night, but I finally figured out that it was Tiffeny with an e, not Tiffany with an a.
Of course I had the strawberry jalapeno margarita. She said that they infuse the strawberries for at least three days! Then it's muddled. She told someone else it was muzzled. I heard her. The drink was really quite good, although a bit heavy on the ice. I wondered if I'd get any buzz off of it and decided to drink my way down the margarita list. The next one was blueberry, black raspberry and rosemary. After that, I had no idea what I was drinking. Tiffeny said the guacamole is prepared table-side by their chef! Tiffeny speaks in exclamation points, so she is a good employee for Opryland! I remember Elizabeth telling me that the chicken tacos were good. Tiffeny described the special meal for the evening. I later found out it was the special Valentine's Day meal, but Tiffeny was probably just trying to spare me sorrow. It's okay, I wanted to tell her, I have an imaginary boyfriend. I think after a few margaritas I did tell her. Anyhow, if Tiffeny sold five special dinners, she would get one herself. So I found myself drinking margaritas with filet mignon and a heart-shaped desert. The flourless chocolate is only made in two places, but now it's three because we have it here! And the whipped cream is made with tequila! If Tiffeny says so, I'm sure that's true. I'm glad I was all liquored up because I had to haul my belly out of the booth.
The table next to me was filled by two women after I sat down. They weren't sure what to order. Tiffeny went through her whole spiel, including the sang-a-ria. They ordered two Bud Lites and decided the salsa was too expensive. Poor Tiffeny. I had to tip her extra well. Before I got up to leave, Tiffeny pointed out some bottles on a lit glass shelf. We actually pour tequila out of these. Patron, that's like the best there is, is $85 a shot. Pass on that one.
I spent the rest of the evening walking off the margaritas trying to find my room. After a bit, I caught on to the fact that the different areas of the hotel have different carpets. This is essential, as there are at least fifty rooms on each hall, six levels high, god only knows how many halls, and all of this is repeated in each hotel area. I got lost in the Garden Conservatory, but followed the trail of roses and picket fences on the floor to get back to go. This was the correct elevator. The sign looked exactly like this because I couldn't see straight from the naughty libations.
I finally did find my room. The security guard down the hall was gone. I guess someone went to perform.
Tried to leave voice message for college boyfriend on his cell phone. It wouldn't let me. Check out is at 11, with a "grace period" until twelve. Wonder if I'll see him.
Oh, and this is the land of yes ma'ams. I am over being old enough to be a ma'am.
Oh, and this is the land of yes ma'ams. I am over being old enough to be a ma'am.
Miss Linda left me at J&J. She hung around a little bit to make sure I'd be all right. She hugged me and put me on her prayer list.
Into the auto hospital I went. There was a large grey woman in the office. I didn't know there was an office. She is Caroline, Johnny's wife. She's trying to save him the money it would cost for a bookkeeper. She has heart and lung problems, and diabetes, and can't get health insurance. Couldn't afford it if she could. The man just came in and taxed the little pump they have in back. She's wondering where Obama's small business help is.
And there was Jerry (with a y!), leaning over the Woody's hood. It was like he had to steal the finish from Harold. He said they're pretty sure they'd be finished before quittin time. I told them I hoped they'd be finished by quittin time because I was going to have to stay right there until it was done. Johnny started her up and took her for a test drive. I know I am mixing up my sexes. I just can't figure out if Woody is a he or a she. Harold said "purrs like a kitten." Johnny came in and said "purrs like a kitten." I guess they all listen to a lot of cats.
While the two men cleaned up and did the paperwork, I asked Caroline if I could give him a bottle of whisky. Harold? Oh, yeah. And your husband. He don't drink whisky. And if he did, I bet Caroline would show him a bit of her own iron skillet. I gave Harold one of the bottles of the good Makers Mark 47 that I was going to give my car guys back home. I can get another.
The bill for two eight-hour days was $251.50. I gave them $300 cash and took off. Woody has a little bit of a tik-a-tik-a-tik-a again, but I think it may just be the gravel from J&J's driveway. I think they did something with the clutch, too. Doesn't grind into first much.
