September 28, 2009
Recondo 32 and I
Originally published August 18, 2004
Rick was raised in the small mill-town of Clinton, South Carolina, just south of Spartanburg. He and I have a lot of things in common, because a mill-town isn't much different from a coal mining camp. You either worked in the mill or you SOLD THINGS to millworkers, the same way you either worked in the coal mine or sold things to coal miners. That's where all the money came from.
Rick and I are adventurous eaters. We like to be in the middle of nowhere and see a small diner on the side of the road. If there are three cars in the parking lot, we figure that they aren't poisoning people left and right, so we stop to get a meal.
Sometimes that's good, and sometimes it's not so good. Sometimes we've stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall that served food just like Grandma used to cook. We made good ole, Southern grunting noises while eating that food, sopping up gravy with fresh cornbread and cleaning our plates. We left big tips for the waitress, too, who kept our glasses of iced tea full while we ate. That was good stuff.
Other times, we knew that the cook was opening boxes of Swanson frozen dinners and making no effort whatsoever to season them. That was a lot like eating cardboard, but we still tipped the waitress if she kept our tea glasses full. When you stop to eat at those kind of places, you may hit bingo or you may go bust, but you KNEW the job was dangerous when you took it.
Somebody posted some absolute blasphemy in my comments about iced tea. FUCK YOU!!! Ya can't GET decent iced tea out west or up north. Those fucking yankees don't know how to make it. When we hit Lexington, Kentucky, on our way back home, Recondo started his usual droning about how backward Kentucky was until we went out to eat. Then, he took one sip of his iced tea (which was served in a semi-BUCKET, the way tea is meant to be served) and he said, "Sweet Jesus. I'm back down South again."
If you're a Southerner, you know what I'm saying. If you DON'T KNOW, go piss up a rope, you yankee fuckwit.
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