I love Harold. But I love Woody and the open road better. We left Monteagle in our rear view mirror.
Into the auto hospital I went. There was a large grey woman in the office. I didn't know there was an office. She is Caroline, Johnny's wife. She's trying to save him the money it would cost for a bookkeeper. She has heart and lung problems, and diabetes, and can't get health insurance. Couldn't afford it if she could. The man just came in and taxed the little pump they have in back. She's wondering where Obama's small business help is.
And there was Jerry (with a y!), leaning over the Woody's hood. It was like he had to steal the finish from Harold. He said they're pretty sure they'd be finished before quittin time. I told them I hoped they'd be finished by quittin time because I was going to have to stay right there until it was done. Johnny started her up and took her for a test drive. I know I am mixing up my sexes. I just can't figure out if Woody is a he or a she. Harold said "purrs like a kitten." Johnny came in and said "purrs like a kitten." I guess they all listen to a lot of cats.
While the two men cleaned up and did the paperwork, I asked Caroline if I could give him a bottle of whisky. Harold? Oh, yeah. And your husband. He don't drink whisky. And if he did, I bet Caroline would show him a bit of her own iron skillet. I gave Harold one of the bottles of the good Makers Mark 47 that I was going to give my car guys back home. I can get another.
The bill for two eight-hour days was $251.50. I gave them $300 cash and took off. Woody has a little bit of a tik-a-tik-a-tik-a again, but I think it may just be the gravel from J&J's driveway. I think they did something with the clutch, too. Doesn't grind into first much.
I love Harold. But I love Woody and the open road better. We left Monteagle in our rear view mirror.
Still running out of things to do, I took another trip into Sewanee. Remember, this is about 3 miles from Monteagle. Saw firetrucks in front of elementary school. Slowed down. Not wanting to be a looky-loo, I tried not to notice them, but I couldn't help myself. I have been trying to give away a really nice old fire engine to someone who has a 52 foot indoor space in which to house it. This is not as easy as it sounds. Big garages are 50 feet. I slammed on the brakes and pulled in the school parking lot, into an illegal space (technically it wasn't illegal because it wasn't a space). I approached the boy firefighters.
I left my card. Afterwards, worried that my blog address is on it and they will probably read this. Well, yes, you have seen my kid's mom write pussy. Deal with it. And don't misuse grammar, punctuation, and various writing conventions like I do. I had to work really had to be allowed to do this. I know the difference. Oh god, this means my kid is going to read this, too. Well, son, your mama's done grown up.
I went to see if the hairdresser uses Aveda color. They don't. Drove back around to go back to Monteagle. Boy firemen huddled in apparent glee. Warmed my heart.
Totally bored out of my brain, even though I love Monteagle and I love Sewanee and I love Tennessee and I love everyone, I needed a change. Decided to drive to iron skillet place. Felt like I was betraying my little corner of the woods. No matter. I drove on I-whatever toward Chattanooga. The turn to the skillet place was at South Pittsburg. That's what it is, not Old, not New, and not with an h. That is where my tip to great barbeque went through. Must investigate.
South Pittsburg is an amazing place. It is the home of the Cornbread Festival. I read that on the skillet sign. It is also the home of the South Pittsburg Pirates that have won many state championships. I read that on the sign for the town. In big orange letters. Later, when I saw the Pirates stadium (?), it was next to an enormous bank of electrical transformers. Coincidence? I think not. Kept on driving through looking for skillet place as I had that coupon.
Drove clean out of town, past the Amish-made mattresses (I didn't know Amish made mattresses, by me they gather eggs and bake pies). Drove by...what? What is that smoke? Where am I? What side of the tracks? That is one gi-normous black thing out there. God bless. It was Isbells BBQ. They make turkey legs. The heavens parted. And then I remembered that I had eaten enough for a small army that morning. I Could. Not. Eat. Another. Single. Bite. Devastation. I couldn't even go talk to them because I can't just go into an eating place and then not eat. I must leave this for my next trip to Sewanee. Hope my kid doesn't get kicked out before I taste this pork.Passed by fireworks companies. They must make them there if they have a wholesale truck entrance.
There are other great eating places here, and all go with Coke.
This one is for a dairy bar. I had read about these but I don't remember what they are. Milk shooters? Your choice of skim, 2% or whole? Maybe ice cream or milkshakes. That's probably it. Someone has a cool Zephyr.
I also enjoyed Slick's Gun and Pawn. This is Daryl. He served in the Air Force until 1962. I remember that because my ex started serving in '63. He was a diddy bopper. You know what a diddy bopper is? No, I do not. We did code. Morse code? Yup. Basically, when I think about it, I was a spy. It was declassified in 1993 (or 1997, I forget which). I asked if he had any really great secrets. I dunno. I just passed it on.
These are the other owners (?) of the store. I think one of them is related to Daryl. I spoke to her about what I don't remember but it was interesting. Maybe I'll remember later.
AndSouth Pittsburg's restaurants. One is directly behind the police parking lot. I bet they eat the Dagwoods. That'd be the one on the right.
Giddy with discovery, I set out back toward Monteagle. I couldn't find the I-whatever. What else is new? Finally found it. Headed out to find Big Daddy's Fireworks. Right on the exit.
We must be near Alabama. Maybe South Pittsburg is in Alabama. I went into this fireworks store because it is on the right side and they said they have souveneirs. The place is rampant with empty white-painted shelves. You can tell they used to sell a lot of souveniers. They have mammy spoon rests and jockey salt shakers (KKK theme continues), as well as shot glasses, stickers, license plates and jokey books. I picked one up called How To Speak Southern, not for the vocabulary (I'm already bilingual), but for the representation of the speech patterns in words. I caint figger out how to do that. I also found a Hillbilly Recipe Book. It has the recipe for salt rise bread! I'll finally understand what the Dutch Maid girl was talking about. But no time to read right now. Have to move on to the state stickers. They have Tennessee! But they also have every other state. I thought it was supposed to be like Monopoly, that you can't get the sticker until you land on the place. Bought one anyhow. Was embarassed to be buying How to Talk Southern, Hillbilly Cookbook, and Tennessee sticker. I might as well have purchased the rebel shot glass and Aunt Jemima.
Realized I was on rental car road. Decided to risk it and drop the red compact whatever. It went out again in about ten seconds. Must be a shortage of cars here. Tristan was very busy and couldn't talk. Linda (Miss Linda, he said) would take me back to Sewanee. I am praying that Woody is better and I don't have to spend the night in Harold's grease pit.
Miss Linda, a small-faced blonde, had to go get the gas card. The minivan she was using to take me back had less than no gas in it, you know how it looks when it's empty but not really because you have that little reserve after the light goes on? By the way, Woody does not have that little reserve. I can assure you of that. The guys told her it would be enough to get her there and back. Men. Sigh. After gassing up and Linda waiting for me to get out of the rest room (she used it at the car rental place before leaving), we hit the I-whatever again. I was glad she didn't leave without me because in addition to my cosmetics case, she had my Sewanee stuff in the minivan. We had the usual chit chat about what I was doing, how I could afford it, etc. The cancer always comes up. It explains the resume gap. She snatched my hand and began to pray. And pray in the really evangelical manner. She asked that Satan be gone from every nucleus, every atom of my being. It was long, and intense. She later talked about her faith. She speaks in tongues. Faith heals. She is the checker at Safe-Way that fixes people. She sees it happen before her eyes. She has visions. She fasts. Once for 22 days so that she could be near to god. She healed a big, swollen knee that day. She finally got her International Evangelical License. She had to be with a lot of pastors before she could get it. I'm not sure what be with pastors means. I tried to take her picture. The camera wouldn't work. Angel? Satan?
I was eating and praying again. Now where's my loving?
Note to self: Buy firetruck. Just kidding, I really do have one.
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